Disclaimer: As usual, I don't own any of the characters mentioned herein. This story is not written for profit, blah blah blah.

A/N: Thank you everyone for your lovely reviews. I'm sorry this update took so long. School, holidays, life, you know the drill. Plus I've spent A LOT of time reading other people's stuff rather than working on my own. There is some great stuff out there!

Anyway, this chapter kinda got away from me. I've got the next three or so chapters worked out, and I had planned to move the story along significantly here, but evidently Curt and Arthur insisted on a little alone-time. Eh, what are you gonna do? I PROMISE some good Brian action soon...he's coming back in a big way, along with some familiar and not-so-familiar faces.

The next update will be much quicker than this one. Thanks again for reading! All reviews are deeply appreciated. Now, on your mark...set...and GO!

Curt woke up to the smell of coffee. Not just any coffee, but the darkest, woodiest, strongest coffee one pot could withstand. Coffee like a black hole captured in a glass carafe, its density impenetrable even to the cold golden glare of the early morning sun. Arthur always loaded the filter to the brim and made about twice as much as would be consumed, but it was the smell Curt loved over and above the drink.

Tiny pockets of strong coffee scent hung quietly in the corners of Curt's memory, in the cluttered kitchen of his one childhood refuge, his great aunt Nora, a clear-eyed, wildly funny family misfit whose irreverent logic and good-natured ribbing alienated her from the majority of the clan and endeared her to Curt. In the eyes of a nine year old, she had the most curious habit of saying either exactly what she thought or what everyone knew but was too afraid to admit.

"This boy won't stay here to rot in a tire factory," she once snapped at Curt's father, "even if I have to take him to New York or Chicago myself."

Of course, the fabled trip to a glittering city, Nora's promise of freedom, wouldn't arrive until many years later and under very different circumstances. Nine years after the declaration, six after leaving home and eight after Nora's Chevelle spun into that truck, Curt found himself in need of some comfort. He sucked in the earthy smell of strong coffee wafting from a high window in the alley of a seedy Brooklyn hotel. Though Curt was sore, hungry, and alone, the coffee smell felt like warm arms on a cold evening. On mornings when he dimly pondered packing it in, loading up another hit or stepping off the subway platform, the memory of Aunt Nora's kitchen gently nudged him back to life in the daylight.

Waking up to that now familiar aroma lifted Curt's mood as soon as his bleary eyes opened. The warm waves of scent floated in heavy tendrils to the rear of the apartment and told him that Arthur was there, that someone was home with him.

Curt stretched and yawned like a lion spread over a mound of blankets. He might have drifted back off to sleep if some idle shuffling in the kitchen hadn't broken the stillness. As his senses sluggishly came into focus, the bright, hard corners and straight lines created by the shadows of the morning sun burned pleasantly in his vision. Compared to his escapades a decade ago, last night's bit of drinking was a trifle, and he smiled at himself while thinking of how good it felt to wake up clear-headed and well-rested. He stared blankly ahead as dust particles caught the sun and sunk silently to the floor. He never noticed before how beautiful and still morning could be.

Without warning, an image of Brian snapped into Curt's mind. In one second, the calm was broken. The sun burned in his eyes and his blankets smothered him. Curt frowned and squinted, his brow knitted as if he had just been struck by ten migraines at once. He buried his face in his pillow and yanked the comforter back over himself. Fucking mornings.

"Hey," Arthur appeared in doorway.

The mound of bedcovers groaned grumpily.

"You wanted me to get you up for that thing, right? Your meeting at the studio."

"That was a stupid fucking idea," the covers grunted. "Who schedules meetings on Saturdays?"

"You do, Mr. I Want to Buy a New Studio." Arthur grinned. It was always a good time watching Curt try to wake up.

The heap on the bed moaned in protest. The covers flew back and Curt lay fully exposed to the brightness of day, his straw-colored hair now gleaming in the sun.

"I changed my mind." he drawled as he threw his arms over his face. "The studio we have downstairs is plenty."

Arthur's heart lurched at the word "we."

He stiffened against the doorframe in an effort to suppress the adrenaline rush that coursed through him. Seeing Curt sprawled naked over the bed in a pool of sunlight activated every nerve in his body in one electric moment.

Arthur took a deep breath and sauntered to the bed, planted his knee on the edge and swung over and on top of Curt, covering him completely.

"Oomph!" Curt's breath caught as long legs tightened around him. He squirmed a bit and snaked his arms around Arthur's waist.

"Now that's more like it," Curt purred, "I'm definitely not getting up now."

Arthur nuzzled Curt's neck and felt himself grow suddenly drowsy. "I could fall asleep right here and now, just like how you slept on me all night last night."

"Mmm...you're comfortable though," Curt replied innocently. He ran his hands under Arthur's shirt to the hard, silky skin of his back.

As Curt closed his eyes, he felt a slow, hot mouth moving over his neck in languid kisses. He brought his hands up to stroke Arthur's hair and wrap him in a tight hug.

Arthur lifted his head to meet Curt's eyes. Each regarded the other in a moment of mutual fascination and lust.

"I can still smell whiskey," Arthur smiled. Curt grinned and lunged forward, shoving his tongue roughly into Arthur's mouth and exploring it like probe.

Arthur broke away in mock disgust. "Ack! I can taste it too!" Arthur laughed.

Danger flashed across Curt's eyes— it was the shining, fervid glance of a predator with its prey in the kill zone.

"You love it," he growled, and bucked his pelvis forward to knock Arthur off balance. He swung himself into a more dominant position and claimed Arthur's mouth as his prize. Curt kissed him with boundless energy, and Arthur answered breathlessly, his strong arms gathering Curt and pinning him close.

A low hissing noise spurted from the kitchen, followed by a small, sharp crack.

Curt pulled away slightly. "What was that?" he whispered, suddenly out of breath. Arthur's hands were finding their way to his hardening underside.

"I thought I—ohhh, ah—Arthur, I—oh fuck," Curt's heart started to race in a delicious fever.

"Who cares...it's nothing," Arthur gasped. He now had Curt exactly where he wanted him, though his own erection was pushing painfully inside his jeans.

Curt rested his head on Arthur's shoulder. His eyes were closed, and he was panting softly, moving lightly with the rhythm of Arthur's strong caresses. Arthur's skin burned in anticipation of release.

The doorbell rang.

Arthur squeezed his eyes shut and pretended he didn't hear anything. He worked Curt harder and faster.

It rang again.

Curt clung tensely to Arthur and dug into the sheets, his breath now escaping in quick gasps. His back arched slightly then he shivered once and came with a smooth moan. Arthur felt hot breath on his neck.

The doorbell rang a third time, and it seemed to be getting louder.

"Motherfucker!" Curtripped himselfup and off the bed. Arthur suddenly felt bare and chilly in Curt's absence, though he was still fully clothed.

"Hey, don't you want some clo—" Arthur called after Curt, who had stomped out of the bedroom in his glorious nakedness and was off to throttle their unknown visitor.

Arthur slumped over and snickered when he heard the front door swing open with an indignant yank. He hoped whoever it was would be ready for a full frontal greeting by a very irritated Curt Wild. Strangely, the idea that it could be an unwelcome call never crossed his mind.

Arthur, his nerves still vibrating pleasantly from moments before, made his way into the kitchen, only to find the floor covered in a small lake of black coffee. A hairline crack in the pot had finally given way, shattered by the uninterrupted heat of the whole unit. Hot liquid dripped pathetically from the counter.

Oops. Oh well, tea is much easier anyway. He turned to look for some towels to mop up the mess.

At that moment Curt returned from the front foyer, having grabbed a pair of Arthur's sweatpants on the way. In his fist he held a bottle of wine wrapped in a dark blue ribbon. A small card was tied tightly to the neck. Curt set the bottle on the bar with a loud clunk and surveyed the coffee disaster.

Arthur noticed right away that Curt's face had paled and his hands trembled slightly.

"What the hell, man," Curt remarked, trying unsuccessfully to sound nonchalant. "Coffee pot rebellion."

"Yeah," Arthur's mouth went dry.

Curt straightened. "Well, I'm gonna get a shower, I think." He walked past Arthur, who had frozen in place. Curt paused, turned around, and draped his arms around Arthur's neck. Arthur half-heartedly returned the embrace. He could feel the tremor in Curt's movements, the poor attempts to disguise the anxiety that was now prickling in the air and under their skin.

"I owe you a poke, don't I?" Curt breathed suggestively, though underneath the words his voice was hard and focused. His anger at the delivery licked at his insides and threatened to flare up, so he concentrated on appearing casual. Casual and unconcerned...for Arthur's sake.

Arthur sighed, almost inaudibly. He rested his head on Curt's. "You don't owe me a thing," he whispered, crestfallen and quiet. He wasn't thinking about sex in the least.

Curt kissed him, slow at first but then a bit urgently, and withdrew to the master bathroom with barely a sound.

Arthur remained still for a few more moments until his muscles began to strain. He felt suddenly as if he had been up for days.

He approached the wine bottle and eyed it suspiciously, half-expecting it to burst into snakes or explode in a shower of sparks.

Fox Bay Winery, California. It looked expensive.

Holding his breath, Arthur untied the note.

Sorry about the other day. Just wanted you to know I was thinking about you. Remember this place? The only thing more beautiful than that beach was you. Love, B.

Before he knew what was happening, Arthur found himself touched by the tenderness of the message. Staring at the words alone, a loose script dashed across a heavy bond card, he marveled at their simplicity and sentiment. It seemed unaccountably...sweet.

But the longer he gazed down, the more reality sunk in and the full context of the note came into painful relief. This was a message from Brian.

Brian. That name sent tiny chills zinging through Arthur, and he didn't know what to make of it. However, those sensations quickly gave way to an intense hardness inside him, like tiny claws of ice spreading over glass.

The note crumpled in his fist. He looked at the bottle in his white-knuckled grip, and a feeling very much like rage stirred in the pit of his stomach. One throw, and that's all it would take. One swing and he could hurl the bottle at the door and watch it explode into a thousand pieces.