ya know what? two-fir-one! this story is going to be fairly long and the next chap definitely is -- and quite frankly, i just love this chapter! so enjoy!

------t-a-k-e---t-w-o---p-e-o-p-l-e---r-o-m-a-n-t-i-c------

Chapter Two: Painful Memories ("Demon in my View")

"You could be my main man."

How true those words had become. It wasn't just a stunt for the "adoring" public. No, they'd pretty much realised from the start there was a connection -- love or lust, it wasn't quite clear. Maybe a mix of both. But it was most definitely there. Brian had kept Curt in his heart since the first time he had seen him, spazzing about on stage like a nutter, and Curt had fallen for him after they had first met properly, when he had looked into Brian's blue eyes and saw the undeniable wanting in them.

Brian was hard to resist. He was damned beautiful in body, for one. That flawless, effeminate face, those high cheekbones and smooth cheeks. The beautiful, pouty, pink lips. His eyes. Not as intriguing as Curt's constantly-shifting-in-colour eyes, they were engaging. He was beautiful in mind, for two. You knew there was a sharp, if shrewd, mind behind those calculating blues, whereas sometimes Curt's chameleon eyes, despite their emotiveness, could go so vacant as to make one wonder how badly fucked from heroin he still was. Both Brian and Curt had their fair share of demons from their pasts still haunting them, affecting everyday. It made them a fair match for one another...against each other.

Curt acted out, still. Brian tried to be the greatest -- and pretty much achieved it. Curt was...intense, spastic. Brian was analytical, materialistic -- it was all about the image, the fame. Both had a temper to be reckoned with, and a gift with words. Curt could be more physically violent, but Brian had honed his eloquence to a perfected art. His words stung badly. And for all their consuming love -- Curt, it could be said, thought the Sun shone out Brian's ass, and in turn it could be said that Brian believed Curt hung the stars -- there were a good deal of fiery disagreements. Though he was more built, when Brian laid into him, Curt rarely fought back full-force. There were many parallels between Brian and Arik, and just like he was a little boy again, Curt would let Brian more often than not have his way with him.

"What the bloody hell were you thinking, Curt! Were you thinking?"

"Oh, excuse the fuck outta me. I did something to piss God-Maxwell off."

"You belligerent sod. You fucking stripped down --"

"That's never bothered you before."

" -- on fucking stage during MY concert! What the bloody hell were you thinking?"

Curt had reclined back on the sofa. He knocked back a swig of beer. Brian stood before him, hands balled into fists, face red from fuming, eyes murderous and gleaming. Curt reflected how even more striking Brian was pissed off. Or maybe he was beautiful to Curt when he was pissed off and on a coke buzz -- like he was now -- because he was the most volatile then.

Curt shrugged, and smiled slightly as he saw the irritated twinge of Brian's muscles. Curt kind of liked to pluck at that frayed last nerve like an ecstatic beginning violinist.

"Hey," he said to Brian, sitting back up. He took another swig of beer. "Give me a minute to shoot up so we can fight fair."

The slap was vicious -- hard and sudden. If he had been standing, Curt might've very rightly been spun round. As it were, his head was snapped to the left, and he fell to the side.

"Ah!" Curt winced, tentatively putting his hand gingerly to his smarting right cheek. It stung badly from the brutal slap, but not only that, Brian had curved his fingers and raked his nails down Curt's cheek as well. Bringing his hand back before him, Curt saw little droplets of red upon it. "You fucker! You drew blood, you goddamned Demon!"

"And I'll do it again, you junky whore."

Curt got to his feet. "Better than a delusional asshole. Maxwell owns you, Brian!"

"How the hell would you know, Curt? I'd figure you were too busy shooting junk into what veins you can find and having fits of suddenly stripping to notice me."

" 'Shooting junk into what veins I can find'? What about you, you fuckin' hypocrite? You snort coke like you were breathing goddamned air!"

"At least I haven't had this habit since I was fourteen!"

"I had a fuckin' reason! If you weren't such a pansy to start with, I might say you had one, too. But y'know? -- I don't think you honestly do!" Curt's gravelly voice was breaking.

"You couldn't bloody comprehend if I laid it out for you. It's 'cos I have a bloody career! I'm the fucking God of Glitter -- I am Maxwell Demon! I'm a bleeding icon! What? -- you think just 'cos I didn't have an older brother fucking around with me that I don't have a reason to want an escape every now and again? No, Curt. My reason is more valid than yours. Mine is in the here and now, not some over-replayed memory of a perverted older brother and shocks!"

He wanted to kill him. He could feel the barely contained rage boiling like lava before a volcano blows its top. What unnerved him was the lust that burned right along with it. He wanted to throw Brian against a wall and fuck him where he stood.

Curt knew Brian could tell the fiery hot look in his now greenish-blue eyes; he could tell Brian was weighing things in his mind -- his blue eyes got shifty when he was evaluating crap.

Suddenly they came together in a brutal kiss, Curt making sure to nip Brian's lip hard enough to bring blood and elicit a yelp -- payback for the bitchy cat move Bri had pulled a few minutes ago. In response -- besides the yelp -- the hand that was raking back through Curt's long, bleached yellow-blond hair fisted tight within the soft locks and yanked hard. Curt pushed him hard into the wall reflexively, but they didn't break apart for another moment.

Heated gazes were riveted upon each other. The emotions that could be read in either's eyes was a motley combination: lust, anger, hatred, love, confusion, understanding, even a little fear, hurt, comfort. It was a whole array of conflicting emotions -- one would think that the opposite of one emotion would cancel out the other, but somehow, in Brian and Curt, both managed to be present and equal. Bri was laughing.

Out of nowhere, Brian's coveted platform boot connected with Curt's left thigh, on the side. And then Brian made to pounce on him as he sunk to the floor. Curt immediately counteracted/reacted to that by moving with Brian's move and rolling him to the side. Curt then rolled atop of him. God, Brian was so beautiful.

They were fighting again. Soon they were both spent -- literally and figuratively -- laying naked in each other's arms amidst the wreck of the living room -- a mess of battered objects and shredded clothes. Curt lay half on top of Brian, an arm and leg thrown protectively, possessively across him. He'd sort of always done that since they started sleeping together.

"Am I like your brother, Curt?" Brian asked, his fingers idly tracing patterns upon the back of Curt's hand that lay upon his chest.

"No, you're not like him," Curt half-lied. There were obvious parallels. But Curt had to wonder if that was of his making or if it was truly Brian.

"Nobody owns me, Curt," Brian said stiffly after a long pause. Was he replaying the entire damned conversation over in his head, or did that just poke at him like a thorn?

"You're blind if you think so. As great as you are, you're a slave to Maxwell Demon, and Jerry and the public own you. Hell, Mandy and I should own you."

"So if I was just a lowly side-act like you I'd be free?" Brian snapped, pressing a fingernail hard into the back of Curt's hand. His fingers twitched, but he rather liked the small pain. It distracted him from the sting of Brian's words.

"No. If you were like me, a lot of other things would own you," Curt whispered in his smoke-roughened voice. "You own my heart." Those words were almost inaudible. He felt Bri just shrug.

"Bugger it," Brian said, dismissing the events of the last two hours. He stretched, yawning. "I'd really prefer the bed to this bloody floor."

And so they headed back to Brian's room and got in bed. They just lay close, as they had upon the floor, no real trace left of the earlier confrontation save for the bruises, scratches, and now-buried memories.

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All the love Curt had ever known throughout his life was always accompanied by cruelty. Curt had loved Brian Slade dearly -- it was different from his relationship with Arik, but all the same, he was rewarded with a harsh consequence, with guilt and pain. With Arik, it had been the shock treatment. With Brian, it had firstly been the break up, then the faked death, and now...just this horrid pain of emptiness. And it hurt so bad. Hurt too bad...

(The lyric in the page break is from "2HB" by Thom Yorke and the Venus in Furs)