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Chapter Seven: "Glam"

Brian had been many things. "Fashion whore" was one that Curt himself had labelled Brian. It was not as if it was not completely obvious, but giving it a label had emphasised it.

Curt wouldn't be caught dead in most of Brian's clothes. He was fairly simple himself -- shirt in a solid colour or two or three. Pants -- jeans or leather. No underwear, but he couldn't hold that against Brian because he didn't wear any either. But Brian -- neon colours, shimmers, sparkles, sequins, chiffon, taffeta, silk, satin, polyester, cotton, leather -- every blinking thing possible under the sun. Extravagant, flamboyant, diva, dynamic, and of course, fairy. But damn the beautiful bastard, he'd rubbed off on his spastic, grungy lover. Just a bit.

"You'd make a beautiful bird," Brian sniggered one night as they kicked back in their room. He was positively sloshing he was so smashed. He smudged a thumb in the eyeliner at the corner of Curt's eye.

"Yeah, and you are one," Curt shot back. he wasn't quite as tipsy as Brian, but he couldn't get the absurd grin off his face. Champagne did some funny things.

Brian laughed again. A film of sudden sobriety -- but only fleeting for the moment -- came over Brian's cerulean eyes as he rolled atop Curt, leaning back and straddling the American's hips. He looked down upon Curt, head cocked to the side.

"You're my music."

Curt gave him an incredulous look at the out-of-the-blue remark, and blinked. "What?"

Brian smiled dreamily -- dazzling -- as his soft fingers tracing patterns on the centre of Curt's chest. He "walked" his index and middle fingers up Curt's chest and neck, then framed one side of the handsome face, thumb brushing idly over the cleft in his chin. Hot, electric blue eyes locked with dazed slate blue ones. "I need to tart you up," Bri said simply.

"What? -- No."

"Oh, c'mon,Curt. All you wear is that bloody eyeliner. The only time I ever saw you wear anything else on you makeup-wise was when you shook that glitter on you."

"I was high that night."

Brian leaned forward, close. "I knew I loved you that night. Envied, and wanted." Wanted to be, wanted to know. His breath was hot against Curt's ear. He tried to shift his position just a bit -- his beloved leather pants were becoming all too tight and confining -- but he couldn't. Brian had his ass placed just right, effectively pinning him.

Bri smiled wickedly. He knew quite well what he was doing. "Unh-uh, love. Say yes."

"Bri..."

"Hm?"

Curt rolled his eyes. How bad could it be? He could wash it off in a couple of hours, Brian's whims satisfied as well as the over-eager part of his own anatomy. He sighed heavily, noting the bright spark victory brought to Brian's eyes. He positively glowed. Heart-stopping.

"Fine."

"Ah, now, love. That wasn't so hard, was it?" Damn those full lips and his wicked charm.

Brian dragged Curt from the plush comfort of the bed, leading him as if he were a small child. He plopped Curt down in the low-backed chair in front of the vanity in the master bathroom. A mess of a wide array of makeup was strewn all across the marble countertop. Curt looked at his reflection in the large mirror that ran the length of the wall above the top of the vanity. He looked as he had always had since he had joined up with Brian Slade -- with the shoulder-length bleach-blond hair and the smudged kohl-lined eyes. The rest was how it had been forever: Haunted, soulful eyes that would be damned if they would stay the same colour for too long. Straight nose. Lips and mouth ever the same -- the phrase "You kiss your mother with that mouth?" came to mind. No, he hadn't since about age six, which was good because since then, his mouth had been in some very interesting places. His tongue wet his bottom lip unconsciously. There was the little mole on his right cheek -- he turned his head -- and the one on the left side of his neck. More elsewhere. He looked back at the mirror. Brian's hot eyes glittered at his shoulder in the dim light. The blue and green-shaded lids slid down over them as Brian closed his eyes as he kissed the side of Curt's neck. Had he said something? Curt didn't know. All too suddenly, he was tripping down a vague memory lane -- he couldn't say exactly what he was feeling, but it was that sensation of, "I went from there to here. Damn."

He felt Brian's warm breath in his ear, then: "Are you ready to be made up, then?"

Curt took a deep breath. "Do your fuckin' thing." He cut Brian a look -- "make me look like a clown and I'll kill you in a really diabolical way" kind of look -- but also could not help a little smile. "Brian's fuckin' thing". He had quite a few, actually. Brian smiled back, and then -- surprising Curt -- climbed into his lover's lap and straddled him, compact of eyeshadow in hand. There was a range of cool colours in little squares within the handheld black case.

"Close your eyes, Curt."

Curt realised then that he had been staring. With a resigned sigh as he bit back his retort of "Yes, Master," Curt relaxed and his eyelids fluttered down, coppery lashes feathery against his pale cheeks. The smooth, gentle strokes with which Brian applied the makeup were hypnotic, and Curt found himself lulled into like a meditative state. All past Brian's hands, his body -- the heat it radiated, the weight of it in Curt's lap -- his soft, open-mouthed breath (Brian never could put on makeup or concentrate with his mouth closed) -- nothing existed past that. No Mandy, no Jerry, no contracts, no obligations -- just desires. Him and Brian. Elemental. Primal. And so very fairy.

"So, Bri," Curt said, eyes still closed as Brian buffed a coral blush on his cheekbones. "This your makeup, or dear Mandy's?" His voice carried a faint underlying bitterness at Mandy's name. She and Curt had never gotten on. Their only connection was an undying love of Brian. And that was it.

"A bit of both." Brian didn't think it quite necessary to elaborate that after he and Curt had started sleeping together, Mandy had decided to take a good deal of "more-needed" items down to a guest room. She had left some things, though, if only to show Brian she was still his wife.

Brian didn't understand why she was so testy about Curt...though, he could think of what her reason was. Curt was not just a passing fancy or a fallback shag. Curt was something more. Mandy was entitled to feel threatened. He was encroaching on territory that had once firmly been hers. No matter. Brian wanted them both. And he always got what he wanted. That's why he was such a big star. That's why Curt was here -- hell, that's why they were here in the bathroom, Curt beneath him as he dolled him up. Brian had wanted it. And he got it.

Curt's lips parted softly, unconsciously, as Brian applied something to his lips...and as he registered the fact, his eyes flashed open and narrowed, a searing cobalt in colour, as he jerked his head back.

"I'm not a fuckin' girl; no fuckin' lipstick, Bri."

"It looks quite nice, actually."

Curt turned his head and caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. But he didn't at first see his own face in the mirror. He saw someone else's... A familiar face, with bloodred lips, much as his were now. Pale brown freckles across tan skin. Hair a little longer than his own, unruly and golden-brown. And impossible, big grey-greenish-brown eyes.

The almost-forgotten memory was shattered when Brian grabbed his chin and turned Curt's face back toward him and kissed him hard. When he pulled back, red was smeared upon his own lips.

"I guess I'm finished," Brian sighed, crawling off of Curt's lap and circling behind him again. Again, he ducked his head near Curt's ear. "What d'you think?"

"Whadda--?" Curt looked at his reflection in the mirror -- this time seeing himself -- knowing that Brian was observing his every expression. "It's...okay. It looks..." He couldn't force out the word.

Truth was, he did not look bad at all. The shadow upon his eyes went from a mauve purple on the inside, fading into a cobalt blue in the centre, to fade out in straight silver at the outer edge. Not overly striking, but it complimented his eyes and wasn't too stark against his pale hair. His lips were striking -- everything else was subdued, but his lips stood out. He didn't look half-bad -- maybe even good -- but Curt Wild would never be a makeup kind of guy. He liked his eyeliner. It was dark, dramatic. Kind of symbolic to him. And the colour of his lips had somehow dislodged a forgotten memory that still ached.

"When can I take this off?"

"Oh, c'mon, Curt. You're such a killjoy. You do look nice. Sexy."

"Yeah, but I'm not cool with this, man."

"What? Bad flashback? You never mentioned your brother put you in drag."

"Look," Curt said, temper suddenly flaring. "I ain't never been in drag in my entire life, okay? Second -- my brother only wanted sex, end of story."

"Bloody hell, I -- I didn't mean anything by it."

"Yeah, well."

Brian gave Curt a pretty pink pout, which Curt pointedly ignored. The nibbling on the side of his neck was harder to ignore.

"I am sorry," Brian whispered in his ear. He nipped at it.

Curt shivered. "Nevermind it," he said, voice still tight.

"C'mon, let's wash it off."

Brian grabbed Curt's hand and dragged him into the adjoining room, which held the shower, tub and toilet and dragged him into the shower. As soon as the spray of hot water hit his face and he felt Brian's gentle hands begin to wash him, the old memories began to fade, locked back into their mental box again. He turned to Brian, blond hair plastered to his scalp, strands haphazardly stuck to the side of his face, makeup streaming down it. He pushed Brian back against the back wall and kissed him hard, desperate, biting his lip. When they finally pulled apart, the red that painted their lips was now from blood, not only the remnants of the lipstick. It comforted Curt, absurdly enough. Pain was something he knew.

"Bri..."

Brian looked into Curt's eyes, a pained, haunted opaque grey-green. Make it right, they said. Make me hurt. I need to feel. Brian knew Curt hated how much his eyes revealed about his heart. He also knew that on a certain level, he -- as Brian himself did -- equated hurt --pain --with love.

He willingly obliged Curt. Curt was, after all, his -- Brian's.

(The lyric in the page break is from "Sebastian" by Jonathan Rhys-Meyers)