Ficlet: On-His-Knees (1/1)
Jun. 25th, 2006 11:46 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
salixbabylonTitle/Prompt: "On-His-Knees" from the 28-fics-meme (30 actually)
Pairing: Brian Slade/Curt Wild for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
helena_s_renn
Author:salixbabylon
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 210
Disclaimer: Characters and places in this story, which appear in the movie "Velvet Goldmine," belong to James Lyons, Todd Haynes, and Miramax Films. I don't make, or intend to make money out of them.
Curt reflected while he was on his knees that it was trippy the way publicity stunts and reality never quite matched up.
On stage, Brian was the obvious fag, the effete. Always pressed and powdered and made up to look like some porcelain doll, slightly untouchable but imminently fuckable. And Curt was the bad boy, dirty in his leather, wild and unpredictable. Naughty and more than a little insane.
In the bedroom, though... Well, there was nothing unpredictable in the bedroom. Brian was the one on his knees on stage; in the bedroom, he never let Curt forget which one of them was really the dirty whore and which one of them was slumming. Which one of them was rescued from pathetic failure and which one had made the other a star just by associating with him.
Which one was actually in love with the other.
Brian played at love, dressed up in it like so much glam and glitz, and just as phony. Curt was the one who felt it, suffered for it, bled for it. The one full of shame and longing, and burning messy feelings that had no place with Brian's iced perfection. Kneeling, knowing he'd never be good enough for the beautiful porcelain doll he loved.
~end~
Pairing: Brian Slade/Curt Wild for
helena_s_rennAuthor:
salixbabylonRating: PG-13
Word Count: 210
Disclaimer: Characters and places in this story, which appear in the movie "Velvet Goldmine," belong to James Lyons, Todd Haynes, and Miramax Films. I don't make, or intend to make money out of them.
Curt reflected while he was on his knees that it was trippy the way publicity stunts and reality never quite matched up.
On stage, Brian was the obvious fag, the effete. Always pressed and powdered and made up to look like some porcelain doll, slightly untouchable but imminently fuckable. And Curt was the bad boy, dirty in his leather, wild and unpredictable. Naughty and more than a little insane.
In the bedroom, though... Well, there was nothing unpredictable in the bedroom. Brian was the one on his knees on stage; in the bedroom, he never let Curt forget which one of them was really the dirty whore and which one of them was slumming. Which one of them was rescued from pathetic failure and which one had made the other a star just by associating with him.
Which one was actually in love with the other.
Brian played at love, dressed up in it like so much glam and glitz, and just as phony. Curt was the one who felt it, suffered for it, bled for it. The one full of shame and longing, and burning messy feelings that had no place with Brian's iced perfection. Kneeling, knowing he'd never be good enough for the beautiful porcelain doll he loved.
