AUTHOR'S NOTE: silver graciously let me know about the standing "what happened at the studio" challenge, and perhaps this fits the bill. i wrote it last month, and it was posted elsewhere, so sorry to you lovelies who have seen it (just hit delete now!)

TITLE: IN MY NIGHTMARE, YOU FORGIVE ME

DATE: 3 Feb 00

AUTHOR: bolan

ARCHIVE: yes. also on PBU and Rae's site.

SYNOP: Without Curt, Brian can't make his escape.

IN MY NIGHTMARES, YOU FORGIVE ME

By Bolin

"Fuck you, Jerry. Just ... fuck you!"

Divine uncrossed his arms and moved towards the desk, away from his unpleasant client.

"Oh, that's charming, Brian. You've become a true vulgarian. Should we get Curt in here, show him how the student has surpassed the master?"

Jerry shuffled through some papers looking for a lighter. He lit his cigar and took a series of puffs, fueling the flame. Never taking his eyes off of Brian. He squinted through the smoke at his creation. Even frazzled, Brian Slade or Maxwell Demon, whoever the hell he was today, he was glorious. This androgynous creature standing before him had trusted his manager's instincts and together they'd sold the world. The price hadn't been too high as far as Jerry was concerned. Not at all.

"Look Brian, I've told you before. This isn't a game. There's a lot at stake here - not the least of which is a fucking fortune!" He'd promised himself that he wouldn't yell at the boy today, but he was so fucking sick of this conversation. "So sorry I've gotten you too much success and you need some time off to shag your no talent loser boyfriend. Tough shit, my friend." Not a good move today, he suspected.

Jerry took a different tact. He was on dangerous ground and knew it. Brian was brilliant and dangerous, but he was also exhausted and, the older man suspected, more than a little strung out. Advantage Jerry.

With serpentine sincerity, Jerry continued. "But more importantly, Bri, this isn't just about what you want. A lot of people depend on you now. Hey, if it were up to me, I'd say 'to hell with it'. But I can't. I just can't let you let them down."

Brian turned away towards the window, head hung low. He chewed at his thumb, a nervous tic he'd developed. It started to bleed again.

Jerry came up quietly and with a large hand gave the younger man's arm a gentle squeeze. "Alright? Yeah? Are we done with this now?"

"Yeah", Brian said softly, "We're done." Jerry couldn't see how hard Brian's eyes had become.

Over his shoulder, Jerry grinned broadly and took a triumphant pull on his cigar.

Game, set, match.

======================================================

Curt hadn't moved much since Brian had left that afternoon. He was still in the same chair at the bar, chain smoking and tracing water circles on mahogany surface.

"Again?" the bartender offered, nodding toward the half-finished pint.

Curt looked towards the door for the thousandth time, then back to his cigarette. A brief impulse came over him to touch the burning end to the white underside of his wrist. He shook it off. Strange days.

"Mr. Wild?" The bartender again.

Curt shook his head, "nah." His throat hurt from all the talking they'd done last night. He rasped a quiet, "thanks, man."

Today was too important. He'd wait for Brian.

Then he'd get seriously fucked up.

======================================================

Curt held Brian until the sobbing slowed to deep, hitching breaths.

He'd never known such intimacy. And it hurt like hell.

Lost in his thoughts, it took him a minute to realize that Brian was trying to sit up. Curt hadn't realized how tightly he was holding on. The irony didn't escape him. He let go.

For a long time they just sat, side by side, arms touching, backs against the wall, legs splayed out across the wood floor.

"I'm okay", Brian mumbled, looking at his hands for a moment, then meeting Curt's concerned eyes. "I am." He managed a small smile, and for a split second Curt saw the spark. He smiled back, "I know you are, baby".

Brian repositioned himself in front of Curt and looked deeply into his eyes. "I can't do this without you. You know that, right?" Curt nodded. He'd follow Brian to the ends of the earth. And tonight he'd learned for sure that Brian would do the same.

Brian reached out with both hands and stroked Curt's cheeks with his thumbs. "God you're beautiful", his voice soft and full of awe.

Curt laughed. It felt good to laugh. "I think you'd better look in a mirror, Brian. You are perfection in the flesh."

"I'm beautiful because you love me. I know that."

Curt wrapped his arms low around Brian's waist and pulled him closer. He was amazed at how much comfort there was in such a small gesture. Brian's hands were soon tangling themselves in Curt's hair. Curt responded by burying his face in Brian's neck and inhaling deeply.

"You smell like caramel".

Brian giggled then licked behind his Curt's ear. "Mmmm, smoked ham".

Curt laughed and rolled over, pinning Brian to the floor. Brian, who was grinning broadly now. God, that smile.

"Smoked ham? Very nice."

It was a game they'd played often. Each amazed at the other's tastes and textures and smells.

Brian laughed again. The laugh of a child. "Let me try again..." and with that, he reached his arms around Curt's shoulder blades and tugged the black T-shirt over the tangle of wheat colored hair.

He pushed Curt back and Brian straddled his lover's waist and leaned his head forward, rubbing his cheek, then his lips back and forth across the rise and fall of Curt's chest. Curt moaned.

"Mmmm . . . definitely apples".

He raised his face and brushed his lips against Curt's. Barely touching, they breathed together. "I love you." Hours later, it wouldn't matter who'd said it first. But this night it would be said a hundred times over. A mantra whispered and screamed to keep the wolves at bay.

======================================================

In the morning, Curt woke before Brian, got up and wandered onto the balcony. Reaching for some matches, he smiled, letting his mind wander back to last night. He wasn't aware of his thumb thoughtfully stroking his lower lip. He was lost in the taste of oak and cinnamon on his tongue.

Outside, the dawn was just breaking. A car horn broke his reverie.

It was going to be a long fucking day, he thought.

======================================================

They didn't speak during the short ride to the studio. They didn't even look at each other.

The driver opened the door on Brian's side. Brian turned to Curt.

"You ready?"

"No." Curt's eyes began welling up. "Shit." he glared, angry with himself, surprised at his own emotion. "I'm sorry. I just..."

Brian leaned in, "If we don't do this now - right now - we're done for, Curt. You know that."

Curt held his gaze and nodded, pulling it together.

Brian threw his arms around him and whispered, "I love you. This is forever." They held each other for just a split second before Curt pushed him away - "So what the fuck are you waiting for? Go on. Get out."

======================================================

The rest was a blur. Forget the ends of the earth - they went to straight to hell.

You know most of it -

The fight at the studio.

The explosive break up of Brian Slade and Curt Wild. The press had a field day with that one.

The final phone call to Jerry Divine. Just part of the game.

Then there was the shooting.

The lynching.

Curt's public morning. His rage.

And Mandy, the one true victim.

And then, Brian was just ... gone.

======================================================

Curt prowled the street. It was his ritual. His brain was coming unscrewed and he knew he had to keep moving. "Me and the fucking sharks," he thought.

He stumbled. Choked on a laugh. His clouded mind had trouble focussing. He'd started using again. He turned his collar up against the cold Berlin damp. Keep moving.

"And fuck you too, Brian".

Too much time had passed. It had slowly dawned on Curt that he'd been played like everyone else. Curt was just the last to know.

Brian's great plan.

"Curt, I have a way, but I need your help."

How great it'd be, the two of them running off like fucking Bogart and whatshername in Casablanca. Of course, the fucking bitch left him too, didn't she?

"I can't do this without you."

Apparently he could.

"I love you."

That was the one that hurt. That was the one that he thought of every time he pushed the needle in and felt the warm comfort of nothingness.

Now that's love.

Curt looked up, past the rooftops, into the night sky. The clouds were breaking up. That was good, he thought, although he didn't know why.

"Stop fucking haunting me!" he screamed.

He stumbled again, and this time fell. He laughed. Or cried. He couldn't tell the difference anymore. It didn't matter. It was over. He'd known it this morning. Known when he'd shot up in the bathroom. He'd go back tonight and shoot up again. And again. And one more time, if he could pull it off.

"This is forever."

It is tonight, baby. It is tonight.

END