Like a Virgin
Goodness, I get prolific at the strangest times. *laughs* This is my final drabble request to finish up from April, for yellowsummer who requested Velvet Goldmine, asking for schoolboy!Arthur/Stillfamous!Curt. It just kept going and going. 1,760 words. Still short for my usual stuff but long considering it was supposed to be 100 words (yeah, right). I apologize for the horrible title.
I think the thing I like the most about this is that I wrote it in first-person, present tense, which is something I don't think I've ever done, but it seemed to work, considering the narrative voice of the movie. *sigh* Anyway, this one isn't going to win any contests but I'm happy with it all the same.
Title: Like a Virgin
Date: 27 July 2004
Fandom: Velvet Goldmine
Pairing: Curt/Arthur
Like a Virgin
At a time when dandies were getting high on amphetamines and pixie dust and the sun was a vice for anyone who went out because they played at night I was reduced to only one drug and that was music. Why anyone would want to indulge in something harder that might make the music foggy was a concept I couldn’t understand. All I needed was the radio on loud and I could get as high and happy as anyone.
The major drive for me was the need to acquire more music; that which was played on the radio was not nearly enough. I would buy records when I could and the rest of the time I would stand in the record shop, trying to avoid the prying eyes of my peers who did not think or dress like I, and listen to whatever record they had playing. It was on one such occasion that I was privileged enough to witness an event that I think only fate could have arranged.
A gaggle of girls burst into the shop, squealing and panting and all utterly, charmingly prepubescent. They were rich birds from the West End so what they were doing here was anyone’s guess at first. They made such a grand entrance we all turned to look. The girls, there were three, did not seem to notice the commotion they made or the attention they drew. They paid no one any mind as they immediately were drawn to the W-discs and quickly pulled out Curt Wilde’s record. One squealed in happy abandon and I felt my gut wrenching at the sight of his face on the cover; how I longed to be able to show my enthusiasm like that.
“You’re so lucky!” one of the other girls cheered as, together an inseparable amoeba, they moved to the cash registered and to the bewildered clerk who rung the disc up. “I would have just died if we’d gotten there and you didn’t have anything for him to sign!”
Whatever was tightened in my stomach suddenly exploded and I found myself short of breath. I quickly put back the record I had been looking at and followed the girls out of the record shop as they extracted the disc from it’s brown paper bag, letting the wind blow it away. I didn’t want to seem creepy but really, I was only a few years older than them. I quickened my gait, biting on the blustery air and approached them. “Excuse me,” I asked, sounding far to eager, even to my own ears.
They turned, wide-eyed and curious-they hadn’t recognized me from the store. “Did you say Curt Wilde would be signing your record today?” I managed to ask. It was so simple to speak to them; I had an unknown strength in me from somewhere.
“Well, of course,” the girl who bought the record said. She had a slightly condescending tone but I certainly didn’t care-her words were music to my ears.
“Where?” I demanded, trying to remain polite but losing my patience-somehow I felt if I didn’t know immediately the chance would pass and the girls would vanish without telling me.
“It’s not far,” she answered and then rattled off an address that I burned into my memory like the lyrics to a long cherished song. “It’s in two hours but we’re going to get in line right now!”
“Can I come?” I found myself asking in a horribly eager voice and the girls looked at each other and burst into giggles. Quickly unzipping my jacket I revealed my shirt, covered in buttons and a red scarf that seemed out of place with my pants. “I’m his biggest fan,” I added, quickly.
“Hardly,” she said, tartly. “You didn’t even know he’d be here today.” But they conferred together and agreed that, so long as I didn’t speak to them while in line, they’d let me tag along; I was only too grateful.
I’d had places to be that afternoon but none of it mattered as I stood outside in the drizzle without an umbrella or a friend between me. The feeling was exhilarating. Curt Wilde was only a few feet and a stone wall away from me, signing records in this shop, and everyone around me was beautiful, like me, wearing the right clothing and nodding their heads the right way. I wanted to run out into the street to see them all better and then scream how much I loved them all, but I had to resist.
Instead I listened to conversations and held my tongue when questions were asked that I knew the answers to. So many were fans of Curt’s but many were fans of Brian Slade’s as well and just hearing his name sent thrills up my spine. There was something even more appealing about Brian than Curt, of course, and that was what they published in those news paper articles that my father marked as scandalous: Brian and Curt were lovers. Or, at least, they had been. Or pretended to be. I ached for knowledge of it. I longed to stand in the audience during their concerts and watch them.
When I went I would dress up, not just like one of the rockers in bangles and costume jewelry, abusing liquid lame and nail varnish but as Maxwell Demon himself. And, to what end? There was only one real reason, beyond the desire for fame and fortune and the ability to be myself-I wanted to attract my own Curt Wilde. An uneasy thought at first but one I quickly embraced.
In hours-it felt like weeks-I was inside the building and I could see him sitting up on a dais like a prince. His hair was the longest I’d ever seen it in person and flaxen. He was dressed all in white and furs that made him even more ethereal and pale sitting there, signing, and murmuring to himself. I couldn’t take my eyes off him the entire time the line moved forward and I only wish I had had time to run home to change myself into something more presentable.
There wasn’t time for that. All I could do was stand there like a fool and stare at him and hope that he might glance up and see me and smile. I held my breath for the occasion and then the next thing I knew the three girls in line in front of me were gone, off squealing over what he’d signed and I was standing there, deer in the headlights, and he was staring at me, expectantly.
“Oh, Christ,” I exhaled, terrified and thrilled and hurried up the three steps to his dais, prepared to spout off how I loved his work and what a huge fan I was. Instead, I looked right into his eyes and rushed out, “I love you.” My ears immediately went red, not so much from the blunder but from the way his eyes brows moved and his lips smiled. He curved into an impish grin as I stood there, immobile and awed, and his lips parted to reveal his teeth behind them.
“All you need is love,” he said back to me, quoting some almost forgotten genius and keeping his eyes on mine. I remained motionless. He titled his head then, his chin jutting out just a bit, nodding. “Got something for me to sign?”
His voice was raw like he’d been screaming and chain smoking cigarettes and coupled with his rough American accent I was certain I’d never heard anything more sultry in my life. It took several moments for his words to register in my brain. Then, I felt something horrible grab my heart and squeeze. I’d brought nothing for him to sign! Just the thought of seeing him had spurned me on. “N-no,” I finally squeaked, mortified he might now construe me an imbecile. “I just wanted to see you.”
Curt rewarded me with a dazzling smile and I think my heart stopped. How could anyone resist that look? He was so gorgeous I couldn’t breath. And, he wasn’t laughing at me or making fun of me, he was just smiling. “You’re beautiful,” I managed to whisper.
Aware of voices behind me, because I was holding up the line, and because Curt’s eyes darted past me to whoever was eagerly standing behind me, I shifted. I didn’t want to go. I wanted to just stand there while he signed, just to be in his presence. “Thanks,” he said in a gravely rough tone, and then his eyes were back on mine. “I could sign your hand.”
“Go out with me? For coffee?” I heard myself say, numb in my ears. I was laughing inside, dying, drowning and he was looking at me with bright eyes, ringed in mascara. I was memorizing every moment.
He laughed but it wasn’t mocking me. He didn’t answer. In fact, we said nothing at all after that but he got to his feet and for a moment I thought he was going to go with me, right then, and leave everyone standing in line and if he had I think I would have died and woken up in hell; I'd sell my soul to the Devil for less than that. Instead, he put one hand on the table separating us and used the other to grab my shirt and pull me close.
The next thing I knew his mouth was on mine and not just kissing me but kissing me-tongue and teeth and behind me there was squeals and noises and maybe even a few cameras flashing. I managed to finally kiss back-my first kiss ever and with Curt Wilde no less!-precariously dangling over the table, unable to comprehend that it was real except for the stale taste of cigarettes in Curt’s mouth and how very warm his tongue felt and then it was over and he was sitting back down again, smoothing out his furs and I rocked back on my feet, my eyes wide and my heart pounding.
One of the security officers took my arm and led me down the dais and it wasn’t until I was standing a distance away from him and several more people had gotten their records signed that I chanced a glance to the dais to see if it really was him. Curt, in mid-signature, lifted his pen and glanced over at me. He didn’t smile or even look very long but it was enough.
It had happened and, dare I say, I think Curt had even enjoyed it.
I know I had.
I think the thing I like the most about this is that I wrote it in first-person, present tense, which is something I don't think I've ever done, but it seemed to work, considering the narrative voice of the movie. *sigh* Anyway, this one isn't going to win any contests but I'm happy with it all the same.
Title: Like a Virgin
Date: 27 July 2004
Fandom: Velvet Goldmine
Pairing: Curt/Arthur
Like a Virgin
At a time when dandies were getting high on amphetamines and pixie dust and the sun was a vice for anyone who went out because they played at night I was reduced to only one drug and that was music. Why anyone would want to indulge in something harder that might make the music foggy was a concept I couldn’t understand. All I needed was the radio on loud and I could get as high and happy as anyone.
The major drive for me was the need to acquire more music; that which was played on the radio was not nearly enough. I would buy records when I could and the rest of the time I would stand in the record shop, trying to avoid the prying eyes of my peers who did not think or dress like I, and listen to whatever record they had playing. It was on one such occasion that I was privileged enough to witness an event that I think only fate could have arranged.
A gaggle of girls burst into the shop, squealing and panting and all utterly, charmingly prepubescent. They were rich birds from the West End so what they were doing here was anyone’s guess at first. They made such a grand entrance we all turned to look. The girls, there were three, did not seem to notice the commotion they made or the attention they drew. They paid no one any mind as they immediately were drawn to the W-discs and quickly pulled out Curt Wilde’s record. One squealed in happy abandon and I felt my gut wrenching at the sight of his face on the cover; how I longed to be able to show my enthusiasm like that.
“You’re so lucky!” one of the other girls cheered as, together an inseparable amoeba, they moved to the cash registered and to the bewildered clerk who rung the disc up. “I would have just died if we’d gotten there and you didn’t have anything for him to sign!”
Whatever was tightened in my stomach suddenly exploded and I found myself short of breath. I quickly put back the record I had been looking at and followed the girls out of the record shop as they extracted the disc from it’s brown paper bag, letting the wind blow it away. I didn’t want to seem creepy but really, I was only a few years older than them. I quickened my gait, biting on the blustery air and approached them. “Excuse me,” I asked, sounding far to eager, even to my own ears.
They turned, wide-eyed and curious-they hadn’t recognized me from the store. “Did you say Curt Wilde would be signing your record today?” I managed to ask. It was so simple to speak to them; I had an unknown strength in me from somewhere.
“Well, of course,” the girl who bought the record said. She had a slightly condescending tone but I certainly didn’t care-her words were music to my ears.
“Where?” I demanded, trying to remain polite but losing my patience-somehow I felt if I didn’t know immediately the chance would pass and the girls would vanish without telling me.
“It’s not far,” she answered and then rattled off an address that I burned into my memory like the lyrics to a long cherished song. “It’s in two hours but we’re going to get in line right now!”
“Can I come?” I found myself asking in a horribly eager voice and the girls looked at each other and burst into giggles. Quickly unzipping my jacket I revealed my shirt, covered in buttons and a red scarf that seemed out of place with my pants. “I’m his biggest fan,” I added, quickly.
“Hardly,” she said, tartly. “You didn’t even know he’d be here today.” But they conferred together and agreed that, so long as I didn’t speak to them while in line, they’d let me tag along; I was only too grateful.
I’d had places to be that afternoon but none of it mattered as I stood outside in the drizzle without an umbrella or a friend between me. The feeling was exhilarating. Curt Wilde was only a few feet and a stone wall away from me, signing records in this shop, and everyone around me was beautiful, like me, wearing the right clothing and nodding their heads the right way. I wanted to run out into the street to see them all better and then scream how much I loved them all, but I had to resist.
Instead I listened to conversations and held my tongue when questions were asked that I knew the answers to. So many were fans of Curt’s but many were fans of Brian Slade’s as well and just hearing his name sent thrills up my spine. There was something even more appealing about Brian than Curt, of course, and that was what they published in those news paper articles that my father marked as scandalous: Brian and Curt were lovers. Or, at least, they had been. Or pretended to be. I ached for knowledge of it. I longed to stand in the audience during their concerts and watch them.
When I went I would dress up, not just like one of the rockers in bangles and costume jewelry, abusing liquid lame and nail varnish but as Maxwell Demon himself. And, to what end? There was only one real reason, beyond the desire for fame and fortune and the ability to be myself-I wanted to attract my own Curt Wilde. An uneasy thought at first but one I quickly embraced.
In hours-it felt like weeks-I was inside the building and I could see him sitting up on a dais like a prince. His hair was the longest I’d ever seen it in person and flaxen. He was dressed all in white and furs that made him even more ethereal and pale sitting there, signing, and murmuring to himself. I couldn’t take my eyes off him the entire time the line moved forward and I only wish I had had time to run home to change myself into something more presentable.
There wasn’t time for that. All I could do was stand there like a fool and stare at him and hope that he might glance up and see me and smile. I held my breath for the occasion and then the next thing I knew the three girls in line in front of me were gone, off squealing over what he’d signed and I was standing there, deer in the headlights, and he was staring at me, expectantly.
“Oh, Christ,” I exhaled, terrified and thrilled and hurried up the three steps to his dais, prepared to spout off how I loved his work and what a huge fan I was. Instead, I looked right into his eyes and rushed out, “I love you.” My ears immediately went red, not so much from the blunder but from the way his eyes brows moved and his lips smiled. He curved into an impish grin as I stood there, immobile and awed, and his lips parted to reveal his teeth behind them.
“All you need is love,” he said back to me, quoting some almost forgotten genius and keeping his eyes on mine. I remained motionless. He titled his head then, his chin jutting out just a bit, nodding. “Got something for me to sign?”
His voice was raw like he’d been screaming and chain smoking cigarettes and coupled with his rough American accent I was certain I’d never heard anything more sultry in my life. It took several moments for his words to register in my brain. Then, I felt something horrible grab my heart and squeeze. I’d brought nothing for him to sign! Just the thought of seeing him had spurned me on. “N-no,” I finally squeaked, mortified he might now construe me an imbecile. “I just wanted to see you.”
Curt rewarded me with a dazzling smile and I think my heart stopped. How could anyone resist that look? He was so gorgeous I couldn’t breath. And, he wasn’t laughing at me or making fun of me, he was just smiling. “You’re beautiful,” I managed to whisper.
Aware of voices behind me, because I was holding up the line, and because Curt’s eyes darted past me to whoever was eagerly standing behind me, I shifted. I didn’t want to go. I wanted to just stand there while he signed, just to be in his presence. “Thanks,” he said in a gravely rough tone, and then his eyes were back on mine. “I could sign your hand.”
“Go out with me? For coffee?” I heard myself say, numb in my ears. I was laughing inside, dying, drowning and he was looking at me with bright eyes, ringed in mascara. I was memorizing every moment.
He laughed but it wasn’t mocking me. He didn’t answer. In fact, we said nothing at all after that but he got to his feet and for a moment I thought he was going to go with me, right then, and leave everyone standing in line and if he had I think I would have died and woken up in hell; I'd sell my soul to the Devil for less than that. Instead, he put one hand on the table separating us and used the other to grab my shirt and pull me close.
The next thing I knew his mouth was on mine and not just kissing me but kissing me-tongue and teeth and behind me there was squeals and noises and maybe even a few cameras flashing. I managed to finally kiss back-my first kiss ever and with Curt Wilde no less!-precariously dangling over the table, unable to comprehend that it was real except for the stale taste of cigarettes in Curt’s mouth and how very warm his tongue felt and then it was over and he was sitting back down again, smoothing out his furs and I rocked back on my feet, my eyes wide and my heart pounding.
One of the security officers took my arm and led me down the dais and it wasn’t until I was standing a distance away from him and several more people had gotten their records signed that I chanced a glance to the dais to see if it really was him. Curt, in mid-signature, lifted his pen and glanced over at me. He didn’t smile or even look very long but it was enough.
It had happened and, dare I say, I think Curt had even enjoyed it.
I know I had.