Velvet [4/5]
TITLE: Velvet.
DISCLAIMER: I don't own The Strokes, of course I wish I had Julian's lips and Nicky's hair. but it's not gonna happen. as well as all the dirty fantasies I have about them. This story is a product of my sick imagination, not written for profit. Apologies to all the parties involved.
SUMMARY: Too many drinks, too many emotions bubbling over the surface. sparkling stars dancing. a touch so familiar.
The piercing sound of a siren penetrates the tick fog of my sleep and I wake up in the darkness.
It's night in New York City.
Should I go out?
Go out, find a cheap fuck and get totally wasted?
Should I?
My throat is parched. Raw.
I need to drink something.
I need to get totally wrecked.
Blind drunk.
I try to take a swing from the bottle of Jake Daniels but the whiskey burns my mouth and I almost choke.
"Very smooth Valensi..."
Fuck.
I walk into the dark kitchen, open the fridge and grab a bottle of water.
I drink almost half of it in one go and then I collapse on the floor.
I am still naked.
I sit up, my back against the cold countertop.
The light of the fridge paints shadows on the walls and I can taste the aloness of this place in my mouth.
The aloness of this apartment.
The aloness of this life.
Am I too young to feel this way?
Am I entitled to feel this way?
Shouldn't I count my blessings? I can play a mean guitar. I can shag anyone I fancy. I have money to buy a swanky apartment and all the drugs I can think of. Shouldn't I count my blessing?
Shouldn't I?
Shouldn't I?
I am crying again.
Whimpering like a fucking child.
"Julian..."
I don't know for how long I've been sitting here.
Crying. Clutching the empty bottle of water.
Shivering.
My body aching.
My nose running.
My breathing troubled. Ragged.
"I want you so badly..."
There.
I said it.
I don't even realize I've thought the words, until I hear my voice saying them out loud.
I want him.
I need him.
Man... I am totally fucked up.
Totally fucked up.
Why now? Why for fuck sake?
Do I just want another fuck?
Am I so shallow, so twisted that I want to fuck my best friend because he's beautiful?
Because he's the most beautiful person I have ever seen?
Because he has the softest, most luscious mouth?
Because he smells so damn good?
Because he has the saddest eyes?
Because I have committed to memory every nuance of his voice?
Because it was me to hold him up, while was shaking like a leaf, paralyzed by fear, the first time we played on TV?
Because I know how much he needs to be there?
To be up there, with the lights burning his soft skin and all of us making a fucking great racket around him?
I need him.
Now.
Tomorrow.
Always.
I don't know why.
I don't know how.
I don't know if it's just lust or if it's more.
I am confused and desperate and it hurts so much, I think I'll just stay here forever.
By the fridge.
Naked.
I cannot possibly move.
There is no reason to move.
I don't want to go anywhere.
I don't ever want to move again.
Ever.
Ever.
Ever.
I stare into nothing, chewing my bottom lip. Tasting dried blood in my mouth.
I'll just stay here.
Alone.
The telephone starts ringing, but I am not going to answer.
I don't even contemplate the idea of moving.
It rings for what it seems forever and then it stops.
Thank you.
I start counting the tiles on the floor. Adding and subtracting. And every number is a letter and this fucking ouija board in my head spells only your name. Julian.
Julian.
Julian.
Julian my best friend.
The incredibly beautiful Julian.
Julian so fragile, opening his eyes to look at me.
Julian...
I am drowning...
Another sound brings me up to the surface.
Someone is rapping at my door.
Loudly.
I am not going to move.
Louder now.
Banging.
I am not going to move.
"Nick open the fucking door!!! I know you are in there!"
His voice. Angry laced with worry.
His golden, syrupy voice.
"Nick open the door. Nick... Please open the door..."
His throaty, velvety voice.
I crawl out of the kitchen.
Supporting myself on the walls as I make it to the bedroom. Grab my discarded jeans and pull it on.
And I am in front of the door.
And he is on the other side.
And I can't think of anything but him.
And I can't think.
I can't move.
I press my face against the smooth surface.
"Nick... Open the bloody door.... Please..."
He's on the other side.
The softness of his voice humming in my head.
Traveling the entire length of my body.
DISCLAIMER: I don't own The Strokes, of course I wish I had Julian's lips and Nicky's hair. but it's not gonna happen. as well as all the dirty fantasies I have about them. This story is a product of my sick imagination, not written for profit. Apologies to all the parties involved.
SUMMARY: Too many drinks, too many emotions bubbling over the surface. sparkling stars dancing. a touch so familiar.
The piercing sound of a siren penetrates the tick fog of my sleep and I wake up in the darkness.
It's night in New York City.
Should I go out?
Go out, find a cheap fuck and get totally wasted?
Should I?
My throat is parched. Raw.
I need to drink something.
I need to get totally wrecked.
Blind drunk.
I try to take a swing from the bottle of Jake Daniels but the whiskey burns my mouth and I almost choke.
"Very smooth Valensi..."
Fuck.
I walk into the dark kitchen, open the fridge and grab a bottle of water.
I drink almost half of it in one go and then I collapse on the floor.
I am still naked.
I sit up, my back against the cold countertop.
The light of the fridge paints shadows on the walls and I can taste the aloness of this place in my mouth.
The aloness of this apartment.
The aloness of this life.
Am I too young to feel this way?
Am I entitled to feel this way?
Shouldn't I count my blessings? I can play a mean guitar. I can shag anyone I fancy. I have money to buy a swanky apartment and all the drugs I can think of. Shouldn't I count my blessing?
Shouldn't I?
Shouldn't I?
I am crying again.
Whimpering like a fucking child.
"Julian..."
I don't know for how long I've been sitting here.
Crying. Clutching the empty bottle of water.
Shivering.
My body aching.
My nose running.
My breathing troubled. Ragged.
"I want you so badly..."
There.
I said it.
I don't even realize I've thought the words, until I hear my voice saying them out loud.
I want him.
I need him.
Man... I am totally fucked up.
Totally fucked up.
Why now? Why for fuck sake?
Do I just want another fuck?
Am I so shallow, so twisted that I want to fuck my best friend because he's beautiful?
Because he's the most beautiful person I have ever seen?
Because he has the softest, most luscious mouth?
Because he smells so damn good?
Because he has the saddest eyes?
Because I have committed to memory every nuance of his voice?
Because it was me to hold him up, while was shaking like a leaf, paralyzed by fear, the first time we played on TV?
Because I know how much he needs to be there?
To be up there, with the lights burning his soft skin and all of us making a fucking great racket around him?
I need him.
Now.
Tomorrow.
Always.
I don't know why.
I don't know how.
I don't know if it's just lust or if it's more.
I am confused and desperate and it hurts so much, I think I'll just stay here forever.
By the fridge.
Naked.
I cannot possibly move.
There is no reason to move.
I don't want to go anywhere.
I don't ever want to move again.
Ever.
Ever.
Ever.
I stare into nothing, chewing my bottom lip. Tasting dried blood in my mouth.
I'll just stay here.
Alone.
The telephone starts ringing, but I am not going to answer.
I don't even contemplate the idea of moving.
It rings for what it seems forever and then it stops.
Thank you.
I start counting the tiles on the floor. Adding and subtracting. And every number is a letter and this fucking ouija board in my head spells only your name. Julian.
Julian.
Julian.
Julian my best friend.
The incredibly beautiful Julian.
Julian so fragile, opening his eyes to look at me.
Julian...
I am drowning...
Another sound brings me up to the surface.
Someone is rapping at my door.
Loudly.
I am not going to move.
Louder now.
Banging.
I am not going to move.
"Nick open the fucking door!!! I know you are in there!"
His voice. Angry laced with worry.
His golden, syrupy voice.
"Nick open the door. Nick... Please open the door..."
His throaty, velvety voice.
I crawl out of the kitchen.
Supporting myself on the walls as I make it to the bedroom. Grab my discarded jeans and pull it on.
And I am in front of the door.
And he is on the other side.
And I can't think of anything but him.
And I can't think.
I can't move.
I press my face against the smooth surface.
"Nick... Open the bloody door.... Please..."
He's on the other side.
The softness of his voice humming in my head.
Traveling the entire length of my body.