(Untitled)

[wildcurt]

Continued from here.

In all honesty, Brian hadn't explored overmuch beyond the compound. He didn't know where was safe and where wasn't, and with the mindset that he had been left in there was little opportunity to meet people beyond mindgames. And so as Curt took his hand, he followed, not knowing where he was going, but going all the same

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[demon_slade]

While Brian's lips lingered in place, his hands continued liifting until Curt was freed of the offending garment. Beneath his touch, Brian could feel the way Curt slid so easily into him. Into the touches granted and the breaths that flowed from his lips. Curt was always so beautiful when the word slid from his mind. When everything became them alone and Brian could feel it with the way his skin rose and his breath quickened, heart beating more soundly in his chest beneath the settling palm just above its pulse.

"Drift into wherever it will bring you," Brian whispered, lips pursing into a slow stream of air to the beaded form he so intently tortured. "Delve into whatever your body gives to you."

Of course, it was known the power he held here. In so many ways, Brian could abuse it. Mould and work whatever he desired into whatever form suited his thoughts but that was never the case. In this state, with them, that did not belong. Just as Curt held weakness for him as skin came silkenly together, Brian was completely his with the heart that beat for him alone.

[wildcurt]

Drift Curt did. Arms slackened, falling to his sides, and the heady rush of now and here bowed his body toward Brian, yearning and desiring as much touch as good graces would allow. Becoming lost, slipping, bones malleable and resistance weak, naught but the air seemingly held Curt upright, embracing and supporting him as Brian, just Brian, did as he willed.

The world stopped and Curt cried out, a lamentation for what, for him, had been lost but was now found. The lack of this had been the source of his misery for so long, and with each puff of breath, with each slight touch, Brian was teaching him remembrance, remembrance of when things had seemed so very right.

[demon_slade]

The burst of sound echoed from wall to wall and it was so familiar. Within an instant Brian was up, standing at his full height as both hands clasped at either side of Curt's neck and he drew the man in. On his lips he tasted the cry, felt the way it reverberated through Curt's body and he set to devouring it, his kiss so driven in its need. That heady madness was there, just beneath the surface and Brian longed for it.

With a slow cant of the head and a press of the body they were flush together, chests sliding with bare skin together, fitting so right. Oh yes, there would be more. There would be more skin and touching and their connection would leave them both feeling complete as they so ought to be. Only with Curt was Brian ever whole.

[wildcurt]

Curt had never been able to contain his own madness, not since the hospital so long ago (nothing had been fried out of him; on the contrary, things had been rather fried into him), and bare skin upon bare skin was all it took for his madness to consume him. It was simply not enough to feel Brian's chest against his; Curt needed more than this, more than just a taste.

Hands, needy desperate things, lay claim to Brian's hips, rubbing and squeezing and branding with half-crescent moons. Wider his mouth opened, hungry, starving for more of Brian. Shifting, urgent, Curt found that patience eluded him. Friction and fast and hot were what he wanted, were what the addict in him needed more than blood or breath to survive then.

[demon_slade]

It was so clear for Brian exactly what Curt wanted and that thought seared its way through him. No matter what any may have thought of him, of the way he carried himself, it always amazed him when they did this that Curt wanted him. Oh yes, Brian knew how he looked, could abuse it in every way but this was Curt. A man, in his eyes, that was untouchable, and had been ever since he had first seen the hollering figure on stage.

There was no resisting the urges that flared up within him with the harsh touch of nails and fingers. Touches that should have been painful but were so blissful as they sharply worked through the fabric of his trousers. Teeth dug a bit more firmly into lips, tongue working more feverishly as a hand lowered between them. Buttons undone, zips lowered and Brian was working to urge the garment off of Curt to bring that much more contact between them. A bit difficult, but he refused to relinquish the devouring kiss that threatened to consume him.

[wildcurt]

A break in contact was something Curt wanted to avoid at all costs. If the contact went away, perhaps it would not return at all, and he was unwilling to risk that. The island was spiteful, vengeful, and nothing was as it seemed. Perhaps, Curt considered, Brian and he were not really here, were not really together, but he would take no chances in case it was, as it felt, very real.

Sucking Brian's lower lip into his mouth, Curt eased his tongue over the soft skin along the inside, the side grazing the ridges of Brian's teeth. There, right there had always been Curt's favorite place to touch, to taste. He could not help but to groan, a sound unbashed and unashamed because there was no shame in this sin. The sound was wet and muffled against Brian's tongue, and Curt's vision swam.

Hands, not his own, pushed at his trousers, bunching low on his hips. Twisting, but not removing lips nor teeth nor tongue, Curt maneuvered just so, shoving the offending fabric unkindly down his hips. A swish, and it pooled at his ankles. Laughing a little, hoarse and free, an arm wrapped around Brian's neck, support, and he held himself there, stepping out and then in.

[demon_slade]

Were it not for the frenzy they were worked into, Brian could so easily have sighed with the tongue that brushed over that one spot. So long ago he had thought it somewhat strange, but had grown to love that little touch that was so very gentle compared to everything else that they could do to one another. It was so Curt.

The laughter held a physical entity as it brushed down Brian's tongue, breathed in and swallowed, held inside of him for all the madness it held, the frustration and fear and everything that mingled in both of them all exhaled away through it and poured into that split second where his fingers sought out the heated length that was everything these moments were made for. Fingers curling around it, palm cupping and he gave a slow pull, aching for the sounds that it would produce for him.

Brian so wanted Curt to writhe for him.

[wildcurt]

And there was contact of another kind. The warmth, the pull of it awakened something deep inside, something that had been yearning to be free once more. Lips parted the minutest degree from lips and forehead touched forehead. Their noses bumped briefly as Curt flinched, then gasped, lips finding purchase against Brian's cheek. An unholy sound, guttural and primordial, burst forth from his lungs, slowly yet quickly all at once, and his hips thrust forward, needing that palm, those fingers.

"I am the Fool," he choked, "and you Fortune."

[demon_slade]

Eyes fell shut as Brian savoured that long moment of sound. Sound that wrapped around him so tightly, constricting him and closing out the rest of the world. It drove his hand to moving again, another slow pull to it in hopes of recieving the same response. More of it. More friction, more sound, more contact between them as Brian strained within the confines of his own trousers. He so wished to be free of them, to grind in and feel against his own but he couldn't have that yet. That would bring it one step closer to the end and this had to last as long as he could make it. There was no certainty that Curt would do this again. Would not shag and run and leave him alone once the end finally rose to blossom inside them both.

"And together will bring the world to tremble," came the whispered reply.

[wildcurt]

But first Fortune would bring the Fool to tremble, for he could feel it within him already. Curt trembled and twitched in his hand, an urgency to it all. An ache -- pleasure and pain -- began its careful, insidious crawl through every nerve, bursting into flame and then ash at each end. He could feel the grooves of Brian's palm against him and teeth gritted together; he would not could not touch Brian nor would he move to touch himself. He would not, for the edge was too tempting, too glorious to shove oneself over rapidly. The tension, the stunting, the holding off must not be undermined, just as hopes and fears and questions must not.

"Together," Curt said heatedly against Brian's cheek, the word followed by the swipe of tongue and sting of teeth and finally the soothing suction of wet, red, mouth.

[demon_slade]

Astounding, what a single word could do to Brian. The word in that voice, coming from those lips that were everything and it very nearly shattered him. While he may have remained intact, though, his restraint did not and the palm slid away, jerkily shoving his own trousers down, kicking them aside before both hands were up, turning them both to bring Curt's back almost fiercely to the wall.

He had to. There was nothing that Brian could do to stop himself now that the feeling had taken over and his knees were supporting him and he was down, cheek brushing where his hand had just vacated. Sensual, soft and decievingly tender with the touch of lips and dart of wet tongue as his nails dug into the juts of hipbones.

"To taste you is to feel the world brought to its peak."

[wildcurt]

The wall was cruel and unyielding, yet Curt could not care less about such matters. The bruises or scrapes, for he had no doubt there would be a few -- a sign of the times, of the time, would be badges, medals he would proudly display later. Proof of this journey together.

Head fell back to scrape against wood as nails found places to dig, to grip. Fingers flexed, pressing hard against grain as the pillowy softness of lips and the moist tease of tongue made a time of it, of him.

"Bring it," Curt breathed, the muscles in his thighs already straining, already taut. "And I will bring you."

[demon_slade]

Savouring the long moment which seemed to scatter about, Brian finally tasted. Took the time to brush his tongue from base to tip where he lingered, savouring that sweet bead at the surface which warmed him through. It was so right, this. So perfect to wrap his lips around the head and give a slow suck. To delve in closer and breathe in the musky scent that made him weak at the knees.

Lightly, he hummed his response and eyes lifted to behold the sight upon maddened eyes. A face so struck by the lights of god and the moments wherein all wondered at what befell.

Movement. A slow shift and a cant just so. Tipping, delving, drawing within and without and the pace was so. Tongue laving and breath searing beyond his nose as nails held strong to the marks he created in their wake.

[wildcurt]

"Fuck," Curt cried, the sound of his own voice echoing loudly and insistently in his head. The word was base, vulgar, had no music to it, but it had a rhythm, stilted and staccato, and he repeated it, strangled and strained. Mangled. Everything around him trembled -- the earth, the sky, his very essence, and he could not remember a time when being torn down felt so sweet.

The pistoning of hips was not enough, though it did bring him closer still to Brian. Hands, one after the other, abandoned their hold on the wall and found a new home tangled and entwined in Brian's hair. Fingers massaged and bit and caressed, and Curt felt the madness begin to split him in half like lightning, thunder sounding to revel in the new age.

[demon_slade]

A sweet cry echoed in the air and the sounds uttered of below were vulgar. Low and slick as Brian moved. Hips urged him on, fingers twining on and pullg him, even with the little force in the touch. It all drove him on to what he longed for. No matter that there were greater things that might bring them to this, it was this that they needed. This shift of control that was effortless and drew them to parallel.

In his mind, words whispered. Words of adoration and posession. Rightness and wind and the darkness that swirled like a fog. They were their own heat, their own nourishment and the source of all things beautiful in the world. Rough, fierce and hasty but a beauty all the same.

Oh how he wanted. As one might reach to meet the moon with the tips of the fingers, Brian strove for the source of his longing. Hurried, frenzied and the haze to his eyes was thick with it, although he refused deny the sight of it. To turn away was to commit a sin far greater than their own.

[wildcurt]

And in this new age, Curt was in and of himself, above himself, all around. This was a time and place of worlds apart and together and apart, a place where gods and daemons converged until that one idea, that one perfection, was forged. And forged by the touch of a space-aged daemon, the idea was the One. Curt felt it; it was what they both needed, what they both would have.

Blood boiled and seas parted in his mind's eye. Eyes, two and true, heavy-lidded opened glassy and glazed. Concentration stuttered, then focused. They saw blue and silver and flesh, and they saw the truth in it, in him, in them.

"I am not afraid," Curt said once more, every syllable strained, and in one moment of perfect clarity, frozen in between time and tongue, he was truly not.