eye on you
"Hrmph."
"Curt ‑ Curt, Love, there's somebody at the door..." Rolling to his back, Arthur blinked open bleary eyes and half‑sat. Beside him his lover grunted and rolled away, pulling the blankets with him, leaving Arthur uncovered and still nude from the night before.
The night before! The memory thumped him soundly and Arthur smiled widely as he crawled out, reaching for his robe, thrown over the chest at the foot of the large bed.
After two solid weeks of work every evening he finally had all of his things here, and everything put away neatly. He'd even managed to convice Curt to invest in a large carpet for the lving room, which had meant refinishing that floor first, which had taken a couple of nights. And then Curt's bartender, the unfreindly one, had quit three nights ago, when Arthur had come in after work to gather his lover up and Curt had leaned over the bar and kissed him enthusiastically, startling Arthur but making him happier than he'd been all day. The bartender said something about not working for any fags but the few patrons hadn't seemed to care. Unfortunately, it meant Curt had been working the bar himself until he found a replacement he was comfortable with.
So last night he had arrived home very late and Arthur had already fallen asleep and Curt had woken him up in the most agreeable way possible, with a spectacular blowjob, and Arthur had asked Curt to fuck him and he had eagerly done so, quite thoroughly.
Standing in the foyer, with the chain on the door, Arthur blinked and them knuckled his eyes in disbelief, seeing who was standing there.
"Can I help you?" His accent surged to the front, making the words thick.
"I'm here to see Curt Wild." The white‑haired man in the expensive suit said, with contempt. "I'm Tommy Stone."
"I know who you are." With his mouth running faster than his brain, he couldn't prevent the next words from spilling out. "I know who you used to be, too."
"And I know all about you, Arthur Stewart." The words were sneered. "Let me in, or I promise you won't like the consequences."
With a shrug Arthur did, leading the man into the living room, leaving his bodyguards standing on the front stoop. In the living room he paused, pointing at the sofa.
"Have a seat. We'll be out in a bit."
"I'm not here to talk to *you*."
Ignoring that, Arthur went back into the bedroom, sliding up onto the bed to wrap himself around Curt and shake him gently, whispering in his ear.
"Curt. Curt, Love, y'need to wake up now. There's someone here ta see you."
"Tell 'em to come back." With a mumble Curt turned over and snuggled into Arthur's chest. It was very hard for the journalist to wake him now, he loved it when his lover displayed his need for Arthur so blatantly. Hugging him close, he continued to try.
"It's Brian ‑ Tommy Stone. Here to see you."
The words got the greyish eyes open and a disbeiliving stare.
"Brian? *Here*?!" Jerking away from him, Curt stumbled out of bed and would have fallen if Arthur hadn't lunged to grab him around the waist. "What the fuck does he want?!" The anger blasted through the air like a missile, narrowly missing Arthur, who was aware that his lover was trying hard to not direct it at him. Curt pulled further away and grabbed for a pair of jeans left on the floor. His hair was tangled and wild around his face.
"What are you going to do?" Also reaching for clothing, Arthur added a shirt over his jeans, buttoning it slowly.
"I'm going to get him the fuck out of my fucking house." The snarl was nasty and Arthur looked away. It made him see Curt as he had been, that night on stage, powerful and filled with rage and then, afterward, pain. Lying on the stage gasping for air as he sobbed, the crowd screaming for more.
That wasn't how Arthur liked to remember him. To think of him.
"He won. Maybe he wants to make amends."
"You don't know him." Curt hissed, heading for the door, not putting on a shirt, the top button of his fly undone. "You don't know how he thinks."
Following more slowly, Arthur silently agreed with that and prepared to face the worst Tommy Stone ‑ the man who had intimidated his editor into killing a story ‑ had to offer.
Standing as they entered, Stone grimaced, the expression close to a sneer.
"You look like hell." He greeted Curt, who stopped in the doorway at the words, Arthur directly behind him.
"Fuck you." Curt retorted, continuing in and giving Arthur a knowing look.
With his hands on his hips, Brian Slade ‑ or Tommy Stone, Arthur was starting to feel a bit schiziod on that issue ‑ looked them both over, his face expressionless. Ignoring that, Curt sat in his big armchair, and Arthur moved to stand behind him, a hand on his shoulder.
"Still the lost puppy, Curt?" Tommy asked, rather quietly. "Found someone else to take care of you?"
"What's it to you, *Brian*?" The punk rocker threw back.
"Nothing. You haven't meant anything to me in ten years. I thought you knew that."
"I fucking know it. And I'm fucking glad of it." Curt snarled. Arthur put his other hand on his other shoulder, silently offering support.
"Good that I've got you together." Stone continued. "I needed to tell you this in person. That little stunt you pulled after the concert was in poor taste, Mr.Stewart. I wanted to be sure that you realized what a bad idea it would be to try something like that again." He reached inside his jacket pocket and pulled out a business‑sixed envelope. "These are just the proofs. The negatives are safely locked away, in case you get any ideas."
Walking the few steps to him, Arthur accepted it and handed it to Curt, leaning over his shoulder to watch as he opened it.
There were pictures of the two of them. Walking, kissing, holding hands. Nothing graphic.
"Cool." Curt smiled. "I knew we looked good together, mate." He grinned at Arthur, who smiled back widely, neither of them caring that they had an audience.
"This is not a game." Stone snapped, angry. "So far your privacy has been respected, but if you don't cease your investigation into my life and background, the next ones will be far more invasive."
"You can see through walls, can you?" Arthur asked, crouched by Curt's chair. His lover touched his head gently.
"I can do anything I want to." Standing, Stone went toward the door. "Unless you want a lot of attention, unless you want *your* sordid past the subject of talk shows and new magazines, stay out of my life."
Now Curt was angry. He stood, Arthur, too, and they faced the other man.
"Get out of my home." Curt said, voice low and dangerous.
"Gladly." With that last word the man in white turned and left, letting himself out.
Arthur stood quietly, unsure, then turned to the kitchen.
"I'll make us some tea."
When he returned with two mugs hot from the microwave, Curt was still just sitting in the chair. The pictures were on the floor beside him.
"Here, love." Handing one to him, Arthur continued to stand, sipping his own. Curt just held it, eyes half‑closed, his face oddly blank. "Are you alright?"
"Should I be?" The weariness in that tone frightened Arthur, but before he could move to offer comfort once again, Curt looked at him, his eyes soft and sad. "Arthur, don't."
"Don't what?" He asked, although he was fighting himself to resist the urge to drop to his knees, to gather the other man close and hold him tightly. Anything Curt wanted, he'd give it to him, and sometimes, when he was away from Curt, knowing that frightened him.
"Don't look at me like that." Curt sighed, and set the mug down. "Don't offer me your soul. Your life. You can't let me take everything you have."
"I want you to have it." Setting aside his own tea, Arthur did go to his knees, slowly, one hand on Curt's thigh, laying his head on the denim beside it. "I would give you anything you asked for. You know that."
"Yeah." Husky, Curt's vocie shook, and his hand settled onto Arthur's head, stroking tenderly. "I know. It scares the shit out of me, mate. I can't give it back. I don't want to spend my life taking from you. I'll suck you dry ‑ I need too much."
Pressing his body closer, wrapping his arm around the leg that cushioned his cheek, Arthur didn't turn his head to look at Curt, only breathed deeply to calm the sudden fear that rose in him.
"I don't mind."
"Maybe you should." Leaning over, Curt tugged at him and pulled until Arthur came off the floor and into the chair, until he was sitting across Curt's lap. A little awkward, feeling a trifle ungainly, but held close by muscular arms and with his head tucked firmly into the hollow of Curt's shoulder and held there by one strong, calloused hand while the other petted his short dark hair.
The amount of comfort he took in the embrace was enlightening. Settling deeper into it, he sighed as he readjusted his preconceptions; apparently Curt needed to be the strong one occasionally too. That was good, it made them a more balanced pair, and he certainly felt the need to lay down that burden once in a while.
Curt petted him, and stroked him, his fingers rough on Arthur's face, and hummed a raspy tune under his breath, something Arthur vaguely recognized but didn't care enough to ask about.
It had been a long night. He hadn't slept much. Now he drifted, drowsy, feeling the arm of the chair cutting into the backs of his thighs, and his legs going to sleep, but it wasn't worth moving over. Though eventually it became unpleasant and he shifted, waking himself.
"What are we going to do about that?" Arthur waved one hand at the pictures.
"Nothing. I wasn't planning on doing anything anyhow. All he's done with this is piss me off."
"I had actually had some ideas..." Shifting again to meet Curt's eyes, Arthur saw the sadness there again, the well of it immeasurabley deep, and he changed thought mid‑sentence. "But I decided they weren't worth pursuing."
"I know you already." Curt grinned, holding Arthur's face with both hands. "You were going to say something else."
Feeling revealed and not minding it so much, Arthur shrugged.
"For another time, Love."
"Yeah." Bringing his face closer, Curt whispered against his lips. "Give us a couple of months, then we can talk about it." He kissed Arthur, deeply, his tongue probing his lover's mouth. Thier hands tangled as they began to pet and touch, nipples hardening, and their bodies squirmed together, trying to find the best position in the chair.
"Here, here, wait, wait." Curt gasped breathlessly, standing, actually lifting Arthur for a moment, using the momentum of his lunge upward to turn and set the other man in the chair before straddling him, stripping Arthur's jeans down to his knees, then wriggling completely out of his own, leaivng him nude and Arthur half‑dressed. "There!" Curt gasped explosively, on his knees over Arthur, using one hand to steady the other man's cock while he began to lower himself onto it with a grunt.
"Curt ‑ condom ‑" Grabbing his hips, Arthur tried to still the movement and Curt growled, frustrated.
"Not *now*, Arthur. We're both clean, I'm not going to screw around on you..."
No chances, not anymore, not ever... The thought bounced around Arthur's skull ‑ but Curt's ass was tight around the head of his cock and Curt was barely holding himself back, panting harshly against Arthur's neck, making little pleading noises that begged for this, and the noises became soft words, heavy with need.
"Please, mate, please, love, just once, just this once, I want to feel you, I love you..."
And Arthur arched upwards, forcing his cock in another inch or two and Curt made that high‑pitched keening sound that was such a glorious mixture of pain and pleasure and then Arthur was inside him, bare, and it felt like it had the first time, so incredible that he couldn't begin to grasp the concepts to describe it. He just held on while Curt rocked over him, Curt's hands gripping the back of the chair, Curt's dick leaving a sticky wet trail over Arthur's shirt, Curt himself moaning, head thrown back, hair dangling, eyes closed, arms rigid, sweat rolling.
He took Arthur deeper and deeper and Arthur could only twist and writhe, there wasn't enough room or leverage for him to get a rhythm going, Curt was in charge here and it felt so good...
"So fucking good, you feel so good inside me..." Curt growled, echoing Arthur's thoughts and Arthur forced his eyes open to look up at him and Curt was smiling down at him, a blissful, goofy smile that made him look young, and Arthur wanted to smile back but all he could so was bite his lip and moan and thrash a bit, his hands tighter on Curt's hips, fingers biting into soft skin, bruising. "C'mon, babe, do it for me." The singer urged, panting, rocking harder, picking up the pace. With a happy groan Arthur did, pumping into Curt's body with abandon until he sagged, unable to move, boneless and sated.
Curt slipped free and went to his knees in front of the chair, stripping off the confining jeans and lifting Arthur's legs over his shoulders almost in a single movement, wetting his hole thoroughly with his tongue, fucking it gently while Arthur shivered and moaned, the aftershocks rattling through him. There was a touch to his stomach, then an insistent pinch and he looked down to see Curt staring up at him from between his spread thighs and he nodded lazily, giving permission and Curt surged upwards and slowly entered him and Arthur lay back in the chair, wantonly spread, arms flung outwards, and accepted the pounding his lover needed to give him.
It seemed to go on forever, Curt with his eyes half‑closed, his hands under Arthur's ass, holding it up, holding it open. The fluid lunge and withdraw of his rhythm drowned out everything else; the room, the time, the day. Nothing mattered but Curt and Curt's cock and the soft sounds he made, sounds of animal pleasure, low and deep and moving.
When his lover finally arched and shuddered, biting his lip, then collapsed onto him, spent, Arthur wrapped his arms around that smooth, muscled back and held on, feeling as if they had made love for the very first time. They had connected, more deeply than ever before.
A shower was necessary, but after it they crawled back into bed and this time Curt held Arthur, cradled him close and Arthur felt like the boy he had been, so excited but afraid, too, nervous and unsure. Now the memory of those feelings was comforting, and he sighed and snuggled closer and smiled when Curt kissed his cheek.
"Whot are we going to do today?" The words broke his reverie and he just snuggled that little bit closer. "Can't lay in bed all day like a lump." Curt continued, and there was a new tension in his body. "My mom used to say that. She'd drag me out of bed in the summer and set me to cleaning or mowing the lawn or something. Said that lying in bed made a person lazy."
Tentatively, afraid of breaking the mood, happy to hear Curt speak of his family, Arthur clung tighter and kissed the chest beneath his face before venturing a comment.
"I only know what the rumors said..."
"Mostly they were true." Using both hands Curt pulled Arthur up even with himself so he could meet his eyes. Curt's were sad, but calm, in a way Arthur hadn't seen before. "The part about my brother was true. He didn't force me, like. And the shock treatment. After I got out, ran away, Mom begged me to come back, promised to help me, but by then I was already hooked on smack and didn't much care. Later they refused to take my calls and sent back money and letters. I suppose I embarrassed them."
He was silent for a few monutes and Arthur kissed him tenderly, his fingers running through the dark blond hair, untangling snarls left from the athletic lovemaking.
"When Brian dumped me I tried one more time and my Dad hung up on me. I sortof know where my sister is, even talk to her once a year, about, whenever I feel really lonely and desperate. But I haven't tried to talk to the others since then."
"Have you wanted to?" Lifting on an elbow, Arthur looked down into Curt's face and saw the tears ready to flow.
"I thought ‑ if I got cleaned up, y'know, cleaned up my fucking act, and, maybe, tried to be normal ‑ not straight, I could never be straight ‑ but close to normal, maybe they'd talk to me again."
"Do you want to try?" Quietly, Arthur asked, touching Curt's face gently, stroking his cheek. "I'll be there for anything you want to do."
"What about your folks?" Changing the subject, Curt reached up and mirrored the touch and Arthur closed his eyes.
"Me da passed away a while back. I talk to my mum a couple of times a year, but I haven't been back to see her. She has a nice life, and I know she loves me. But it's hard."
"Seems like everything is." Curt sighed, pulled Arthur down on top of himself, spreading his legs to make room for him and holding him gently.
"Everything worth having." Arthur replied, laying his head on the broad shoulder.
"So, are we going to waste the day in bed?"
"We could go to the home store and choose paint for the living room." Arthur suggested, a smile breaking out, teasing his lover.
"I was thinking wallpaper..." Curt responded, giving him a rough hug. "Cool. Okay. We can do that. It's a plan."
"You'll have to let go of me, Love."
"In a minute." Closing his eyes, Curt nestled his head into Arthur's neck. "In a minute or two, alright?"
"Whatever you want, Love." Arthur sighed, feeling the warmth below and around him, Curt's warmth. "Whatever you need."
There was no more mention of families for the rest of the day but that evening, when they had finished putting the paper ‑ cream colored with a fine navy blue pinstripe alternated with strings of tiny blue roses, green vines and leaves ‑ up on one wall, they sat down to a pizza and he saw Curt eying the phone and leaned over the coffee table, because they were sitting on the floor to eat, and kissed him once, just because and the phone stayed where it was, on the table beside the envelope with the pictures that they hadn't decided what to do with either.
And that night they simply slept together, needing the closeness and not wanting to disrupt the mood with sex. Arthur held Curt and watched him sleep and pondered that this had become one of his favorite pasttimes, odd as it might seem. he worried silently that there would be repercussions from the morning's confrontation, Curt had been entirely too calm about Stone's visit and threats, but Arthur decided that he, himself, was cowardly enough to be grateful for this calm before the storm that he knew would come. After only a couple of months he knew Curt so well it would have frightened him, if he didn't want it so badly.
Eventually he slept as well and both men suffered no dreams that night.
