An Angel To Walk Beside Me

BY : flameboi
Category: S through Z > Velvet Goldmine
Dragon prints: 1789
Disclaimer: I do not own Velvet Goldmine, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Title: An Angel To Walk Beside Me
Author: Flameboi
Archived: You want it? Go for it.
Rating: NC-17
Pairings: M/M - Curt Wilde/OMC
Feedback: Reviews always wanted
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters and am making no money off this fic, so, don't sue my ass.


Part One

Curt ordered another whiskey, slammed it like he had the previous ones, looking around the crowded nightclub from his vantage point at the bar. 1979. Punk rock. The children were dressed now in black, occasionally a red as vivid as blood; vinyl and leather, chains and dog collars and spikes. The sound, he liked. Hell, he'd practically invented it, why not. The style too, fit him. His hair dyed black now, cut shorter. This was a world made for him. Made for embracing pain, and the long road down to oblivion. Sometimes, Curt wished the road was shorter, sometimes, when he couldn't get those blue eyes and those lush lips and slender hips and perfect ass out of his mind; other times, when he was really down in it, remembering how fuckiní much he'd loved that bastard, he wanted it just to end. He was close to that mood now, sinking into the black pit of despair. A season in hell, only it seemed never to end. Curt wondered if Brian had ever read Rimbaud; somehow, unless it was the trendy thing in whatever circle he was running in, he doubted it; he ordered his fifth.. sixth, was it, Jack straight.

Curt's reverie was broken by a body sliding next to him, looking up at him, a voice barely loud enough to carry over the roaring din of discordant guitar, "You're Curt Wild." Curt turned to look at the speaker, and dismiss him with some insult or other, and paused. Shit. Eyes so blue they seemed wired for neon. Lips marred with smeared black lipstick, but luscious and full, and a face as beautiful as the one he had died for, over and over. Slender little body sheathed in black vinyl trousers like a second skin, a torn tank top of black fishnet showing pink nipples through the mesh, thin neck with a choke chain fastened shut with a lock. And his spiked hair was blue. Goddamned blue. Not pale sky blue, though, but a dark indigo that was almost black. The boy, he couldn't have been more than eighteen, wasn't looking at him with starstruck cow-eyes, but almost with a kind of challenge. "Yeah. So fuckin what?" Curt snarled, figuring to send the kid running with the raw anger glaring him down.

The boy smirked, "So I'm Demon. Buy me a drink?" Curt froze, hearing the name, his head whirling with a feeling like the sound of metal screeching on metal, a scream; the words 'fuck off' half out of his mouth, but his hand was faster, pushing the highball glass of whiskey six inches across the bar in front of 'Demon', who grinned and picked it up and swallowed it fast, not putting the glass back down until only a few drops remained in the bottom. "Curt Wild. Damn." he smirked. "What's a rock star like you doing in a shithole dive like this." the boy leaned close to murmur next to his ear, leaning against Curt's arm, and laughed softly, "Waiting to meet me I guess," he added, and Curt felt a small hand slide onto his leather-clad thigh, sliding higher. The boy, Demon, grinned like his namesake; except for the harsh black lipstick, he looked so much like Brian that Curt had to fight down simultaneous urges, to kiss him as if his life depended on it, to strangle him, instead he stood and pushed past the kid, without a word, just look that said with perfect clarity, 'don't follow me.'

"Never thought Curt Wild would be a fuckin old chickenshit," wrapped around Curt's departure, and the rocker turned, glaring at the insult. Demon just sneered. Curt felt himself acting without thinking, saw his hand move as if he were watching from outside himself unable to stop it, reaching out and grabbing tight on the lock of the collar the boy wore, yanking the light, lean form toward himself with a hard tug. Demon's exquisite face twisted in pain even as the chain twisted in Curt's fist, as he pulled the shorter body close to him, snarling, "You don't know the first fucking THING about me you little asshole!" Demon didn't struggle, just looked up, three hoarse words almost too soft to hear making it past the crushing pressure on his larynx, "Want to bet?"

Curt let the kid go, with a little shove, Demon stumbled but didn't lose his balance; he didn't reach to his own throat to cover the bruised area, just stood, staring at the older man. Curt half expected the kid to take a swing at him, but the words that came instead hit harder than any blow, "Know you stood at that crossroads on a moonless night and instead of the Devil a Demon answered your call, a Demon called Maxwell and you loved him, with everything inside you and everything you had to give and he twisted it and made it ugly and distilled that essence down into bitter poison and its been killing you by half-inches ever since,' Curt's eyes shut tight for a moment against the assault of words that flowed from this kid like poetry, like lyrics, "Know that you been trying to escape ever since but no matter how hard you try you just can't run fast enough or far enough to get away from it, haunted by a ghost of memory and longing for something that never even really was except you wished for it so hard that you made yourself believe in your own glitter lies."

Opening his eyes again, Curt grabbed the kid by his skinny arm, fingers digging into soft flesh, Demon offered no resistance again except with his fierce electric eyes, as Curt dragged him to the doors of the club and out into the chill night that surrounded them like a blanket toxic with the germs of contagion and the scent of spoiled passion. Curt spun the kid around, shoved him against the wall of the building that housed the punk bar, staring down into those eyes, "How the fuck you know that?" he growled, demanding, pleading; Demon shrugged slightly. "My brother roadied for the Maxwell Demon show back then, told me stories. The rest I guess I just could tell, from looking at you." Curt nodded and let go of the boy's arm, realizing his nails were almost cutting grooves into Demon's skin, muttering, "You see too much, anyone ever tell you that, Demon? Say too much, too."

The beautiful young boy just nodded, too, in reply, and leaned closer to Curt, staring up into his angry eyes, those perfect, black-smeared lips moving like a voodoo curse as he spoke, every phrase moving him a fractional space nearer to Curt, "Everything seen... the vision gleams in every air. Everything had... The far sound of cities in the evening. In sunlight, and always. Everything known... O Tulmult! O Visions! These are the stops of life. Departure in affection, and shining sounds." The quote was perfect, the chanted recitation hypnotic as a snake charmer's lullaby, and with the last words, Demon's body was pressed close to Curt's, swaying with a hissing brush of vinyl against latex, as if the boy was the cobra in its dance, as well, teasing Curt's blood to a pounding in his own ears. "Rimbaud," he murmured, and Demon nodded, stretching up on his toes so their lips were separated by less than the span of a heartbeat, "Yeah," he whispered, his breath whiskey and seduction, the coldfire of his eyes burning into Curt's venom, searing it away if only for a moment.

Curt's arms slid around Demon's waist, his mouth fierce and devouring the boy's, his tongue probing as if searching for a reason, and Demon's twining around it like an answer granting sanctuary, painting Curt's mouth black like the raven's wings of night around them, a moment. A stop of life. A departure, and a promise.

Part Two

A shout of "Faggots!" preceded the beer bottle crashing to the pavement and shattering a foot behind Curt where he stood on the pavement lost in the sweet lust of the kiss, thrown from the open window of a passing car; Curt spun, breaking the embrace with Demon, and started screaming at the jeering college age boys hanging out of the windows, "Fuck you! Suck my faggot dick motherfucker dickless shitheads! Bend over I'll shove my faggot dick up your ass!" The car stopped at a redlight, and Curt snatched up the jagged remnant of the bottle's neck and started running towards it, still screaming insults in blind rage. Being tackled from behind, Curt tumbled to the pavement, as the light turned and the car peeled off; the furious rocker swung back hard with his elbow, hearing the 'oof' of his attacker losing his breath, twisting away and out from under, coming up with the glass spike ready to punch.

Demon, now sprawled on his back on the pavement, looked at Curt with wide, horrified eyes; Curt did not look particularly sane at the moment. Actually, he looked about a mile over the line labeled 'total fuckinípsycho'. Curt was already bringing the makeshift weapon down when he realized who'd tackled him, who he was about to fuck up, the boy with the sweet lips and angel's face; he reversed trajectory needing to do something to release his rage, slamming the glass dagger into his own leather-clad thigh, crumpling forward in pain, panting and sobbing softly in agony and the aftermath of fury.

The boy scrambled forward, a whimper of despair passing his lips at seeing Curt do that to himself, he reached out for Curt, "I'm sorry! I was scared they'd hurt you!" he half-stammered. The older man looked up at him, eyes now blank and calm and filled with tears; Curt pulled the spike out of his leg with a grimace and a curse, and threw it against the wall of the store across the pavement. "Yeah. Probably would have. 's ok." He wiped his tears away with grimy hands and sighed, then managed a weak smirk for Demon as he tried to stand.

Demon jumped up and helped Curt up with an arm around his waist, "Are you.. ok?" he asked, pretty face twisted with worry, staring up at Curt. The rock star nodded, and slid his arm around the boy's shoulders, "Yeah. Let's go." and started limping up the sidewalk pulling Demon along and leaning on him, "My place's right up the block." Demon glanced down at Curt's right leg, blood running down the black leather, and then up at his pale, pained face, and wanted to suggest maybe Curt should go to the E.R., but something about his idol told him as a near-certainty that that wouldn't be an idea Curt would welcome, and so he simply walked along with him, supporting him as much as possible.

They were at Curt's building, a somewhat decrepit brownstone, in practically no time, even at the slow pace, and Curt led down steps to the basement apartment, unlocked the door, and walked in, hitting the light switch. Demon looked around. The place was tiny- a little living room with a ratty plaid couch and two beanbag chairs, blue and red, mended many times each with duct tape, and a mess, dirty plates, empty beer and whiskey bottles, overflowing ashtrays, notebooks, loose paper, pens, and discarded clothes littering the brown stained carpet, but one corner, and the far wall was pristine- two electric guitars, a Fender and one Demon couldn't place in stands, a stack of double amps, a state of the art hi-fidelity stereo system, a double tape recorder, mics, mixing console, and a dozen crates with hundreds of albums, each in plastic collector sleeves. "Wow," breathed Demon, and Curt laughed softly, "Yeah. My life. Have a seat." Demon went over and sat on the couch, as Curt moved through the living room and down the short hall, flicking on another light, and going into that room and shutting the door behind him.

Demon winced in sympathy as he heard a curse, and the sound of a fist impacting wall, Curt must be cleaning out the wound he'd given himself. He reached for a fifth bottle of Jack Daniel's that still was a quarter full, unscrewed the cap, and drank deep, shivering, then untied and kicked off his boots, his lips turning up into a smile, at the image forming in his mind, Curt sprawled out gloriously naked on this couch, himself kneeling on the floor between the other man's legs, while he showed his idol the real meaning of 'cocksucker'. Well, maybe he wasn't as good as Brian, but he damn sure was better than most. Demon was grinning and licking his lips, hand sliding down and rubbing his growing erection through his vinyl trousers.

Curt finished bandaging the puncture in his thigh, wrapping the gauze tight, and straightened up, standing there now in only his shirt, the ruined pants and leather jacket draped over the side of the tub, catching his reflection in the mirror, staring back at himself, muttering, "What the fuck you doing man?" and shaking his head slightly, he turned to the toilet and aimed a stream of piss into the bowl, letting his mind wander back to the blue-haired boy in his living room. Those full luscious lips, and that ass, tight and round and begging to be fucked. And those electric blue eyes. Demon would have to be laid out on his back while Curt fucked him, nothing else would do, so he could fall into those eyes while he pumped into the boy's asshole. Curt's dick was growing hard in his hand, achingly hard, and he laughed to himself, shaking the drop of urine from the tip, turning to go, an image of another pair of blue eyes wide with ecstasy flashing into his mind at that moment. Curt growled softly, and punched the wall hard again, banishing the phantom in the burst of quick, clean pain, and sauntered out of the bathroom toward the living room and Demon.

Part Three

Demon was off the couch, over to Curt, in less than a heartbeat, or so it felt- his head was spinning now, whiskey or desire; his eyes burned blue flame into Curt's eyes as he looked up, sliding his hands up under his idol's shirt. Curt leaned against the living room and remembered to breathe, as small quick fingers roamed over his chest, finding his nipples, teasing them into aching hard points of need to trap his triphammering heart, while the boy pressed close to him, shimmying in a slow grind that rubbed the sleek vinyl and rough fishnet of Demon's clothing maddeningly against Curt's swollen cock, the black-smeared lips working at his throat, sucking, biting, pleading and arguing with the soft flesh, a vampire's kiss, almost, and Curt shivered so hard he thought he would fall.

Demon didn't know, quite, what he was doing wrong; Curt's dick was responding for sure, but otherwise, he leaned against the wall passive as shrubbery. A moment of panic ran through the boy's mind, a fear that he was somehow not *doing it* for this man, then he reached down, and wrapped his fingers around the large swollen cock, and heard Curt's gasp as he stroked slowly up its length, slick precum against his hand at the head. Demon stepped back, letting go with both hands, and his mouth, staring at Curt, delicately licking the bittersweet drops from his hand.

Half dragging and half carrying Demon back to the dimly lighted bedroom, to the mattress on the floor, bare of sheets but swathed in layers of blankets, pulling him down, Curt was halfway frantic, twining both hands into Demon's short darkly blue hair, pushing him down where he wanted him, lips on the head of his cock. Demon's lips parted with a soft sigh, his tongue lapping at the precum and the slit of his lover's dick, settling down to lay beside him stretched out on the blankets, eyes half closing in the simple satisfaction of knowing where he belonged for now, slowly, drawing it out to moments of tormented bliss, as he took it into his mouth, sucking hard, nothing subtle about that, repositioning himself on his hands, half upright, licking constantly as he slid Curt's cock into his mouth, and further, back to his throat, fighting down a moment when the gag reflex, long conquered, threatened to resurface against this much larger than average intrusion, Demon's moan, and Curt's, entwining in a harmony that sang in notes of pure pleasure.

Curt's hands tightened in Demon's hair, as he fell into the ecstasy, Demon's mouth sliding back up, then down again; he thrust up into Demon's mouth much harder than he should have while forcing his head down, and almost lost it right there, feeling the boy struggle in panic under his hands, for just a moment, then surrender with a strangled whimper, swallowing over and over against the cock shoved down his throat; Demon was incredibly aroused by this, or by the lack of oxygen, and writhed against the blankets, shivering hard; he almost cried out a few moments later from the loss when Curt pulled him up roughly by his hair, and laid him down on the mattress.

Curt looked down at Demon hungrily, devouring the boy with his eyes; Demon's lips were reddened now, under a mostly rubbed-off trace of black lipstick, parted slightly as he panted, staring at Curt, electric blue adoration; tears streaked dark down cheeks and the sides of his eyes where his eyeliner had run- the mess of the dissolving makeup only made him look more exquisite and decadent. Curt was ready to take him, then and there, hell with finding the lube, except for what he really did want, and so he stood, and retrieved the KY from the top of the cluttered dresser on his way to his real goal, flipping on the lightswitch, bringing the room into bright blue light, perfect; Demon was too gorgeous to fuck half unseen.

The boy wriggled on the blankets, licking his full lips, half scared, but as Curt knelt beside him, the fear was washed away under a deluge of desire; Curt slinking down and starting to suck his cock, while a finger slick and cold with lube invaded his hole, had Demon almost shrieking, gasping as he arched his hips off the bed, and Curt moved with him, another finger filling him and twisting down to the center of pleasure, sucking like he meant to suck out Demon's soul through his dick, and the boy writhed up to him, moaning and whimpering and sobbing with need and onrushing orgasm.

Demon felt so good he thought he was dying, as his balls churned and his climax started, then he nearly came up off the bed again, this time in an explosion of hell, and did scream, as much in shock as pain, seeing a moment later, Curt's mouth slipping off his cock, Curt's mouth quirked in silent laughter; Curt had his finger and thumb like a vise at the base of Demon's cock, strangling and cutting off his orgasm even as it happened. "Bastard," whispered the boy, eyes narrowed into one of those looks that by rights, should kill. Curt pulled his hand away, laughing softly aloud for a moment, wicked sound, as he stroked more of the lube onto his rigid cock, "Yeah. No shit. Say something we don't both already know."

"Please," a hoarse, gasping whisper, was Demon's reply, and Curt moved close, pulling the beautiful boy's legs up, ankles resting on Curt's shoulders, getting Demon where he wanted him, murmuring, "I'm gonna make you scream."

Curt was in no mood to be gentle, suddenly, and he wasn't; Demon's face twisted in pain, crying out in stunned hurt, feeling as if he were being ripped in apart, as Curt entered him in one hard violent thrust. Curt stayed absolutely still, then, watching the boy shiver beneath him, a sexy smoldering smirk on his lips as he looks down at Demon, growling softly, "You're so tight. Can't take it? I could stop.." Demon is surprised by the desperation and lust in his own voice- is that his voice?- "Don't you dare! Fuck me, open me up, fuck me hard." Curt did, thrusting hard, fucking Demon's tight little hole- it still hurt but each stroke felt better and better until finally, there it was, that total ultimate pleasure as Curt's big cock hit that golden spot on each stroke, and Demon was writhing, moaning and sobbing, so close to cumming. Curt got into a steady hard rhythm and then Demon was falling over that edge of total ecstasy, with Curt staring down into his dazed blue eyes, a look of almost entrancement on his sharp features, and then Curt was there too, his cock pulsing and his balls shuddering as he shoved his cock into Demon to the hilt and as Demon felt that first load of his lover's cum inside him, he came too, long hard blasts all over his own abdomen and chest, he was screaming something in bliss, screaming like Curt wanted, seeing stars he was cumming so hard.

Curt's climax finished, but he didn't pull out, he bent to Demon's chest and the hollow of his throat, and licked up the cum Demon had shot there, then kissed the boy tenderly, with his cum in his mouth, their tongues swirling in it as they kissed. Bliss. Somehow, Curt managed to get them turned, so that Demon's back was to his stomach, pushing his still hard cock fully back into the boy's stretched hole, holding him close, not knowing why he was doing such a weirdly almost sentimental thing, and Demon murmured in aftershocked pleasure, "Perfect.. good.." as his eyes drifted closed, safe and warm with his lover still deep inside him, Curt's arms around him, one body, almost, like a definition of divine grace expressed in the poetry of the flesh.

Part Four

Demon woke with the feeling of being watched, blinking his eyes open in the glow of the blue light, feeling Curt stirring beside him; Curt was propped on one elbow, tracing a finger idly over the boy's shoulder, staring at him. No, not precisely, at *him*. Through him. As if Demon were the looking glass beyond which Curt could spy some far off and much desired world of dreams that really did come true. Demon shivered at the intensity, and the not-quite-sanity of Curt's gaze, and leaned up to kiss his lips softly, to distract him from his reverie, bring him back. Curt half-startled, and then smiled languidly, "Morning, kid. Or afternoon, maybe."

Demon narrowed his eyes in a glare that was only halfway fake, "I wasn't 'kid' last night," he observed. "Last night was last night. How old are you anyway?" replied Curt; the boy shrugged slightly, "What difference does it make now?" he answered, then, seeing Curt's expression, he knew it *didn't* make any difference, but that Curt wanted to know out of simple curiosity. "Seventeen. As of last night," he said with a cute smirk, "Thanks for the present, Mister Wild."
Curt laughed and leaned down close to kiss Demon's luscious full lips, teasing and sucking on the younger man's bottom lip, then his tongue, while Curt's hand ventured under the blanket and started to stroke Demon's cock to life again. "How about present number two," offered Curt, and Demon gasped, then grinned, "Oh yeah!"

Slinking under the blankets, Curt worked his way between Demon's legs, then pulled back the covers and smirked up at him before taking his hard cock between his lips, swallowing him all the way down in one motion. Demon arched up to him, leaned back, and rode the pleasure for all it was worth.

The better part of an hour later, Demon lay drowsing again on the mattress, totally spent, having cum twice, been thoroughly fucked again, as Curt showered and did whatever it was a music legend does in the privacy of his bathroom. Demon realized he was smiling, and stretched under warm, if slightly damp and sticky, blankets, feeling deliciously sore and well used, thinking to himself that if this was what life with Curt Wild was like, then Brian Slade was the biggest fool to ever fall out of the wrong side of the bed to let him go. The boy giggled softly, at the next thought, /One demon's loss is another one's gain./

Curt stood under the steaming hot spray of water, eyes closed, asking himself mentally what the hell he was doing, why was Demon still here, now, afterwards. He couldn't come up with an answer beyond, he simply didn't want the boy to leave just yet. Demon was one sweet piece, there was no denying that, experienced enough to know how to please, but still so easy to please in turn, eager and willing and able to totally give himself to the sex. Also he was gorgeous, no denying that; it didn't hurt that the kid seemed to actually have a brain in his pretty head, not that Curt was all that much for talking, but, it was nice to not have to expect "Duh?" in response when he *did* say something.

Demon suddenly realized that the pressure he felt inside had reached its own critical mass, and he needed to use the toilet now, standing, he shivered pleasantly at the feeling of Curt's jizz running down his leg, but he hurried to the bathroom, knocking, "Curt, I have to piss like hell, ok if I come in?" A chuckle from the shower, then, "Sure, kid." Demon rushed in, stood there and took care of business, then stood contemplating with his hand poised just above the flush handle and a mischievous smirk on his lips as he considered it, then Curt's voice, "Don't *EVEN*!" Demon turned to see Curt's reflection, in the mirror over the sink as he used that vantage to spy on Demon from the gap in the drawn aside shower curtain. Demon snickered and then walked over to him, and found himself being pulled over to the tub by one arm, he stepped in, next to Curt, who immediately started to soap him down, rubbing the lather all over the boy's slender little body, gasping and moaning and writhing against Curt as the washing became just an excuse to play with Demon's cock and finger his aching hole.

Curt pushed his little lover against the tile wall, and soaped up his own dick, amazed how much this kid's mere presence turned him on, then he was snaking an arm around Demon's narrow waist, pulling him up, entering him in one smooth slide, hearing Demon groan and whimper softly. Demon pressed his lips tight together, it hurt more than he wanted Curt to know, like he was being shredded, though under that there was an intense pleasure that had little to do with physical sensation. As Curt started to fuck him with short, hard thrusts, Demon found himself so excited he could barely breathe, as if he was being consumed by this intense man's nonstop passion, devoured by it; it was somehow the most seductive feeling, and he squeezed his internal muscles tight around Curt's shaft, over and over- every time he did it, the pain flared brightly hot, but Curt groaned in his ear, which made his own pleasure soar on wings of bliss above the pain. It did not take long, even having already cum earlier, for Curt to grab Demon tightly, shoving his cock in to the hilt, biting hard into the boy's shoulder as he spurted in a burning stream inside of him.

Once finished, Curt let go of Demon, and leaned against the wall, panting; Demon turned to look at him, smiling as if he had a secret he would never tell, and Curt pulled the younger man into his arms, tracing a fingertip over the livid bitemark that decorated Demon's ivory-fair skin. Demon rested his head on Curt's chest with a soft, contented sigh, and somehow Curt felt himself echoing the same sound, kissing the top of Demon's head, then bending to kiss softly over the bite. Demon heard his own heart pounding so loudly he felt sure Curt must hear it too, but if he did, he gave no sign, and Demon gently kissed his lover's chest, above Curt's heart, thinking to himself, /He is making me his, marking me, his. Please let it be?/ in a pleading prayer to no deity in particular, hoping, anyhow, that he might be right.

Both Curt and Demon jumped in shock, with twin yelps, as the water started to run cold, and nearly fell over one another and the side of the tub, leaping out, laughing, grabbing towels, drying themselves and each other, then almost in unison grabbing a towel each by its end and start dueling with snapping towels, eventually ending up kneeling on the floor, both with several 'whip' marks where the other had scored, arms around each other, laughing like a couple of little kids. Curt's words were simple, commonplace, but to Demon they were a book of revelation, and a volume of hopeful possibilities, "So kid, what you want to do today?"

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