Challenge: "Velvet Goldmine, Curt/Brian, rhythm" for sarkastic
' Porn Battle
It's in the rhythm, and no matter what else went between them, Brian still has that rhythm, still has the music; taps his fingers thoughtfully with the beat while he listens to someone else's music in a bar, taps and lets the rhythm light up his face with the same old passion, like it always has.
Still has that rhythm of flirtation, a look that lasts forever, a beckoning look, pure invitation to rise up from the stool and just on the right beat, right moment, walk up to him. He uses just the right words, the tempo in them unadulterated seduction, thumps against Curt's chest, against his heart.
And the rhythm of their fucking; that was never wrong, that was always perfect. Even strung out and wild, even drunk, it was always right for each other. Still is. Curt moans in rhythm. Brian's face, concentration like he's writing a song; Curt knows this face. Like music playing inside Brian's head that puts him in the right rhythm. Blood pumping in Curt's ears, heart beating in his chest. Cock throbbing, Brian's hand on it pumping. Brian's cock inside him. In. Out. In. Out. In. In. In.
Rhythm accelerates. In the crescendo, Curt comes, shouting out and the sound fits, takes him higher. Brian's still at it. Bites his lip. Determined. In the rhythm, but he loses it, misses a beat, and then falls forward like a mad vertigo avalanche harder and faster and fuck
, he comes, with another thrust, and another, and halt.
They lie there panting.
Hearts slowing down.
Sweat cooling off.
Curt feels... sated. He glances to the side. Brian has a little smile playing on his lips, in his eyes. Still gorgeous. Maybe even more so, now. Less pretty
, but more beautiful.
"I love your latest album," he blurts, and that's such a groupie line they both burst out laughing. He turns and climbs on top of Brian, kisses those lips briefly before looking into his eyes, serious. "I mean it," he amends. "I love your music."