Title:  Somebody Called Me Sebastian
Author:  Silk
Fandom:  Velvet Goldmine
Pairing:  Curt/Brian
Rating:  R
Summary:  What if Brian met Curt sooner rather than later?

Archive:  If I sent it to you, please feel free.

Email:  silkn1@att.net

Series/Sequel:  No, this is a stand-alone story that has nothing to do with
the 2 HB series.

Disclaimer:  Velvet Goldmine and its characters belong to Miramax and Todd
Haynes. Not me. This work is not for profit.

Warnings:  m/m, bad language, humor (both intentional and not), inadvertent
angst (if you count the ending), AU.

Notes:  This is almost a missing scene for the part of VG where Brian sees
Curt for the first time. But this is what *could* have happened if they had
actually *met* then, instead of a few years later. There was almost sex in
this, but instead Curt (or was it Brian?) threw away my attempt at a happy


Somebody Called Me Sebastian


by Silk

"Hey, sweetheart. Why don't you come over here and warm up my lap for me?"
The man called out.

Brian flipped his long light brown hair over his shoulder and gave the
offender his middle finger. "Get stuffed."

"Ooh, get her! What's your name, darling?" The man laughed uproariously at
his own comments and elbowed the motley crew sitting next to him on the

An evil glint entered Brian's light blue eyes. If they had known him better,
they would have hit the ground running. But they were sadly a step behind
one of the most ingenious minds in the music business.

"Somebody called me Sebastian," Brian quoted one of his songs, certain that
they would never realize it.

"Would that be your mum, you little wanker?"

"No, actually it was *yours*. I was going to let her sleep late this
morning, but she woke up when I kicked her arse out of bed."


Brian cackled over his shoulder as he sauntered away. He'd always wanted to
do that. Talk back to some of the Philistines who couldn't appreciate his
music. The ones who thought he was a shirt-lifter from Birmingham who needed
to make way for the real artists.

Mandy wouldn't approve. Neither would Cecil. They wanted him to be *nice*.
Well, he *was*. Sometimes. But the bloody people who came to these concerts
were so fickle, and sometimes he couldn't bear another moment of having to
pretend that he couldn't hear them.


Brian stalked into the tent that served as his dressing room. Predictably,
Mandy and Cecil were both lying in wait for him. "What?"

"It didn't go that badly, Brian," Cecil automatically placated.

"It didn't? They were *talking* louder than I was singing."

"You just have to give it time. The act is basically there, I think. Don't
you, Mandy?" Cecil asked Brian's wife, seeking her help in modulating what
could turn into a nasty moment of temper.

"You stupid git! You were the one moaning about torch songs and Bette
Fucking Davis!"

"And it works. It does. Just not...in a concert setting, perhaps. But in a
cabaret, it would be...wonderful, Brian. Truly."

Cecil eyed the young man with trepidation. He didn't want to trigger off one
of Brian's tantrums. "About the frock..."

"What about it?" Brian snapped.

"I thought it was quite naughty and actually a bit of a giggle, really,
but-" Cecil began with an apologetic smile.

Mandy cut right to the chase as usual, shoving Cecil aside. "It doesn't
work, honey. You're going to have to bag the dress."

"I like it."

"Yeah, I know, but they don't."

"I don't care."

"Yes, you do."

Brian sighed and stuffed the last of his things into his duffelbag. "Thank
you for giving me my opinion, Mandy."

Mandy threw up her hands. "When it doesn't work, it doesn't work, baby. Do
you want to be famous or not?"

Brian frowned. "I want to make music. I never said I wanted to be famous."

"But you do, right? Of course you do. And so do I. After all, I am your

Brian rolled his expressive eyes. If he heard that one more time, he was
afraid that he might throttle her. What did Mandy know about what he
*really* wanted? What did she know about his most *secret* desires?

They didn't share *everything*. But then again, maybe they did. They both
liked *men*.


They were in the process of leaving when they heard it. The sound of
raucous, in your face rock 'n' roll. Electric guitars clanging loudly.
Something that might have been a human voice shouted its approval of the
opening chords and Brian turned towards the stage.

It was night now, and the stage was lit up like a carnival. As for the man
onstage, well, he could have been a satyr sprung to life from the pages of
Greek mythology...except for his black leather pants, which were plastered
so tightly to his slim hips, they outlined every curve of his body in a
blatantly revealing way.

The follow spots hit him and the effect was galvanizing on the crowd. His
hair was the color of earth and fire, his eyes a blazing blue smudged dark
by kohl eyeliner and what looked like mascara. Brian's mouth went dry. He
was the most beautiful person he'd ever seen.

"What's his name?" Brian whispered to Cecil.

"Curt Wild. Some Yank with a bad attitude and an even worse drug habit."

"He's incredible."

Cecil glanced sharply at the young singer. "Stay away from him, Brian. He'll
break your heart."

Mandy took a half-step closer to the men, suddenly aware that something was
going on, something that she needed to know about. "What's up, fellas?" she
asked with a cheeky grin.

"Nothing," they answered in unison, startled to find that they were
responding at the same time.

Mandy gave them a suspicious look. They said the wife was always the last to
know. They were right.


"What's he doing?" Brian cried out.

The cacophony of the crowd grew as their dissatisfaction with Curt Wild
increased. These were people who preached peace and love and contentment. To
them, Curt was an anarchist, sowing seeds of discord amongst them with his
noise and his rude intensity.

But when Curt dropped his pants and shook his naked body until he quite
literally fell down, they exploded. "Get off the fucking stage! Wanker!"

Oh, my God, Brian mouthed silently, covering his mouth with his hand. Cecil
and Mandy began to laugh at the antics onstage. It was obvious that the
crowd despised everything that Curt stood for. It was equally obvious that
Curt didn't care.

Curt pulled his pants up with a gentle rocking motion of his hips. His face
was handsome, what Brian could see of it, covered as it was in sweat and
streaks of makeup. Then Curt smirked at his detractors and gave them the

It was the bravest thing Brian had ever seen.

Right before Curt set fire to the stage.


"He set fire to the bloody stage!" Brian exclaimed.

"We know, Brian. We were there, remember?" Cecil said dryly.

Mandy yawned. "It was mildly interesting the first seven times you said it,
darling, but really...can't we find a place to sleep?"

"How about by the lake? Under those trees?"

"Marvelous," Mandy agreed.


Brian didn't go to sleep with the others. He sat up, his knees drawn up to
his chest, thinking. The trouble was, the more he thought, the more
preoccupied he became with Curt Wild. This is bloody ridiculous, he told

How could he be obsessed with someone he hadn't even met? Or spoken to?

He didn't know the answer to that one, but he vowed that he was going to do
something about it. He was going to meet Curt Wild.


Brian picked his way carefully through the trees to a clearing. This was
where Curt and the rest of his band slept, oblivious that he was watching
them. It was still dark, thankfully, and that hid his presence until he
stood over Curt's sleeping form.

Suddenly, as if he could hear Brian breathing, Curt opened his eyes. He
looked directly into Brian's eyes and said, as though he were awake enough
for it to matter, "I know you. You went on right before me."

"You remember me?" Brian asked with something like hope in his eyes.

"How could I forget? You were wearing a fucking dress, man." Curt hooted.

Brian hid his hurt behind his usual blank expression. "It was an artistic
statement," he said without a trace of animation.

"Sure it was." Curt cupped his hands and lit a cigarette. "Want one?"


Well, Brian told himself, you wanted to meet him. He's obviously every bit
the asshole that Cecil said. Time to cut your losses and run.

Curt blew smoke in Brian's direction. "Have a seat. I don't bite."

"I...wouldn't want to wake anyone else up."

"These guys? They could sleep through World War III and never know it. But
if you want, we could take a walk."

"Why?" Brian demanded, the mutinous pout that suddenly appeared on his
surprisingly pretty features making him look older, harder...almost

"Why what?"

"Why do you want to walk with me? We have nothing in common. What could we
possibly have to talk about?"

Curt raised himself up on one elbow and the blanket fell away from him,
exposing more naked flesh than onstage. "Who said we have to talk?"

"You're a prat," Brian spat, trying to keep his eyes from straying below
Curt's waist.

"Maybe. But you want to."

"I don't."

Curt lay back and took a long drag on his cigarette. Though he wasn't
smiling, there was considerable amusement in his blue-gray eyes. "You know
where I am...if you change your mind."

"I won't."

Brian flounced away from Curt, only to be called back. "Hey, Mr.
Personality, you got a name?"

Brian turned slowly and smiled. "You can call me Sebastian."

"What kind of fruity name is that, man?"

"I'm sure it can't compare to the manly name *Curt*. Why, it positively
drips testosterone," Brian added sarcastically.

Curt stood up and threw his cigarette down into the grass, apparently
unaware that he could have started a fire. He strode towards Brian, hips
gently rolling, totally un-self-conscious in his nakedness.

Brian took a half-step backward, his lips parting in anticipation of the
threat Curt evidently posed. But Curt clearly had a different sort of
conflagration in mind.

As soon as he was close enough to touch Brian, Curt seized the younger man
in a fierce embrace and captured his mouth. Brian groaned and opened his
mouth, his tongue seeking its mate. And finding it with delicious certainty.

"Tell me," Curt panted when he could bear to break away.

"Tell you what?" Brian responded breathlessly.

"Why you came. Why you're not off fucking your Goddamned wife. Why you want
*me*. *Brian Slade*."

"You know who I am?"

"Yeah." Curt shoved both hands through Brian's long hair, a wicked smile
curving his lips mere moments later. "It's *real*."


"Your hair. It's fucking real, man. I love it."

"You do?"

"Yeah." Curt's mutable blue eyes smoldered with dark intensity. "I've got a
serious thing for hair, man."

Brian laughed. "Fuck a girl, then."

"I don't wanna. I want *you*. And you sure as hell ain't no girl, babe."

"Some people see that as a problem."

"Not me," Curt purred. "You're fucking beautiful, man, just the way you

"I think you're delusional."

"Could be. I've been trying to kick the fucking drugs, man. You could be one
helluva hallucination."

"Or I could be real," Brian whispered. He wanted more of this. More of Curt.
He didn't even know him, but he knew Curt was going to be important. If not
to the world, to Brian.

Curt shuddered. "Man, I hope so."

Brian swallowed. "You're naked, y'know."

"I know. I think it bothers you more than me, though. What do you think?"

"I think you'd be a dangerous man to cross...or tell the bloody truth to."

"You're not wrong." Curt bent his head and licked a path from Brian's
jawline to his ear. Brian sighed in frustration.

"You're going too slow."

"What's your hurry, babe? We've still got all night."

"Someone might see. What would they think?"

"Who the hell cares?" Curt laughed.

"I do. I'm trying to make it in this business. Fucking the wrong people
could screw that up."

Curt drew back sharply, his erection fading. "You're a cold son-of-a-bitch,
aren't you?"

"Just being practical."

"Yeah? Well, you and me...could've been something, man. You think about that
when you can't trust your friends anymore and your career's in the toilet."

"I'm going to be *somebody*, Curt."

"You keep telling yourself that, Brian Slade," Curt said, his eyes narrowing
to slits. "Someday you're going to realize you said *yes* to the *wrong*



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