This is the thirteenth story in the Rewriting History series, and it follows Varda the Message. Yes, it was indeed supposed to be unadulterated PWP, read *sex*, but the boys felt they needed more angst first. But I think the payoff was quite nice anyway. And for some reason, not graphic. More...um...poetic? Must be DAA's influence. :)

Warnings: m/m, angst, AU, occasional bad language.

~Silk

*****

Drowning in Blissful Confusion

By Silk

It was a charming little seaside resort. The kind of place where ordinary people went on holiday. Well, there was certainly nothing ordinary about Brian Slade or Curt Wild. But they were there on holiday just the same.

Brian sipped at his drink and leaned back in his chair. His drink had a cheerful little pink parasol in it. That pissed him off.

He and Curt had checked in only hours before. Now they were sitting on the old-fashioned veranda overlooking the beach and the sea. It was supposed to be relaxing. The problem was, Brian wasn't sure he knew how to do that anymore.

He had shed his Maxwell Demon persona the moment they left the limo. As soon as they were shown to their room, which had a very nice view of the sea as well, though Brian couldn't yet find it in himself to appreciate it, Brian had stripped off his glitter rags and donned a faded pair of jeans and a plain white T-shirt. Then he went into the bathroom and scrubbed his face until not a single shred of make-up, or Maxwell Demon, remained.

It was astonishing how much younger he appeared. But more than that, it was surprising how much lighter he felt. It was like shedding a skin that he never quite felt comfortable in to begin with.

It should have felt good. It *did* feel good. For a few minutes. Then he and Curt, who remained steadfastly wedded to his eyeliner, thank you very much, went downstairs in search of breakfast.

They found what they were looking for.

They also found something they *weren't* looking for.

Brian was quite literally unrecognizable. And now he was pissed off.

"Bri?"

"What is it, Curt?" Brian snapped. Then he turned his head and saw the hurt look in Curt's eyes. Curt never could hide from Brian. It was both his greatest asset...and his greatest liability.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bite your head off.."

"What's really bugging you, man? I thought you'd love getting away from all the crap and the hoopla."

"I did. I do," Brian insisted.

"But it bothers you that you can't wave your magic wand and bend everyone to your will, doesn't it?"

"I'm hardly a dictator, Curt. I don't think that's fair."

Curt sighed and brushed his hair out of his eyes with a weary hand. "I'll tell you what's not fair, man. You should be fucking grateful that no one knows who we are. This could be a...dream come true. If you'd let it."

"Christ, Curt, you're a fucking romantic. How on earth did you get that way? With everything that's been done to you in the name of God knows what?"

Curt turned away from Brian and curled up in his chair. Resting his chin on his hand, he allowed his unruly dark blond hair to hide his face before he closed his eyes. Thoughts pulsed and raced through his head at lightning speed until he wanted to cry out in frustration.

"Curt?"

"Leave it alone, Brian," Curt growled, but there was more pain than anger in that dark voice.

"Curt, I'm sorry-"

"Don't be sorry. Just fuck off."

Brian touched Curt's back and the older man whirled around, blue-gray eyes blazing, to grab Brian by both shoulders. Visibly shaking, Curt looked like a drowning man going down for the third time. "You hurt me. I hurt you. We hurt each other. This isn't working, Brian. It's not fucking working, and I don't know how to fix it, man."

"I said I was sorry-"

"It doesn't matter. We're both sorry. But we don't know how to talk to each other, man. The only time we fucking *connect* is in bed."

"That's not true."

"It is. I'm going to lose you, Brian, and it's killing me. You just don't get it, do you?"

"You're not going to lose me, Curt. Stop saying that." For the first time since they had started this conversation, Brian felt something other than ennui. Who the fuck cared if no one knew who he was? Curt knew. Curt loved the *real* Brian. The one who lived behind Maxwell's mask.

The one who was afraid of trusting anyone with who he really was.

Brian stared into Curt's eyes and felt his fear, and suddenly it was *his* fear, too. Because they were two halves of the same person, each of them incomplete without the other.

"I love you," Brian whispered, his voice breaking. He, who thought he had only his career or money or fame to lose, had so much more at stake here. He could lose everything that mattered. Everything he held in his arms right now.

Curt's hands tightened their grip on Brian's shoulders until both of them felt the same pain. All at once Curt pulled Brian against him, his breathing harsh and uneven in Brian's ear. "I love you, too," he choked out, squeezing his eyes shut.

"Let's take a walk."

*****

No one looked twice at the two men, their arms entwined around each other as though they would never let go. By the time they reached the sea, their shoes were full of sand, and they had relaxed enough to stop and remove them. Once they were barefoot, Brian reached for Curt's hand, and they wandered down the wet shoreline, swinging their hands between them.

Their mood considerably lighter, they began to enjoy their time together. This was, after all, a holiday, though they seemed destined to forget that. Brian, who had rarely felt so light-hearted, and certainly never enough to stride into the sea fully-clothed, threw his head back and laughed. Curt was stunned at the picture he made, arms thrown open wide, beckoning with unguarded enthusiasm.

"Brian?"

"Yes, Curt! I am! I'm *Brian*, dammit!" Brian cried out, tears of joy, or was it drops of salt water, clinging to his spiky lashes.

Then Brian laughed, that infectious, sputtery laugh that made Curt's skin tingle all over, and Curt hurled himself into Brian's arms. They spun around in a circle, frolicking like children at play, until the heat that was always there between them flared into awareness and stopped them where they stood, uncertainly contemplating each other.

Slowly but surely, they took off their clothes, tossing them haphazardly onto the beach. When they were naked, their firm young bodies glistening with sweat and salt and sweet, sunny kisses, they came together, all heat and hardness, falling across the wet sand with utter abandon.

Their hands stroked and caressed each other's hair and faces, their mouths seeking and searching for the most tender spot to suckle. Their legs moved restlessly in erratic unison, their groins touching but never with the completeness they hungered for. The tide swept in, the waves breaking over their heads and their backs and their pale white skin.

They loved, oh God, they loved, and when it was done, it was never really over. Brian lay on top of Curt, his head pressed so close to Curt's chest that he could hear his heart thumping in blissful confusion.

"I love you," Brian murmured, his lips whispering compelling testimony to soothe his lover's battered spirit.

Curt had no more words nor breath to speak them. But his fingers threaded shakily through Brian's close-cropped hair with loving intent.

This was not the end. There could be no end to something as heartfelt and real as this.

End