This is the twenty-eighth story in the Rewriting History series, and it follows My Tears Are Yours. This story pretty much follows canon. But the reason that certain things happen is not the same. (I fear Todd Haynes and I will just have to agree to disagree. ;) )

Warnings: m/m, angst, AU, occasional bad language, spoilers for the movie.

~Silk

*****

If You Will Be My Master

By Silk

It was the best of times.

It was the worst of times.

Charles Dickens would have rolled over in his grave.

But Oscar Wilde would have loved the drama.

Not to mention the eye make-up.

*****

Jack Fairy, fresh from the wrap-up of his collaborative effort with Curt Wild, affectionately known as "the Berlin record" in the business, strolled onstage. He looked decadent *and* delicious. It wasn't easy to be an icon of elegance, but for Jack, it was effortless.

He blew a kiss to Curt, who smiled warmly, even though his insides were clenched in a tight knot. The audience was appropriately appreciative and applauded enthusiastically. In truth, though, they had no real idea what to expect. It was in fact the end of an era.

The death of glitter.

The end of Glam Rock.

Jack grabbed the microphone. "To save your wild, wild lives. To ne'er your fans embitter. To cease your sad demise tonight...we toast..."

All at once a huge black banner unfurled from the ceiling, revealing in foot high silver letters, a proclamation of sorts.

The Death of Glitter.

The Flaming Creatures stepped out from behind the heavy red brocade curtains. The follow spots suddenly hit them, and Malcolm crouched down, conspiratorially addressing the audience. "This one's for Arthur."

*****

Arthur, a slightly built, brown-haired boy of 18, bounced up and down in the front row, barely able to contain his enthusiasm. His hair was sprayed blue, in homage to the late but apparently unlamented Maxwell Demon, judging from the surrounding spectators' reaction to his look. His dark eyes sparkled unnaturally. High on acid, Arthur was relatively new to drugs.

After he left home for London, he was lucky enough to be "discovered" and "adopted" by The Flaming Creatures. It was a dream come true for him. All his life, he'd felt that he was *different*.

When Brian Slade and Curt Wild entered his world, suddenly he *knew* what that difference *was*. He was like *them*. He liked *boys*, not girls. And with his unforgiving father's angry words ringing in his ears, he finally figured out that it was *not* unnatural. It simply was.

He didn't need to be high to enjoy the set. But he wasn't just there for the music. He was there to get loose and find someone who could show him *how* to be who he really was.

Arthur scoped out the crowd, taking note that Curt Wild was in the audience. Wow. His heart beat faster at the sight of the punk rocker. He admired Curt's ability to live in the moment. His music didn't move him because it was technically sound, but because it was raw and intense and emotionally powerful. Curt let it all hang out and that made his music *messy*. That's why Arthur liked it. It was so fucking *real*.

But there was another reason, too. Curt had been Brian Slade's lover. Brian Slade was Arthur's *idol*. Physically perfect, Brian was a reflection of everything unattainable. No one like Arthur could hope to know someone like Brian Slade. Much less sleep with him.

But Curt did. And despite his well-publicized break-up with Brian, Curt remained a symbol to Arthur. Of innate sensuality and emotional lability and romantic sensibility.

So his breath came a little faster when he contemplated being in the same room with Curt. Who knew what could happen by the end of the night? There was magic in the air.

Or maybe that was the drugs.

*****

Jack hadn't told Curt about seeing Brian. He hated keeping secrets of this magnitude from Curt, but he couldn't see anything good coming from telling him. Brian was clean now. His sobriety hard-won, Brian had reason to be proud of what he had achieved. Even if it never led him back to Curt.

But it would. Jack was sure of that. He just didn't know when.

Brian was still emotionally fragile. But this was one thing that Jack couldn't do for him. Brian needed to do this himself. For Curt, certainly. But for himself, too. Brian was considerably more mature than he had been going into this relationship, but there was no way to know if he could translate his insights into something real and workable.

Only time would tell.

It was a special night. Jack could feel the energy emanating from everyone involved with the show. Including Curt.

Now if only Brian had the courage to show up.

*****

The last one to take the stage was Curt Wild.

Shirtless, he strode onstage clad only in the gold lame pants that he'd worn two years before. *Those* pants. The ones that he'd been wearing when he'd toasted Brian with champagne and a wistful look. The ones that he'd been wearing when he'd kissed Brian in full view of his wife and manager and a hundred different onlookers masquerading as press. The ones that Brian had taken off him before they'd made love in his bed.

Memories. There were always going to be memories. They were all that he had now.

But sometimes he wished that...just once...Brian could hear him. And listen. His heart knew all the right words.

If only Brian were there.

*****

"Gimme danger, little stranger..."

Brian's old band was backing up Curt. For a moment, that struck Curt as so surreal, he wasn't sure he wasn't dreaming it. But no...there was Trevor, his customary smirk banished long ago. Apparently the death of Maxwell Demon had killed his delusions of grandeur. Without a steady gig, he was just one more guitarist in need of work.

Curt didn't so much as smile in the blond man's direction. As far as he was concerned, he would never forgive Trevor for laughing at him during the entire recording studio fiasco. It was one of the most painful episodes of his life, and Trevor's laughter still haunted him.

"Kiss me like the ocean breeze..."

Oh, God, every time he sang that, he thought of Brian. His heart sank when he thought that he would probably never see Brian again, much less *kiss* him.

"If you will be my lover..."

He could tell when he began to lose his focus on the song itself. Sheer emotion took him over, and he flailed his arms and legs with a fervor that he couldn't feel anymore unless he was onstage.

"But if you will be my master, I will do anything..."

I would. I swear. Brian. Are you out there? And if you are...are you even fucking listening?

"Can you feel it?"

"I wanna feel it! I *need* to feel it!" Christ, every fucking syllable was a cry from his heart. He was coming apart inside, and he knew he couldn't hold it together for very much longer.

"I wanna fucking feel it!" His voice was ragged and torn like the fingernails that alternately caressed and scratched his bare upper torso.

His legs grew impossibly weak and refused to hold him up. Curt collapsed on his stomach, his head buried in his arms. His shoulders heaving, he panted for breath. But tears were dangerously close to the surface.

That wasn't a performance, he wanted to scream. It was my fucking *life*.

Jack watched from the wings. He wanted to go to Curt, but he knew that the younger man wouldn't thank him for calling even more attention to his pain.

*****

Arthur was transfixed by the sight of Curt writhing onstage. The way he threw himself around with such callous disregard for his own safety mesmerized the teenager.

And yet he was not so completely hypnotized that he didn't see Mandy Slade, Brian's ex-wife, enter the crowd virtually unnoticed. He glanced at her curiously, wondering if her presence was for Curt. Or was it for someone else? Someone he hadn't seen yet?

He saw her eyes widen and fix on a distant point to his left. His eyes automatically tracked in the direction she looked, and he was stunned by what he saw. The distinctive silhouette of a man in a long black coat, his head covered by a hat that did nothing to conceal his face.

There wasn't much light, but it didn't matter. Arthur would know that face anywhere. It was Brian Slade. He was here. Probably to see Curt.

But then...why didn't he come in? Was he afraid of how the crowd would react? Or Curt?

Arthur turned his head abruptly to stare at Curt. Did Curt even realize that Brian was here?

When Curt crumpled to the floor, Brian's intense gaze was directed right at him. Arthur looked back at the door, only to see Brian hike up the collar of his coat and pull down the brim of his hat. He was leaving. No way.

Brian wouldn't leave without seeing Curt.

Would he?

End