The Fireworks Affair
FANDOM: Strokes/Dandy Warhols
PAIRING: Julian Casablancas/Courtney Taylor Taylor
RATING: a strong PG-13, maybe. there's assumed boylove, and some kissing. DISCLAIMER: Swear to God, they're not mine. If they were, this wouldn't be happening. It wouldn't have been written, i wouldn't have time to write dirty stories about them, i'd be too busy using them as my own personal sex toys *g*.
SUMMARY: Julian wanders the streets of his home town, etc. etc., just go read it.
FEEDBACK: is a lovely thing.
I had seven faces
Thought I knew which one to wear…
Julian walks the streets of the glitteringly dirty city that’s called home for as long as he can remember.
It doesn’t feel like home tonight. Or any of the nights he’s spent lately, walking, wondering. It’s started to feel perverse, like he’s doing that other, less savoury w-word as he stumbles slightly drunkenly over the gritty, grime covered pavements. Like he’s trying desperately to find that higher place that is only accessible to the post-coital. Only it’s not a place he’s seeking. It’s the person who gets him to that place.
Julian spins around, stares wildly at the source of the echoing shout. It’s then he spots a club manager chiding a drag queen standing outside his club smoking, ushering him/her back inside.
“It’s not good enough, Courtney, not another break! The patrons want their money’s worth!”
The irony of this mix up is not lost on Julian.
“Courtney? Isn’t that a girl’s name?”
“You think I don’t get that 10 times a day? Seriously, one day my mom and dad are gonna pay for that one…”
“I didn’t, y’know, mean it in a bad way. I was just…y’know, curious.”
“You look it.”
Light catching the shimmering residue.
Moves back in for more.
Julian contemplates going to Nick’s place, Fab’s place, anyone’s place…but then he thinks that they all have somebody there. Everyone except him.
I have somebody. he corrects himself. Somebody who is everybody, really.
[somebody on the other side of the country] his sub-conscious tells him in that annoyingly right way it has.
Shut up. Julian hates himself sometimes.
“Awww, shut up.”
Laughs. “It’s so true, Court. Maybe you’ve done it too many times to notice anymore.”
“Since when do you know what a male prostitute looks like anyway?”
“I don’t have to know to know that you look like one when you do that thing…See, you’re doing it again!”
Lets out a very unmanly scream as his stomach and chest are pummelled mercilessly.
“Argh! Okay…stop it…”
Chokes slightly as he is used as a chair of sorts, pinned to the bed.
“Yes, yes, give…”
Smiles as he watches the victorious smile turn into a slight pout.
“You’re too easy.”
“You should know, my little whore…”
Winces as he is slapped for this little comment.
“Why do I stay with you when all you do is abuse me?”
Spicy, wet, hot, intoxicating.
“Because you know you love it, Julian Casablancas.”
“I love you.”
“I love you too. More than anything.”
Julian looks overhead as something goes off with an earth shattering *bang*, making him jump out of his reverie. Sparkling fragments fall from the sky, and he can hear the “oooh, aahh” response of the people in the vicinity. He watches as another of these man made comets arches across the sky, leaving trails of shimmering green brilliance behind it. Another, silvery-grey, explodes in a blossom of stardust light. As the sparks fall, Julian thinks of sparkling deep grey-blue eyes, sweaty honey and white chocolate skin entwined and kisses that taste similar, with just a hint of red wine and cigarettes to deflower those innocent, childlike sensations.
“Is that really it?”
“Yeah. Totally. Big, Fourth of July fireworks. Lots of sparks, hot, always that little bit of summer in them.”
“For me, it’s…it’s like the best song you’ve ever heard. Does that make sense?”
“Like, imagine if you could write a song with lyrics that spoke to everyone, and yet were so personal you can’t imagine anyone understanding them. Melodies that just…fit, y’know? The perfect drum beat. Not too fast, not too slow. That’s it for me, right there. The song I know I’ll never be able to write.”
Even the air has stopped breathing after this extraordinary pronouncement.
Relieved laugh; he gets it.
There’s the smell of smoke in the air: of excitement, joy, extreme happiness. Julian makes a desperate attempt to fee anything but desolation; he doesn’t want his crushing depression to seep into these oblivious, undeserving people.
I deserve it. he tells himself. I fell in love with him…I let myself get dragged in.
[yes, you deserve it. you deserve to be loved.]
Julian pushes aside that little voice again, repeating what so many others have said to him before.
“You think too much.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“You need to do less thinking, more spontaneous doing.”
Deep, intense, so easy to get lost in.
“You weren’t thinking then, I can tell. Not everything is as complex as you’d imagine, Jules.”
“You made that simple.”
so, what do you think? better? worse? etc.?