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There’s no party like a Kurt Cobain party...
Why?
‘Cause a Kurt Cobain party never stops. Didn’t he tell you?
Billy, spiritually on hand and knee before his idol, crumbles beneath the weight of Kurt’s aura. Everybody wants to be close, but Billy stays closest. To his surprise, Kurt practically wants the man on his hip; dragging Billy around his ‘pad’ to pick up tinctures, tonics, powders, and pills; all while making wild conversation. Kurt slurs his words, though he also uses many Billy can’t make out the meaning of. Cobain’s smart, if not a little stupid when he gets shit-faced. And still, he always knows what he’s talking about, invariably meaning what he says without taking statements back later. Billy can only dream of having such confidence. Kurt feels so untouchable, yet he’s down to earth—clad in a light-green flannel and pajama pants, talking about politics and his favorite whiskey. Billy’s always wanted for nothing more. And with Kurt, he never has to want for anything.
Feeling quite special–equally as flustered, as the night winds down Billy chills on the hole-y couch with Kurt. The other partygoers filter out through various exits, leaving the pair alone, awaiting whatever typical, debaucherous scene would play out next. It’s only to be expected at a Kurt Cobain party…
Billy’s eyes are red as the sun, and the scent of strong vodka wafts from his breath following every lung-sore heave. He shakes his head, barely able to keep it above metaphorical water, seeming to slump here and there before picking himself up so as not to make an ass of his person before Kurt. Though Kurt has made it clear a million times before that he pays no mind to one’s face or case, just as long as they’re a good friend. Don’t bring Kurt down from the electric orchestra and he won’t have any complaints. Billy keeps the good mood flowing by leaning in a little closer, intently listening to Kurt blabber on about something hardly digested by half-deaf ears.
“You know, I feel like I can talk to you about anything. You’re an amazing listener; everybody else, they always have something to say, but you, Bill… You’re great… Tonight’s been amazing, really.. I don’t think I’ve had a better night in a very long time.”
Billy’s face flushes immediately–enchanted by Kurt’s sudden onslaught of compliments. It’s enough to make even his stoicist fan blush. Though Bill’s no fan, he’s a friend. Held upon a mental pedestal above so many others; eating up Kurt’s charm like candy. Could this be a sugar rush or is Billy falling in too deep? He can’t help himself. Perhaps his attitude is dream-stuck and hopeless, alas, Billy doesn’t deny the warm feelings swelling within his heart. “It’s been pretty good. Hell, I even came around to green ‘cause of you. Haven’t had a good experience with it since I was six,” Billy self-deprecatingly jests, beckoning a guilty snicker alongside a snarky eye-roll.
“You didn’t do any coke or pills, though. Is this more James’ scene than yours?”
Bill shrugs, “You could say that. I don’t like party drugs or packed events, but I wanted to see you so… I bit the bullet. Didn’t bring James along since he’s too busy sniffing glue with Darcy back at the hotel.”
Kurt laughs, his smile lines especially pronounced beneath crinkling eyes. He shifts around a bit only to get a little closer, effectively shortening the space between them as tricky hands both reach for a cigarette and Billy’s trembling thigh. “Jeeze, ain’t that sweet… I’m really not all that, Bill. The fame hasn’t gotten to my head quite yet; don’t think of me as all high-n’-fuckin’ mighty.. ‘m just a friend, that’s all…”
Billy, unaffected by Kurt’s touchy-feelyness, hardly blinks at the contact–maybe too wasted to notice in the first place, or the man’s lack of action is an invitation. Needless to say, Kurt advances on him; wolf against lamb, he swoops in for the kill. Playfully parting Billy’s thighs, then filling the space with his own body. He practically crushes Bill, all the while he nips at the man’s flushed neck, feeling his heart race against his teeth— threatening to rip that pretty throat out.
Billy’s struggling turns Kurt away for a moment, sitting on his knees, Kurt laughs like a coyote. “Sorry, was that a bit too forward?” Wiping his mouth of hot saliva and crimson droplets, he swoops in from above once more.
| And in your eyes I watch vast galaxies collapse,
Sunset hair resting on waves far into the horizon,
Some part of me wants you more than you could ever know.
You look amazing in this light; all I want is to savor the moment,
Hold on to it forever. |
A chill rushes through Billy from head to toe, something he’s never felt before–every fear before this was cheap and watered-down. What kind of assault is this? Panic over-encumbers the man and renders his body useless to Kurt’s strange movements. Leveraged against Billy is all of Kurt’s weight and the downers plaguing his system, if he weren’t so shit-faced, he’d fight Cobain off, no problem. At a not-so-meek, though certainly mild, 6’3, he shouldn’t have an issue shaking Kurt off.
His chest aches strangely as though it is aflame. He can hardly breathe.. Fear grabbing hold with sharp talons, Billy’s far too busy struggling against himself to notice Kurt’s hands trespassing beneath his shirt. Greedily grabbing at whatever he can find, soon Kurt grasps two shapely and soft surprises. Curiosity strikes right then, and Kurt reaches for Billy’s belt buckle, removing bindings and extra layers agonizingly slowly. A light patch of pubic hair reveals itself, and below are pink folds. Kurt trails his hand down the other man’s stomach, stopping just short of Billy’s vulva; refusing to go on before reassuring him, “ I can’t help it, you look perfect tonight… I’ve been thinking about doing this for a long time–was hoping you felt the same..” He frowns. “Don’t look at me like that.. I’m not gonna hurt you. I thought you were giving me signals all night…” Then sighs while murmuring, “Hope you don’t mind. We’re good enough friends, right?”
Kurt slides his thumb between Billy’s cunt lips in one smooth movement, relishing in how his hips jerk and raise. Billy, his face flushed even redder than during their previous meetings, faults himself for getting it into Kurt’s head that he was free game. Getting drunk and kissing your friends is one thing—call whoever did it a fag as they scream ‘I love you, man!’. Fucking your friends is a whole other mess in itself…
Is he to blame, or did Kurt jump the gun?
Billy tries to speak, but nothing coherent can be thought or expressed. Wordlessly, he endures Kurt’s frantic, dog-like licking anywhere his wet tongue can reach. He nips more blood out of broken skin before hoisting Billy’s legs over his shoulders; slicking down curly brown hairs and suckling Bill’s throbbing clit. At some point, he shoved his cock down Billy’s throat and even had him on his back over the coffee table.
Every detail past cumming in Kurt’s mouth is either pitch black or a sloppy blur. He awakes twelve hours after the bender, crushed under the weight of a sizely man. Billy cannot help taking mental note of how peaceful Kurt looks while asleep, though as memories of last night seep in, he retreats into panic mode once again–trying desperately to pick himself up and get the Hell out of there. It feels like it all could’ve been nothing more than a bad dream.. A trip gone bad or something else like that. However, every kiss and suck felt so real, that now he’s beginning to lose faith in that theory.
Kurt never quite lost the sureness in himself, so much so that he had the gall to invite Billy over for another party not even a month later. Billy arrived shortly past seven p.m., taking note half-past ten that nobody else had shown up…