Title: Instamatics 11/22/01 1/1, #106
Guest Author: kimberlite
Archive: Please ask.
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Todd Haynes, Miramax, etc.
Feedback: Please, to kimberlite@cox.net
Notes: Many thanks to Alex for beta, for all her encouragement, and for letting me frolic in her playground.

Instamatics #106

The amber liquid swirled hypnotically as Curt sucked it into the syringe. Licking his lips in anticipation, Curt admired its rich beauty, like the autumn leaves brightening Central Park.

"Hey, you planning on paying for that?"

Startled, Curt turned away from the table to face Wells. "Come on, man, you know I'm good for it -- I'm just a little short of cash right now. I'll catch up in a couple days."

"What do I look like, a fucking charity? I don't care if it is Thanksgiving -- you want that, you pay," Wells stated firmly, eyes dropping slowly down Curt's body.

Curt closed his eyes briefly, feeling the need burning deep inside him. "Fuck," Curt hissed under his breath as he reached for the buttons of his jeans. Turning back to the table, Curt dropped his pants and leaned over, supporting his weight on his hands, the cool air on his bare skin a shocking contrast to the fiery demands of his addiction.

"Good boy," Wells whispered against Curt's ear.

Trying not to react, to simply ignore the man behind him, Curt examined his hands, splayed out on the scarred wooden surface. Suddenly, he was back in grade school, drawing the outline of his hand and then decorating it into a holiday turkey. Every year they'd made turkeys. And every fucking year they'd had to write next to them, "I'm thankful for..."

Curt gritted his teeth, grunting as Wells thrust into him without any preparation. The bastard liked making people scream, but damned if Curt was going to oblige.

When Curt had been little, it had been easy to complete that sentence -- a toy, a cool rock, a favorite food. As he'd grown older, he'd realized there were deeper levels to the question and it had gotten harder to answer. He remembered being thirteen and defiantly leaving the sentence unfinished. His teacher had tried to prompt him, suggesting, "I'm thankful for my family."

Wells' hands clenched hard into his hips and Curt rode out the last few thrusts. He almost laughed aloud as he imagined Miss Templeton, always so proper and correct, seeing him now.

Finished, Wells pulled out, slapping Curt's ass before stepping away quickly. "Always a pleasure. Enjoy."

"Right." Curt grabbed his jeans and tugged them up, shutting Wells out of his thoughts. Using his teeth to help tighten the rubber tubing around his upper arm, Curt fisted his hand, looking along his arm for a good spot. Curt injected himself, the sharp sting of the needle preceding the molten, euphoric rush as the drug entered his bloodstream.

Sliding to the floor, Curt smiled blissfully. This year he knew how to finish the sentence. He was thankful he'd found a way to make it all go away.