Madiera Darling (madam_mew_mew) wrote in bowieslash,
Madiera Darling
madam_mew_mew
bowieslash

His Favorite Memory Of Bowie

Title: His Favorite Memory Of Bowie Was In Berlin in The Snow
Rating: Pg-13ish
Pairing: Bowie/Iggy
Summery: A recollection of a long past memory
Legal BS: Yes, it did happen and I have it all on tape, along with bigfoot playing poker with nessie... no I don't, I don't own em, don't sue me.
Notes: Written for Ziggythewalrus of Glitter Trash Slash ( http://community.livejournal.com/ficofthemonth/profile )



His favorite memory of Bowie was in Berlin in the snow. He could still see him, that pale, ageless, too beautiful figure standing in the blue light outside his window.

Skin white and hair black in the half light. He’d looked so delicate at that moment, so skinny, and vulnerable with flakes of snow in the cheap fake fur he’d been wearing. He remembered how cold his lips were, at that moment when they kissed.

He remembered the way he drew back, shy, suddenly coy. His glitter rock extraterrestrial androgyne messiah, shy in his arms.

He’d loved him, he’d loved him more than he’d loved anything else, the one drug he’d never given up his addiction to. Those sweet lips always tasted of cigarettes and innocence.
“David,” he’d murmured kissing along one of those snow chilled razorblade cheekbones.
And the other man had laughed shaking his head “No, Ziggy,” he’d reminded the bleach blonde whose arms were wrapped so protectively around his slim waist.

“Never leave me, whatever your name is,” said the bleach blonde, giving him a lingering kiss on the mouth.

“I won’t,” purred Bowie, hand on the other man’s cheek.

“Promise?” asked Iggy with a wry smile.

“Promise,” murmured Bowie. It was a lie, of course, but a comforting one at the time.

Iggy buried his nose in Bowie’s hair, inhaling the scent of hair dye, cigarette smoke, and incense. He loved that smell, because it meant he had Bowie in his arms, and that he’d be staying there, at least for the moment.

They’d never officially said “I love you,” but the words always seemed poised on the tip of the fair haired man’s tongue. He was never sure what Bowie felt, impassive behind the façade of Ziggy, always playing the character.

To be truly honest it pissed him off being in love with a man he barely knew, but there was nothing he could do, and so he bore the unsure nature of their curious romance.

His favorite memory of Bowie was in Berlin in the snow, the night he'd nearly said three words that would have meant the end of the world.
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