CHAPTER 3



CHAPTER 3

THE UNNAMED FEELING

PART 2

John Matthew concluded that he really understood what it felt like for an ant trying to move into the world without being crashed by human feet.

It was 100% the same thing with how he felt when he had changed lately in the gym locker room of the mansion after each training session.

A small group of four of its "partners" were out of the shower wearing gold chains, tattoos freshly made, sex the size of a normal male, height and muscle. And, above all, cockiness.

-Hey, it’s Passion tonight right? There are some of us here that have to celebrate being males .- Rahg chuckled as a dog, echoed by his cocksucker friends, glancing toward the far bank of the lockers as he began to dress- Do you think there are some vampires incapable of going through the change? And I thought that was just an urban legend ...

John looked sideways at his colleagues as he finished tying his sneakers, trying to make little and blend with the landscape of the locker room. Which would be deceptively easy because of all the kids who were present who trained with the Brotherhood, he was the only sucker who still looked like a stick insect. Why not ... Maybe it was true what Rahg said and some vamps males failed to ever become males. He eyed his little shoes.

-He's an asshole.- Qhuinn murmured, as big as a four-door closet, closing the locker with a hit.

The noise made the vampire turn toward him. Rahg was Lash's best friend, assuming that Lash knew to distinguish a friend from garbage. Just like Banner and Flappy. He laughed at his jokes, came running to him, had the same disgusting amount of doe to spend, the same taste in clothes ... and they shared the same fondness for picking on John. He was like Lash’s alternate when he wasn’t around, like that night.

Rahg put on a black leather jacket with a gesture bullies do and adjusted his belt buckle with the big CK before dropping his sports bag over the shoulder. He was blond and wore his hair slicked back on the edge with a straight long streak covering his left eye. From his ears hung two inverted crosses. He walked toward Qhuinn with a stance of pure bravado. Shit, thought John, ducking his head, the transition had done the same favor to everyone else but him. That jerk was over six feet.

-Hey, Qhuinn, I’d invite you to celebrate that we all are males buuuut...- he chuckled and nodded, looking sideways at John- ... I think in your group of friends someone is still a girl. You’d like to leave Johnny here with my little sister? Surely they can play dolls.

Qhuinn pushed his chest forward and Blaylock jumped up from the bench where he sat next to John, squaring his shoulders with those of his friend. The two formed a wall that cast a huge shadow over him.

-Let's stop this right now .- said the redhead with a low voice that seemed to echo in his throat. -Get out to where you can soak up your brain until you have enough shit to start hallucinations.

-Well, there are those of us who do not have to ask permission from mommy to go out. Does that make you jealous… Blay?

Rahg had a cocky grin slightly sideways while making a nod to his little group and all of them went out, making sure to pass close enough so that John could see that he was the Tooth Fairy compared to those Hulks. When the dressing room door shut with a metallic crash, Qhuinn growled.

-Someday I’ll break his face. His and Lash’s. They are a bunch of coke sniffers cocksuckers. I’ll be damned if the brothers won’t find out about their hobbies. I bet ten bucks that they won’t last a single night in the program.

John shrugged, implying that it had no fucking importance their bantering, because that's what everyone does with the little sucker.

-John. Hey, buddy, look at me.- Blay stood in front of him, leaning in his direction with hands on his hips. When dark blue eyes finally looked at him, the redhead frowned.- You will pass the transition. You will squirm in pain like a worm on a hook like everyone else. You’ll drink from a female and when you’ll wake up, Mike Tyson will scream in fear seeing you. Just as the rest of us? Okay?- When John turned to look down, he leaned closer to him. -Right?

John simply nodded so that Blay would stop pressuring him, put on his coat and slung the backpack. Damn, his head only reached his friend’s shoulder. Qhuinn gripped his neck with an arm that lay like a log as he turned to his other friend.

- Are we going to your house, Blay?

The redhead nodded with a bright smile like every time it was clear that Qhuinn enjoyed spending time in his room.

-Let those imbeciles with their shit.- he concluded.- John?

The boy nodded again in silence, although he felt like sticking his head under the covers and hibernate. For some reason, he was reminded of the endless sermons in the Catholic orphanage where he grew up. They taught that God will punish children who misbehave and bless the ones well behaved, after passing through "turn the other cheek" and "the last shall be first."

Shit, he had received spanks on both cheeks every damned day of his life and had the little sign of "last" around his neck. So far, God hadn’t blessed him too much. And for abusive bastards like Lash and Rahg, that never, never received their due…

Or was it because vampires fled the jurisdiction of God or the guy upstairs wasn’t given justice all too well.

OOO

In the thirtieth floor of the Commodore, Vishous ran the fingertips on small alligator clips and blades arranged in a metal cabinet right next to his table of domination. That night would be special, he felt it. His whole skin was burning; frustration was gasoline that fueled his rage. The hand and his eyes sparkled and the air around him was charged with static electricity from his monster screaming for release. To dominate, control, subdue and destroy the mind of a sub the way life did with him.

He wasn’t given a choice on the “gift” of his visions and a hand like a flamethrower he had to keep away from everyone. They didn’t let him decide if he wanted to reproduce so that his answer would save him from castration, thank you very much. He couldn’t decide that he wanted to stop having visions or having them back by seeing his death and that of Butch. There was no decision when he craved for his best friend or when he kissed him and when he received that sigh of relief in the kitchen when he hadn’t done it again. He wasn’t the one to decide if he wanted to go fuck forty Chosen as a birthday gift from his mother. And also he wouldn’t be able to save Butch of his death at the hands of the essence of Omega.

His life was a symphony orchestra of "he couldn’t."

With one exception. Now. At his table. With his subs. That was the only fucking time when his existence was transformed into an "I can decide" and "I can do" whatever the fuck I want. Something his bitch mother would take from him in a few days.

He sensed the presence of the female when it materialized on the terrace and his hair bristled at the nape. The predator before his prey. That female was the one reserved for moments like this, where the session would be closer to torture than sex. It was what she craved the most and God knew he was going to test her resistance until it will break. Yes, he could feel the air crackling on his skin, electric. The white eyes were diverted to the forceps specifically designed to bite the nipples of the sub. Toothed forceps connected to a cable …

Oh, yes, that would be a session to remember.

Are you looking, Mommy? Because I can guarantee that you will receive a fucking show.

OOO

The high-class nightclubs of downtown Caldwell filled with the very best of human and vampire society had a great point in your favor when you wanted to do shady business, Mr. D admitted to himself. The security personnel only made sure the problems do not come in, without worrying too much about what their customers did as long as things were quiet. And the owners were always willing to listen to discrete offers to increase their revenue without involving to too much trouble.

The skinny manager before him, with his black shirt open to mid-chest, straight bangs on both sides of the face, black, the collection of hardware pinched into the eyebrows and ears, belonged to that type of people that would make deals.

-I want to try some of the goods you distribute .- muttered the manager over the environmental Chumba Chumba, leaning to Mr. D.

Man, how happy would make him to stamp his face for getting so near. Instead, D smiled from ear to ear, taking care not to be seen through the large window overseeing the dance floor from the first floor of the premises, as he pulled two small bottles with white powder and showed them to the manager.

-One for you and one to start ... let's say, making it known among the target audience.- he did his best to separate the words instead of dragging them in the good Texas accent.

The manager looked at the pasty white guy with hands on hips, skinny arms with tendons as twisted ropes, his face thin as if the air has sucked out all the moisture. Not that the business was bad, but the reputation of a nightclub was volatile. One day the premises were "in" Caldwell and the next day they were "off", even if nothing had changed except the tastes of rich kids. So the… um, complementary doses were a good way to offer a premium service to an audience of "children" who could afford it without blinking.

The problem when you ran drugs in your joint, of course, was that you could draw the attention of Rheverend. And that was not a good idea unless you wanted to check whether you fitted into a can of dog food. The main drug lord in Caldie did not miss any of the major supply lines of the city. But he could not control the little tricks that do not require shipping by boat or plane from the border with Mexico.

And the deal that the albino offered seemed a good deal. Ketamine was an anesthetic with a hallucinogenic effect easy to purchase if you had contacts in clinics or pharmacies. It could not be faked, because it was manufactured directly in pharmacies, caused no alarming side effects if doses were respected and didn’t created addicts. In return, provided a happy hour of mystical journey through the universe on the basis of sensory hallucinations, along with the sense of floating high above your body. Shit, he even knew books talking about contact with higher beings through the portal to self-consciousness opened by K.

It could also be sold in different forms to suit the client's taste, drinkable liquid to mix with the shots, smokeless powder or sniff for coke nostalgic, or soluble glass in any combination. Yes, it was a good choice for fat wins without attracting the attention of the Rheverend.

-I want 40 of what you sell here.- the manager began the discussion.

Mr. D chuckled and stuffed the bottles back into the inside pocket of his suit. The negotiations that followed were adjusted perfectly to the usual parameters, a give and take which resulted in a handshake.

D kept a bottle for himself –quality shit, you know-, and then glanced indifferent to the public that crowded the place. Closing deals in the manager's office, that fishbowl glass hovering over the dance floor gave many benefits in addition to privacy.

The group of vampires gathered at the bar below, for example, couldn’t smell him.

-Choose the group zero for your marketing campaign, Texas.- invited the manager, pointing to the stew of twisted bodies under the lasers.

That was a key point in the negotiation from the lesser point of view. They would bring the drug to Passion and distribute it from when customers began asking for it. But in the first night, D got to chose who would tasted it. Customers always felt good when the club offered them a duty free personalized tasting, it made them interested in other products. The club won because if they liked the K, the little group will spread the word among other clients, initiating orders, and the traffickers’ earning were going up if the clients wanted to taste more shit.

D shrugged in a gesture of indifference, pretending to study the different groups who crowded the room. Then, he looked over at a gang of four kids who seem straight out of a catalog of Dolce & Gabbana aside from their shoulders, as wide as those of a yeti.

-They seem to be looking for special fun, huh? - murmured D, raising a finger-You know all your customers- he said.-Do they have what it takes?

The manager stood in front of the glass with legs spread, examining the particular group.

-Yep, sometimes they ask for glass. Good choice. Doe to spend and they are in the right age. You know, when they experiment with everything.

D watched as a lone wolf. Oh, yes, good choice, of course. He pointed to a blond boy with spiky hair and a straight lock on one side of the face.

-That seems to be the alpha male, no? Serve him something special and say that the menu expanded. If he’ll like it, I’m sure his friends will also like it, you know the lack of personality that young people have nowadays. You could have the first customers tonight.

The manager's eyes narrowed with the "dollar" symbol so clearly painted on them that D was suddenly reminded of Uncle Scrooge. He smiled and nodded before turning back to Mr. D.

- Won’t you rather introduce yourself?

-Nope. Tell them you know where to find anything if, in addition to K, they want other things.

-Want a brandy to celebrate?

D raised his hand and shook his head.

-I do not drink, my friend. Health comes first, you know. We can celebrate when I’ll get the first serious order.

The manager served himself two fingers of alcohol and lifted the glass while D was getting up to shake the hand he was offering over his desk.

-A pleasure doing business with you.

-Ditto ..ditto.

D picked up his cowboy hat of the chair and put it on as he left by the private exit of Passion. Well, it was clear that a drugstore robbery had been the right decision. If all went as planned, those noble vampires will have a fantastic psychotropic experience in a moment.

There was something else that he didn’t tell the manager, of course. Magicians never reveal all their tricks. Ketamine comes in two dosages and different levels of purity. One for sedation and psychiatric treatments in humans ... and one for veterinary use.

Anesthesia for horses, actually.

It would be interesting to see what that second dose would do to the body of a vampire. D was willing to bet that it could take them down long enough for him and his boys to make good Samaritans, pick one or more kids with fangs and take them home.

At his home, of course.

OOO

Butch took a deep breath, expanding his chest under his shirt, suit and coat of fine wool, as he raised his eyes to the Commodore, as if he could distinguish the apartment of V from a distance. Man, he could not believe he had the courage to stand there. He’ll see if it would last when he’ll have his friend in front of him. He rearranged the shoulders of the coat, inhaled strongly and began walking toward the door, stopping after two meters recognizing a familiar black Mercedes sedan. Fritz? What the hell was the chief butler of the manor doing there?

The answer came seconds later, when the tiny little man, wearing a long coat, turned the corner carrying the burden of a woman ... no, a female, Butch mentally corrected because he was close enough.

The cop in him was taking mental notes. The female, brunette, carrying the remains of a very messy high bun that showed black and blue marks of biting on the neck and had bleeding lacerations around the mouth, as if someone had gagged her with a metal chain. She seemed to have stiletto boots, judging by what he saw under the long coat of leather. When they came closer, Butch saw she clenched her eyes tightly and tears were still falling down her cheeks. Clearly, if Fritz wasn’t holding on to her, she would have ended up face down on the floor. Probably for the night.

God, V ...

Fritz stopped at seeing the tall figure of Butch beside the car, with the same face that someone would have if you found a corpse in his freezer.

-Good evening, sir.- the man nodded in his direction and struggled with the female to press the remote and then open the car door.

He gently put the female in, laying her on the backseat and struggled to prop her legs like she was a doll in a collection. In doing so, the leather coat opened and Butch had just enough time to see part of her generous cleavage, sticking out of a badly buckled leather bra: bites, blood, burns. On her thighs, she had more lacerations and the inner side seemed to have electrical burns. She smelled of wax, sweat, sex and blood. And V. Fritz closed the door and smiled.

-Do you want me to take you to the mansion, sir? I have to make a stop along the way to let the lady at home, but it will not take long.

So you're the taxi for V’s females... Butch clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white and had to remember two things: first, adult consent, and the second, that Vishous had the perfect right to screw with anyone. So he forced himself to swallow a stupid roar that began to rumble in his throat.

-No, Fritz. I have business with V.

-As you wish, sir. Good night.- the man bowed with his usual smile and then came around the car to get behind the wheel. The Mercedes began with a soft purr and left down the wet street.

Butch turned to the entrance of the building as he remembered that he had come to speak to Vishous, not to throw a fit. Fritz was away from the house each time that V had one of his sessions, so that would make the transport of half dead females something casual, when the brother was eager to let off steam special. And he would bet a few years of life he knew why this one was one of those occasions.

He clenched his fists with elevator background music setting the surreal note over the scene. At the top, he walked down the hall making it sound of Italian shoes, without pausing between coming before V’s door and the beginning of the punches.

Nothing.

-Open the door, V. I know you're there. I just saw your girl- why the hell were his jaws clenching on their own? Banging on the door again. Nothing. He started to hit the black door as if it were a punching bag- Open the fucking door or I’ll tear it down!

Damn, he didn’t know why he was so pissed. Well, partly he understood. Because what had come to tell Vishous caused him panic cramps, it made him feel weak and fired his levels of aggression so high as to break the thermometer. Seeing the quantity of anger V needed to vent with those sessions also put him in bad temper. Because it was not fair for someone to have so much shit inside.

He heard no noise on the other side of the door, but he sensed the presence of Vishous. Finally, the door opened with a yank and the brother’s six foot six completely filled the frame. God, he was angry.

His right hand was holding the door opened and had the left arm resting on the top of the doorway, bare-chested, body leaning forward, aggressive as shit. He smelled of female and his eyes were half closed, very cold. His long strays of hair were disheveled and sweaty, like his torso, every muscle marked. He was barefoot, wearing leather pants without a belt, down his hips, covering him only to the point where it started to be considered indecent and he looked like a fucking demon.

Butch's body became warm at command and he said to himself it was because of the raging anger he kept inside.

- What the hell are you doing here? - V barked, not moving an inch. His eyes were cold with the same anger, but with something else, as if they were empty.

-Let me in.- now, that sounded like a line form a vampire movie.

-Leave. This is private.- Vishous seemed carved in stone with two eyes as nuclear warheads.

-You just bled a female tied to that table of yours, burned her with wax and caused lacerations on her body. I bet there have been some electricity in the game, too. I met her on my way over.- Butch recited, resting his hands on both sides of the door and bowed until his face was a palm away from V’s.- It’s not my first time here, so I will not faint, you are not so shocking. Open the fucking door.

V breathed so deeply that his nose dilated. Then let go of the door and it hit the wall when the brother turned and walked inside. Butch frowned and followed him into the apartment, closing the door behind him. For heaven's sake ... His homicide detective eyes caught all the details while V was sitting in the clean bed, his back against the headboard, and began to light up a cigar. The gold lighter’s “click” was the only sound to be heard.

The hundred of black candles spread throughout the apartment were still lit and it looked like a scene of a satanic ritual. Butch walked silently to the foot of the bed, near V’s "work table". The steel was stained with blood, wax and other fluids. There was a gag ball, a kind of vibrator connected to a cable and alligator clips above number. Butch saw blood on them. Good God… so much anger ... At the table’s foot were V’s shirt and combat boots. Butch inhaled hard and realized that was a bad idea. As the smell of the female sneaked into his nostrils, the brain appeared to have suffered a short circuit.

He turned slowly toward Vishous, who was sitting in the bed with one leg bent and the other one stretched. The brother slowly exhaled the smoke. He was watching him with narrowed eyes and the light from the candles on the iron table beside the bed danced on his skin.

- Do you like the view, cop? - The voice went hoarse.

Butch pushed his hair back.

-I thought you enjoyed this. Why would you do if you don’t?

Vishous sucked in air, returned to blow the smoke and put his arm around the bent leg.

- Why would you think I don’t enjoy it?

-Because your hands are shaking. And because I smell her sex, not yours.

Fucking cops, always observent. Vishous returned to take the cigarette to his mouth, aiming to take nicotine, benzene and all other "enes" to every corner of the lungs. He said nothing. What was he supposed to say? "Yes, cop, I had the wildest session I can remember in a long time but you know what? I haven’t come not even once because I couldn’t get the other night out of my head and because I saw you all the time and not her. My ball is ready to explode, I destroyed everything between us and I feel dirty." Yes, this might be a good speech. But instead he only pressed his lips together.

Butch continued to look at the apartment, taking note of every trace of his depravity, until he took off his coat and laid it on the only chair in the room. Vishous watched his every move as he unbuttoned his jacket and carefully laid it down. The cop had a huge back, muscles bulging everywhere. And V knew how beautiful they would be moving ...Fuuuccckkkk. Another long drag.

Butch went to the wall where the masks hung and the gag balls and touched one of the balls with a finger. Vishous shifted in bed as if the cop had put his finger on a sore. Yes, there. That’s it boy, touch my degeneration and fill me with disgust and it will be easier for me to say what I want you to know.

-Tomorrow I’ll leave the Pit.- he whispered. V didn’t know whether he would have the self control needed for more than those words.

Butch didn’t even look at him. He played with a long handcuffs chain. V tried to get up and shake him, but did not trust himself enough to touch him.

- Did you hear me?

Butch looked at him sideways and then re-examined the collection, as if what he said didn’t matter.

-You won’t.

A tone as sure as if to say that the sun rises in the east. Vishous rose from the bed. The cop was getting his nerves strained and he needed a drink. He walked to the bar.

- Why are you so sure?

-Because I reject that conclusion.

Vishous froze with his hand on the bottle of Grey Goose from the glass shelf. Son of a bitch, the same words he had said when Butch feared to have become a lesser. He knew, he guessed that V was trying to put distance between them. And the cop decided not to let him go.

-We’re roommates. The Pit is your place.- now Butch’s fingers walked over the steel blades in a small steel furniture .- And, before you ask, because I say so.

-Bastard.

-Probably. Thanks for reminding me.

Vishous focused on the half glass of vodka he poured himself trying not to see that Butch was coming to him and leaned back on the bar, still with his eyes pinned to his collection of tools. V drank four long sips and didn’t care they skinned his throat. With a little luck, it will also scorch his heart and maybe the damn thing will stop hurting.

- Did you bring males here? - Butch's voice was casual, distant.

Another drink. And another. V played with the tall glass.

-Sometimes. It’s been a while.

Butch, at his side, but with his face turned towards the scene of the crime, agreed.

- You also tie them down and do Sweeney Todd on them?

The shot of Goose decided to go for his lungs and V was about to drown. He put the glass on the bar with a hit and coughed several times, about to spit his lungs through the mouth. Butch still wasn’t looking at him and finally, Vishous straightened to glare at him.

- Have you come here you get my report?

The cop looked down at his shoes and shook his head. The candles were playing in his brown hair.

-No, just wanted to know if you are different with men than with women. Because you can’t feed from males, I thought, maybe ...

- What, that perhaps I give them roses and dance Michael Bolton with them before fucking? – V mixed anger and disgust in equal parts in his murmur. -Why the hell would you care, brother?

Butch left the marble bar, picked up another glass and poured some Grey Goose from V’s bottle. That female smell will get him suicidal. He swallowed half a glass in one go.

-I do not know how you can drink this shit.

-I asked you a question. And look at me when I talk. If you knew you won’t like what you’ll see, you shouldn’t have come.- God, he almost broke the glass, that’s how hard he clenched it.

Butch looked up and turned just enough to meet his eyes. He held his gaze for a moment before tilting the head back and hit the vodka with a rush. Then he stared at the empty glass.

-I liked it. The other night...- the voice was a whisper as hoarse as one of a crow.- God knows I'm not gay but ... I liked it. I was hard like a fucking baseball bat for God know how long.

OOO

Wow, so infinite, the universe was like this ... multi-colored lights of the stars, the fog of galaxies, deep, beyond reach, the voices of angels and the light beams of energy that crossed Cosmos. Carl Sagan was right, fuck him, we are all one with the planetary consciousness and shit. Only one thing was wrong: the universe was not cold.

It was hotter than the fucking hell.

Rahg blinked, collapsed on a high stool in a corner of the bar at Passion while the disco lights seemed to move at full speed before his eyes, like the letters of "Star Wars". Regardless of the astral travel that was starring in his mind, his body was stuck in a crematory. He was sweating profusely, his limps were jelly o, his heart rate would cause hysteria to a team of cardiologists and a lance could have gone through him without even notice.

It was the effect of dissociation drugs. Mental experience comparable to "Alice in Wonderland," but it demanded a price: your body failed to obey. Or, rather, failed to obey the brain stimuli, like a broken link.

Someone laughed at his side with the same “Man-I-see-pink-elephants” tone and to Rahg it seemed the voice of an angel. The only problem was the heat. Shit, he was in full astral travel, kept together with his physical shell by a thin black lace, and it seemed that his body was trying to send a message by express mail. Something like "Hey, I'm cooking here."

Rahg blinked with no control over his facial expression when one of his colleagues laughed and patted his shoulder against his ear. The sound spread to his brain as the sound of a gong. Damn, that shit that they gave them was good. First: it was cheap, no side effects, discreet and assuring you a mystical experience at the height of the top televangelists. Just what a vampire fresh out of his transition wanted, to experience all the experiences that his asexuate body kept him from having in 25 years.

He had taken the most K, of course. Because he was the leader of his small herd. In the absence of Lash, of course. Certainly. Man, is this the Andromeda that I see?

In the real world, Rahg tried to lift his hand to wipe the sweat from his eyes and failed and ended up shaking his head like he had flies on him. The beating of his heart raced a little more and he began to gasp for air.

A breath of fresh air touched his face like a breath of cosmic power and he turned to it with a smile. Ah, yes, the angels were pointing the way.

It took several minutes to restore the connection to his body enough to force himself to move in search of that freshness. He took down several stools, hit at least five humans and spilled the drinks of several couples, but managed to get to the emergency door of the club. Then he had to concentrate to open it while his arms hung limp, like a monkey’s. Another blow. Another. And another. He seemed to be trapped in the Groundhog Day, unable to give new orders to his bastard body that now seemed fixated on the orders "open the door at all costs".

Whether by chance or because someone took pity on him and opened the door, Rahg was out and rushed forward like a battering ram that you let out of confinement. He gave two false starts, not feeling his feet, the ground beneath them, or the blood that dripped from his head after having been banging it on the door, and fell on the alley’s asphalt behind Passion, his face into a puddle.

Damn, he finally found something cool ...

This was a small side effect of ketamine at high doses, like the one used in veterinary clinics: elevated blood pressure, arrhythmia and severe heat shock.

Which was hilarious when you were a vampire, thought Mr. D when he saw the young noble blond stumbling into the alley. He observed him from his guard post, slumped behind the wheel of the old Ford. They had experienced enough with the bloodsuckers to know that their body temperature was on a regular basis higher than that of a human and they had a heart with six chambers that normally pumped blood very quickly. It was possible to bake them literally with too much K inside or even give them a heart attack.

Yeah, he imagined that this kid was not having a great time after having gotten preety much the dose used to operate on a horse. He only hoped that the manager didn’t gave this vampire all the doses he left, because the male was going to be dead within minutes.

And he couldn’t talk to a dead vampire.

Also, it was always possible that ketamine would knock out another one of the group and so the lessers will have not one but two partners for a nice "hello-how-are-you" conversation.

The boy managed to take two more steps away from the emergency exit, which closed behind him with a bang. That was as far as he made it before collapsing in a heap on the wet asphalt.

Packet received. Commencing pick up.

D smiled without taking out the licorice when Mr. M spoke on the walkie-talkie. From his position in the Ford, parked with its nose poking from around a corner, he saw the huge former military man and another of his subordinates get into in the alley. He put the car into first, crossed the wide avenue with care not to make illegal turns and stopped at end of the alley while his men picked up the vampire as if it was an order from a bakery.

Another interesting effect of the dissociative drugs, they annulled the sensory perception and the sense of danger. So the vampire might be clinging to a lesser and tell him about his life without smelling him and without his mental alarm systems to say a word.

No human that swarmed the sidewalks like flies found it strange that two guys were carefully carrying another, trying to accommodate him in the back seat of a car.

After all, everyone could have a bad night with drugs. The guy would be considered

lucky to have people who cared enough to pick him up when his neurons were fried.

Yes, thought D, the vampire was about to discover just how lucky he was.

OOO

Deadly silence.

Butch counted thirty seconds before looking at V after the Apocalypse that confession meant for him. He imagined what reactions he would get if he was honest enough to say it, but that was not on the list. Vishous held the glass in his hand, rigid, with the same expression as if he had been stabbed in the back. Then, those diamond eyes lost their cold expression and transformed into broken mirrors. V squeezed his hand and the glass shattered, cutting his left palm and scattering pieces everywhere. Butch jumped.

- Damn, V! You’ve ...

-Forgive me.- blood began to spill from Vishous’s palm and fingers, but the brother did not seem to notice.- Fuck, I’m sorry...

V opened his hand, leaving the fragments of the glass slide off, and the arm hung limp at his side. He lowered his head, rubbing the back of his gloved hand across his forehead.

Sorry? What kind of answer was that? Butch dodged the shattered glass and stood in front of him.

-What the fuck does that mean? In case you didn’t hear me well, I said I –liked- it! Do you have any idea how hard it is to have to repeat it?

V shook his head as blood dripped down his fingers and the back of his hand.

-You didn’t like it. You couldn’t have. You’re not into that shit. This is what happens when you live with a perv, you start to think these things are good and ...

The frustrated roar Butch let out was the only warning before the cop clung his hands on Vishous’d neck and collapsed into him, threatening, chest to chest. The brother didn’t respond to the aggression, just looked at him without blinking.

-You make my balls swell with this perverted little speech of victimization, V. - his own fangs shone and the veins in his neck tensed. -Stop being a selfish bastard and believe that everything is your fault and listen to what the fuck I'm saying -the smell of female almost saturated him.- I. LIKED.IT. Clear enough? I have no fucking idea why, or what the hell we're supposed to do now and that fucking smell stuck on you is driving me crazy, so do us both a favor and get into the shower or by God I will send you there myself after breaking your bones, you feel me?

Butch let go of his neck in one sudden motion and had the satisfaction of seeing Vishous blinking as if a mule kicked his eggs.

-I took advantage of you.- he whispered hoarsely.- I had a damn vision, you came to help me and I lost control.

By God, he’s asking for a beating ... Butch ran a hand through his hair and snorted, but could not look at his friend's eyes.

-If you do not remember clearly, I ... was the one who kissed …you.- he cleared his throat. - And you…were the one punching me away.

That did seem to reach V’s brain, as if someone had taken a completely assembled doll house in a movie and put it upside down and now all the furniture of his guilt were dropping down.

-Shit.

-It’s a thought.

Vishous returned to rest his back against the bar with his head bowed. Butch sighed and walked to the bathroom - what the hell was with his friend and all black? – He grabbed a towel, dipped one end in soap and water and returned to the only room of the penthouse. When he stopped at V’s left side, the brother looked up and drilled him with his eyes, in silence, as if trying to figure out what was going through his brain. Apparently, without success, which made Butch feel very relieved. He nodded toward the bloody hand.

-Let me clean you. Or you’ll heal with glass inside and then we'll have to cut you to get it off and I’ll be very "gorish" .- Vishous extended his hand, never taking his eyes off him and let Butch put the towel underneath his hand.- Stop looking at me that way. I haven’t grown another head.

Vishous rose a corner of his mouth under his goatee and turned to look away, to his “business table”, while Butch was trying to remove the crystals that were stuck inside V with his fingers, at candlelight. They stayed like that a few minutes without opening their mouths; Vishous supporting his back against the bar and Butch in front of him, cleaning him. Each time one of his fingertips brushed his palm, V had to suppress a shudder. Then, the silence began to give him a headache.

- Why did you do it? Compassion? Or is a new method that you've seen on "NYPD Blue" to wake someone from a shock? – he finally asked, very quietly.

He noted that Butch raised his eyes to his for a moment and then fixed them on his hand again. Ouch! The bastard pulled a glass out with all his strength. The pain in his arm and Butch’s body next to him were a bad combination, it made him heat up like a rocket ready to take off.

-I’ve told you. I don’t know. But compassion was not on the agenda. I can’t say more. I just ... I just came to tell you that it wasn’t you the one who did…er, that. I didn’t want you to start blaming yourself for something you didn’t do. And that I, I felt ... - the cop cleared his throat, keeping his eyes focused on V's hand as if working on an open heart surgery.- I, ah, I guess I should ... um, apologies or something.

Man, it was like suddenly they entered into "Twin Peaks", including the deformed dwarf. Fucking freaks to the point of being unreal.

-Don’t- Vishous kept looking at him.

- What? - Butch passed part of the moisten towel over the free-crystal skin, cleansing blood. For some reason, he noticed that V’s hand was elegant. Long, slender fingers. His was that of an Irish boxer.

-Say you’re sorry. Don’t. I liked it too. Surely more than you did. I thought it was me who ... fuck, you know. There are things that I remember very clearly.

Was there a spontaneous combustion? Because right then and there Butch was going to burst into flames if Vishous continued to stare at him without blinking. He knew what kind of devastating expression the brother had in his eyes even without lifting his head. V liked it? Shit, those words should NOT cause him that fire on the inside that crackled through his veins.

-Yeah, um ... Surprise.

The silence lasted a little longer, full of memories of the lips, saliva and body rolling on a bed.

-You haven’t answered my question.- V recalled after a whisper, his head bent so close that it almost touched Butch’s shoulder.

- And what was the question again? - The cop pulled another glass and V winced.- Crybaby.

Another corner raised on V’s lips. Vishous looked down, appreciating the work the cop was doing, trying to be delicate, before returning to look at his table.

- Why do you want to know what I do to males?

Silence torn by Butch inhaling.

-I’m trying to know if this is what you would do to me.

V nearly dislocated his neck with the speed with which he raised his head to his roommate’s, his eyes bulging out from their sockets. The cop was pulling out the last crystal.

- What did you say? - By God, he had to increase the power of the air conditioning, the place was lacking oxygen.

-You heard me.- Butch looked up for a moment to study the cuffs of his Gucci: bloodstains. He frowned, took off the cufflinks, leaving them on the bar, and rolled up his sleeves to the elbows. Then he looked at V. The brother seemed a pillar of salt. –You want me. It's obvious. And I wonder how. – he nodded toward the table.- All your relationships are like ... well, like this. But them, the females and males you bring here, you don’t know them. They don’t matter to you. I matter. I want to know how you imagine it would be with me. I want to ... well, I need to know.

Vishous blinked and licked his lips. Butch spoke too much.

-I need another drink. -He started to move, but Butch squeezed his wrist.

-You're not going to move until I have my answer. I came here to tell you mine, however much it has cost me.

-Which makes you someone with more balls than me. And that's no surprise.- V gave him a dead look, but didn’t try to escape his hold. He just realized that Butch had taken all the pieces of glass out and still he had his right hand on his palm. The cop radiated heat.

And then, Vishous knew he would not lie. He could have said that yes, he imagined the cop tied to his bed with a gag and maybe that would get him to his noble purpose of sending Butch away from him to avoid spreading his perversion. But the fact was it would kill him. And, by God, he was pretty hammered, so he decided to be selfishly honest. He looked Butch straight into the eyes, without taking his hurt hand from the cop’s, and raised his right hand to his neck. He had to give it to the cop, he didn’t even flinched.

- Want to see? – he whispered in a raspy voice.

Butch inhaled deeply, nodded and V’s heart gave a wild somersault. Be what it may. He moved to touch Butch’s forehead with his, enjoying for a moment the feeling of the cop’s breath going into his mouth, separated by inches, before letting all the crap in his brain enter the Irishman. It was strange. Since this inner frenzy had begun, he could hardly hear the thoughts of others and had trouble even putting his own ideas in their minds. With Butch, the door was open wide.

When the cascade of images started fast, unrelated, Butch raised his right hand from V’s wounded palm, dropping the towel, and gripped his wrist as he rested the other one on his neck.

Intertwined hands, V’s tongue drawing a long line on his neck…his chest, sucking on his nipples, down to the abdomen. The two on them in the Pit, on the sofa, holding each other, talking in front of the TV. Him twisting, V’s dark head between his open legs, up and down… Both laughing, passing arms around shoulders as they walked in the underground tunnel of the mansion.

Butch resting on his forearms and stomach, screaming in silence, in ecstasy, with V moving on him, slowly, licking his back and burying his head in his neck, biting.

In the messy kitchen of the Pit, Butch making V a piece of cake with his own hands.

Them lying together in V’s bed, the cop’s hands moving in the brother’s black hair, his arms around his broad back, drawing him into a tight hug.

Playing pool between teasing and pushing, stopping to kiss from time to time.

Their legs entwined, V glowing softly as Butch’s hand begins to move between the his legs ...

The vision was cut short and Butch gasped as if he had interrupted a marathon. He opened his eyes to meet those diamond irises so close that he could distinguish the blue line around them. For a moment, he breathed in V’s breath, then the brothers moved away, turning his face and taking his wounded hand that already began healing. Butch loosened his tie, knowing that his body temperature exceeded a hundred degrees. In the winter.

- Have you had enough? - Vishous murmured without looking at him. Are you going to tell me to get the fuck out of the Pit now?

-Fuck, V ...

-That’s the idea, yes .- he commented acidly.

-No, that's not even remotely close to the idea.- damn tie. Butch ended up removing it altogether, throwing it over the bar.

What he had seen with such detail was not …fucking, it was ... making love. And sharing a lifetime. No strings, no feelings of having to prove your worth. As they were. Two males, yes. But there was a feeling he would have sworn by God did not exist in V’s sessions and also that the brother felt for no one else in the whole damn world. And that, just that feeling, complicated everything. Because what V did with his “handcuffs” really made Butch sick, but that ... that didn’t. It didn’t come close to make him sick. Actually, it made him... shit, his head was a mess.

-Don’t tell me you didn’t know what to expect.- Vishous glanced at him, frowning to see the color in the male’s cheeks and his glassy eyes. He supposed the guy will start running, instead he was dead still.- Cop?

Butch breathed so hard that he starched his shirt over his chest, marking his pecs, before raising his face to him.

- No chains for me, V?

The tone was soft, incredulous, and it was what prevented an outbreak of rabies in Vishous. He put his hair back, not caring if his tattoos were visible on his the temple or not. With Butch it didn’t matter. He stared at the square face of his companion, to the intelligent eyes, brown hair falling over his forehead, hard lips and broken nose. Chains? He smiled and his expression softened.

-Never, cop. I degrade us both enough with these damn ideas. With you, I can only imagine how it would be like doing it with a normal person. As you said, those who come to my table - he gestured with his head - I don’t give a shit about them. I never let them touch me and when I touch them is to hurt them.- it was curious how easy it was to speak now.- With you? There’s none of that ... unless you ask it from me, of course.- V’s white fangs glistened when he smiled a crooked smile.

Butch nodded, as if that had any fucking sense, or as if that was what he needed to hear to keep talking.

-You cut the vision when it was my turn. What's up, brother, you think I'm that bad in bed? – he raised an eyebrow, with false offended expression.

V lost his smile in a second.

-No, just that I can’t imagine how it would feel.

They were silent for a while as the big pink elephant was walking in the room, both trying to understand that the air between them changed from "there’s-something-here-I-can’t-say-out-loud" to something more like "I-know-now-what-it-is-but-I-don’t-know-what-the-hell-to-do-about-it". Then Butch coughed, bent down to pick up the towel with the wet side, gently grabbed V’s hand and finished cleaning it.

Diamond eyes followed his every movement and V leaned into the chestnut head without realizing it. When Butch looked up, he found the hard features of his partner just inches away. He looked at him with such intensity that he could very well have opened holes in his skull. He swallowed hard and transparent irises strayed from his eyes to his lips. Then Vishous began to retreat. Butch's hand raised on its own initiative, probing the nape of his roommate.

-Do it.- he croaked.

V frowned, eyes bright.

-Didn’t you just see what I have in my head? You should be disgusted.

Maybe, but I'm not. Butch’s squeeze on his neck grew stronger.

-You want it. And I do too, Satan take me if I understand. But I do. Do it. I don’t know ... shit, V, I do not know what I feel.

Vishous stared without blinking at all for two seconds, breathing as strong as Butch. He should suppress the need, he should consider all the hellish consequences of that, he should ...To hell with it. He rested his left hand on Butch’s arm and slowly climbed to his shoulder, stroking the muscles. There wasn’t repulsion in the cop’s wide open eyes. Only confusion and expectation.

V's hand went up the neck to fit Butch’s jaw. Damn, his heart will fly out of his chest and across the room like a damn drugged butterfly. Vishous bowed slowly, prolonging the time to infinity, giving Butch a chance to repent, retreat ... and finally closed his eyes to rub the lips of his friend. Butch's hand rested on his neck tightened in an instant, pinning him where he was.

They were soft. Vishous licked the lips of his roommate slowly, and then moved his mouth over them, with some awkwardness. God knew he could do wonders with knives and handcuffs, but kissing? Almost as inexperienced as a teenager. Butch stayed very still for a moment, then V noticed his other hand brushing his arm, looking awkwardly for a place to put it.

Butch sighed against V’s lips, a sort of exhaled "I surrender". He opened his mouth and the tips of their tongues touched, igniting the spark that swept their bodies as a lightning strike. Vishous gasped, overwhelmed. The other night was an uncontrolled gesture, impulsive, mad. Now he was fully conscious and the feeling of "oh God" along with a flash of heat from the feet to the root of the hair like he never felt before was eons better.

The smell of Butch, that aroma that reminded him of wet fields in Ireland mixed with the warmth of the taverns, was against his skin. His tongue touched the cop, their bodies touching. Kissing someone with that kind of intimacy, face to face, made him feel awkward, stupid, and threatened.

-I can’t ...- he murmured against the cop’s mouth.

He tried to retreat but Butch didn’t allow him. The hand rested on his neck sank into the black hair, stroking it softly and Vishous trembled all over. The cop’s lips tingled his goatee as he spoke.

-Back then, in the Tomb. You wanted to do this, right? You were thinking about it.

V closed his eyes for a moment and opened them again. He could hear the cop's heart like a steamroller against his ribs. Like his.

-Yes ...

-Maybe I ... shit, just do it.- Butch almost had no voice left and was fully aware of the heat that emanated from their bodies in invisible waves. Christ, the sensation of V’s mouth against his ...

The brightness in Vishous’s eyes increased and Butch knew he was going to go for it, no "but". He was on the verge of cardiac arrest only imagining it. The brother turned him around slowly with one arm, by the waist, pulling him near until they were attached from the chest to the knees, like back then. V’s gloved hand supported the back of his head and he pushed him until the cop had his back against the bar.

God ... The two gasped when their bodies met. Something large and hard pressed against Butch’s crotch and he returned the same favor to Vishous. A male panic attack began to howl inside Butch, but his mind went completely blank the next second.

V titled his head with a jerk, his lips moved over Butch’s and his tongue penetrated the cop’s mouth like a tide. Deep, slow and in every corner. Challenging Butch to separate, to push him away, to reject him.

Not by a long shot.

Butch's hands came into direct connection with their memories and clung to V’s hips, just like during the ceremony. Shit, yes, perhaps the cop had been hoping for the same thing in some obscure corner of himself. His lips captured V’s and his tongue came into play. Both groaned. Both fought to fill the other's mouth. By licking fangs, and biting. But above all, by melting. The lips fell into place as the head changed position, coiling tongues, hands in hair, shoulders or neck, as if the two males were afraid that, if they let go, fear would win the game.

Something like needles began to sting in Vishous’s chest while Butch ran his right hand through his hair, slowly, and his bare arm with his left. The way they were, one in the another's arms, with a thigh between the other man’s legs, huge chests clutching, hands moving like sensual waves, V felt the heat of the cop’s body entering his throat, all liquid. And instead of going directly and all of it to his crotch, a part went to his heart, making it inflate like a balloon ready to burst.

He found just what he had longed for all his fucking life.

Butch noticed the deep chill that ran through the brother and his body responded in perfect harmony with another tremor, embracing his roommate, traveling across the bare, silky back. God, so strong, so ... masculine. V's mouth was wet and hot as any woman’s who he ever kissed, but the ripped muscles he was caressing and the tickle of the familiar goatee was HIS brand. Vishous. That “the same-different” combination snuck up to deep inside his chest, leaving a warm feeling. Right to the point of violent possessiveness. God, he liked that. Shit, no, not just liked. It was as if someone had glued to him a piece he did not know he was missing.

V's arms encircled his back, clutching his shirt and held him to almost squeeze the air from his lungs, with the strength of a desperate warrior clinging to his salvation. Butch responded instantly, his body fighting for closeness as much as he could while their tongues came out of their mouths for a moment, slowly licking, playing with sensuality, and then returned to sink between soft moans.

Salvation ... But he was not a savior, right? He was not the knight in shining armor that V thought. He hadn’t been for his sister and had not lived up to Marissa. Now he was kissing his best friend knowing what V felt for him while he was still… in love with her? No, not savior, best say damn hypocrite. Twice, because, although he still loved Marissa ... he also wanted Vishous.

And that was not fair.

Butch broke the kiss with a drowned curse just when V started to move his hips, rubbing that huge erection against him. The brother rested his arms on either side of his body on the bar and pressed against Butch sensuality.

Now he licked his neck, and thought that maybe the cop would let him take off his shirt and he could grip all those hardened muscles and he knew exactly how Butch would sound when he’ll take his dick in his hands and tremble under him the way he saw him do with ... Marissa.

Vishous suddenly opened his eyes, feeling like he just crashed into a concrete wall at 200 mph. What the hell was he doing? Butch didn’t belong with him, it wasn’t good with him. He was bonded to a beautiful female of worth and even if not with her, he knew the cop would find another because he was the type of male for which any woman would kill. Butch's place was not under him, but hundreds of miles above, away. And in a few days, he would have to remain loyal to forty females.

He looked at his partner completely shocked that things had gone so far and met a look so similar to his own, clouded with a numbing desire and fear. Butch was disheveled, his lips parted, red, his arms with the sleeves rolled up on his shoulders ... and irresistible as hell.

Butch blinked a moment, bit by bit, as if whispering a "holy mother of God." There, with V’s erection pressed to his, raven hair tousled, the tough masculine traits enhanced by desire, those diamond eyes, the muscles of the shoulders and arms carved in hard rock, Vishous was the living incarnation of sensuality. Completely unbound, no tense gestures or barked come-back or cold stares. Totally sexual, surrendered, possessive. For him. Who knows why, Butch wondered what Vishous would look like climaxing. How would he arch his back. Butch's cock gave a painful twinge at the very moment that V muttered a "Christ".

The brother stepped aside and left him with slow movements, as if his limbs had another type of action in mind. He walked a few steps, turned his back and covered his face with the gloved hand. Butch pushed his hair back with trembling hands, breathed hard and started to straighten his shirt. Looking down, his erection was about to open a hole in his slacks and he thought he needed a psychologist. There he was, the century-confessed heterosexual, fully oversexed ​​by his best friend. The damn thing was so hard that he knew he would get off if he touched it just once. But that was not a good idea, right? Because it would seal the fact that V put him so hard as to cum.

And he wasn’t the only one turned on.

God, as they kissed he had felt complete. Soldier of pure titanium. Rebuilt. Able to build the fucking Great Wall of China with his bare hands.

He had no idea which of the two was more difficult to accept.

-I'm going to take a shower.

V’s gravely murmur, with his back still turned, now with the left hand on hip and right on his neck, made Butch look up. For some reason, he noticed that V’s back muscles were tight like steel cables, as if he too was struggling not to come right there in his leather pants. At least he was in his apartment and had a bathroom nearby. Butch went to the chair, grabbed his jacket and coat and hung them on one arm.

-I’ll go to the Pit. I'll ... I'll be sleeping when you’ll come back .- Yes, of course. Yup. Sleeping.

V nodded, without looking back, and the last Butch saw before turning to head out the door was his partner’s back, his hands resting on the metal table stained with blood and other fluids, his head bowed.

What the hell were they supposed to do now?

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