Chapter 2



Chapter 2

Enter Sandman

-Are you sure you know what you’re doing?

Vishous raised a dark eyebrow as he opened a plastic bag, pulled out a hypodermic needle, and carefully fitted it into a kind of huge syringe out of a futuristic movie. He glanced at Butch, who was standing beside his bed, hands on hips. From his expression, the cop seemed to believe he was preparing a radioactive mixture.

-I have some experience with tattoos, cop.- V spoke holding a cigarette in the corner of the lips. He uncovered a transparent black ink tube. The only difference this time is that I mixed salt with the ink to make it permanent.

-Yeah ...sure.- Butch remained uncertain at exactly two meters away from V. For some reason, seeing him play with a needle, knowing it would end up in his skin caused him sweats.

The brother left the machine ready on the dresser, where he improvised a small study for tattooing, and put on a latex glove over his already gloved right hand. He adjusted it with a plastic rubber sound that made Butch jump, then took the cigar from his mouth with his double gloved hand, took a deep puff and put it out in the ashtray he had left with the rest of the material. Exhale.

- Well? You think I can tattoo at a distance, with brain waves?

- It wouldn’t surprise me.- Butch muttered. He ran a hand through his hair and glanced at his Pretty-Woman room-tent with a frown. Where do I sit? We do not have a table here. Should I sit in a chair?

-Nope. The tattoo is on the small of your back. If I have to do it sitting on the floor I’ll break my fucking bones.- V analyzed the room knowing there was only one option. Shit. He hadn’t thought about the logistics when he volunteered for the task. -Take off your shirt and lie face down on the bed.

For some reason, Butch’s brain reinterpreted those orders from V, imagining him with a whip in his hand: Come, come!. Oh come on already, asshole. It's just a line, it will be over in no time. He took a breath, grabbed the hem of the shirt and pulled it over his head, knocking it onto the bed. When he thought someone was opening two holes in his chest with lasers, he looked up to find Vs ghostly eyes fixed on him. Uh ...

Butch suppressed the urge to raise his hands and cover himself like a girl while the thermometer seemed to have climbed two degrees.

The night had gone relatively well. Following an intuition of V, they patrolled the area around the city, looking for the lessers that the brother had seen the night before. They had to follow them and find out what was with that fixation of theirs for neon bars. But not always wanting and actually doing went hand in hand. The all thing was over when they found a handful of rookie lessers. The only bitch was that the thing went so fast that Butch couldn’t take them in, so he settled for stabbing them. So he would have to return another night to make Holmes and Watson on the streets.

The action served to distract them, at least. Butch's mind had wandered off its usual circles and V was in such a bad shape that the air around him seemed like sulfuric acid. They exchanged male taunts, tapping on the shoulders with the other brothers on return to the mansion and the atmosphere between them had returned to what it was before ... Well, before something that DIDN’T happened changed it.

Now, however ...

-Eh ... I'll lie down .- Butch pointed to the bed like a robot drone while those piercing eyes deviated from him and concentrated on a sterile gauze soaked with alcohol.

Butch crawled by the big bed to lie face down right in the middle, arms folded, resting his face on top, sideways, to see Vishous approaching with the gauze in one hand and the rest of the instruments in the other. Seeing where the cop was lying, V frowned. If he had to stay near the edge of the bed, he would sit sideways on the mattress and reaching the cops back would be difficult. Just as he was placed in the fucking middle of that monstrosity "king size “bed, he would have to sit astride his back to tattoo him right. And that was not a good idea. But to tell the cop to change his position made it even more clear that V still had ... some problems with himself. So he clenched his jaw and crawled across the bed to sitting next to him. At least, he could not disinfect him without climbing on him. For now.

He looked at that whole muscular area unable to avoid it and he recorded the details in the cerebral cortex. Narrow waist- for a seven-foot giant- adorned with muscles fanned out to shoulders of stone. He cleared his throat, forcing himself to concentrate the band of stripes Butch had tattooed on him. The earliest beginning in the lower back, groups of four vertical lines crossed by a fifth in diagonal. The one he had to do was inaugurating a new set, so he had to choose a new piece of skin.

-On which side do you want it?

- What!? - Butch winced as he could to look at him askance.

-The tattoo .- V reached out with gloved hand, patting on the back right side of his back and then on the left.-Choose.

-Ah. Whatever. Left .- Butch cleared his throat and leaned his head face down on folded arms. The back muscles rippled.

-Capicci.

V leaned over, resting the palm of his good hand into his side and Butch thought it was warm. Pleasant. Shit, did he actually tthought that? The contrast with the cold and wet gauze came after made him grin. The mattress gave a little jump when V got up and after that Butch heard the sound of the tattoo needle. Bzzzzz as a razor. It was a sound that he associated with its peculiar grim anniversary. The prick of the needle into his skin was like sticking a candle into a cake.

The bed sank further with over a hundred kilos of vampire. Butch looked up from his arms and turned in profile to his friend. V was kneeling on the bed, barefoot, and accommodating a leg on each side of his body, almost straddling him. Butch's skin seemed to bristle and he didn’t knew if it was because he felt threatened or ... Well, surely it was because he seemed threatening. V shrugged.

-I have to lean on you .- he said quietly, not moving.

Butch nodded silently and then only then V settled in his position, squeezing his thighs with the cop’s. Butch thought it would be more comfortable with his head between his arms, without seeing anything, and only that way his hysterical mind would stop imagining things.

V supported his naked left hand over Butch’s kidneys, trying to ignore the heat transmitted by the Irish body, his soft skin, the shape of the hips highlighted by the leather pants and the angle that made his own crotch stay glued pressed right up against the cop ... He tried to ignore Butch, but to no avail. His eyes became a little blurred and he blinked, trying to dispel that mortally exhaustion. Shit, he hoped his hands didn’t shake.

- You all right? – Butch’s voice sounded muffled against the sheets.

Ffucccckkkkking great.

-You’ll feel a little bite.-V squeezed his eyes several times, he put the syringe on and leaned over Butch, beginning to make the marks for a new vertical line. The cop tensed for a moment. Fucker ...

-Shi ...

Butch closed his eyes tightly, trying to focus on the pain of those small wasp stings. It was like therapy for atonement, he supposed. Each time a new line was tattooed he was forced to think about Janie, on how he remembered her before they stole her life. It was his small space in memory. He reproduced in his mind her laughter, their games and also her genius ... but always ended up recalling her last smile, turning from the rear window of that fucking car ... and the tears of his mother ... and the accusation in the eyes of his father ... and the silence ... and the beatings ... and the lines of coke ... and all the shit of his life. Even if that won’t happen again, he still had shit to throw into the mix. Marissa’s blue eyes ... and her platinum hair ... and innocence ... and light ... and her desire for a better male at her side that was not a damn rough neck ... and ...

V's left hand moved slowly on his lower back and sent a chill that brought him back to the present. The needle stopped biting the skin and noticed that Vishous left him on the bed. Something soft brushed against his skin, where he was tattooed, with delicate touches.

-You bleed.- the brother said in a hoarse whisper.- It's normal. A vampire's skin is more sensitive.

-Do what you have to do .- Butch cleared his throat.

V leaned over his body and blew gently on the spots of dried blood, suppressing the urge to get closer, to rub the skin with his lips. Then he put the syringe in action.

Butch clenched his jaws to avoid his skin giving goose bumps from that gentle blowing and his Loosers Anonymous therapy was adrift. As much as he tried to concentrate on the reason for that tattoo, all you could see was Vishous making it. The heat of his left hand when moving over his skin, smooth, was the perfect counterpoint to the little pricks of pain. It was very ... Vishous. The brother tried not to sit on his back or on his thighs, but once in a while when he did, Butch could feel the touch of his, uh, that what makes a man be man, against him. Shit, if he concentrated enough he could feel the breath of V on his skin and inhale his scent. His inner sense of "warning, never let someone on your back" what was in combat mode and that state of hyperconscious made him perceive even further every little gesture. Interestingly, it caused him a state of sensual languor.

Vishous went to wipe the droplets of blood with the gauze again and to Butch it felt as if he had traveled from the top to the bottom of his spine with his finger. He squirmed a little.

-If you don’t stand still it’ll come out crooked .- scolded his companion. The line is already drawn; I'll just make it thicker as the others.

-Okay.

Butch leaned his head sideways on his folded arms, and for some reason, all those sensations reminded him that for a month he virtually ignored Vishous, too absorbed in his own shit. With the huge presence of the brother above him and his hands on his body, a ray of sunshine seemed to enter the pit that splashed black for four weeks now.

- V?

- Mmm?

The syringe was expanding the black line, highlighting it on the skin.

-It's bullshit, but ..., Butch frowned- I've never thanked you for proposing me to the Brotherhood. You know, at the ceremony. For being my …sponsor.- the needle stopped tattooing for a moment and he continued with a grin. You're like my midwife, you know - he heard a small sound emitting from V, a mixture of snort and growl. Seriously. You brought me into this world, when I woke up as a vampire. And you got me into the Brotherhood. That and you are all I have.- he let out a dry laugh. Damn, how hard is this Ancient Language? What was the word? Yes, you're my rahlman, right? My savior.

A couple of seconds of silence.

- Sentimental, buddy? - V uncovered a tube of Vaseline, put a small amount on his finger and rubbed the tiny wounds of the new black line. Then put a plaster on it. He remained silent for a second. -There. It’s done.

Butch shrugged, but did not move. Vishous neither. To understand the why of it, the cop thought it was a while since the two of them had one of this intimate moments. He missed them. They made him feel…not alone in the world. That this one lasted a very short time. And the way V touched him, carefully ...

Vishous left hand stroked across the small of his back as a rustle of silk and the chill that went through him this time was very obvious.

-The older lines are blurred .- Vishous's voice was a whisper. Do you want to redo them?

-Yes .- how little he had to think about it.

V reached the pack of clean gauze that had been on the bed, took one, covered it with alcohol and gently passed over the skin where the older lines were tattooed. Ups ...

-You'll have to lower your pants a little.- V ran the back of his hand across his forehead. His head hurt like hell. Come to think of it, he hurt all over. It was as if every time he touched the skin of Butch every nerve was concentrated on the tip of his fingers to feel, to take advantage of this unique moment before having to retract and hide again. This was leaving his body decomposed.

-Of course.

There was a moment of confusion as V raised a bit form above him and Butch struggled to unbuckle his belt and lower the leather pants. Vishous settled back with his thighs on both sides of the cop’s hips, sitting completely on him. As it was, he could see two small holes at the end of his tailbone and almost the beginning of his butt. In the split second that his will faltered, his bitch imagination vaporized the cop’s clothes and put motion to the scene. Back and forth. Fu-uck. He rubbed his eyes, but the picture continued stalking. When he bent to finish disinfecting the skin, gently slid his hand down the back of Butch, an unconscious caress.

Vishous bent with the syringe in hand, focused on the tattoos, not realizing that Butch had turned to look at him askance.

-Anytime.- V murmured after a moment.

- What? - Butch glanced over his shoulder, noticing that Vishous sat on his thighs as if his body weighed tons.

-What you said before. For getting you into the world of fangs and all. Anytime .- V said, his eyes still down. Bzzzz.

Butch closed his eyes, surrendering to the feel of V’s hand on his skin, the bites of the needle and the weight of his body against his thighs and ass. Any other male and he would have sent him flying against the wall. But with Vishous ... he sighed. After a moment of silence broken by the syringe’s bzzzz, the crap in his brain found his way to his mouth.

- Have you ever wondered if you were a different person? – he murmured with closed eyes, thinking about Janie, about the beatings and the emptiness-You know. If your childhood had been different, full of love and all that physiologist shit. Would that have made you be a better, more capable person?

The needle stopped short. Vishous's voice seemed a razor's edge.

- You mean what would I have been if not a sadistic perv?

The cop let out a sigh. Hard. Under normal conditions, V would have understood that, in fact, he was speaking of himself and would not have interpreted this as an attack on his lifestyle. So something was very wrong. He leaned on his forearms and twisted his body to be able to look at him over his shoulder.

-Point A: I was generally speaking, or rather, about me. Point B: I was not attacking you because I do not judge you, which you should know by now. And point C, what the hell's wrong with you for jumping this way? - Butch eyebrows formed an ominous barrier over his eyes.

V looked at his for a few seconds with his eyes half closed and lips parted as if about to say something really fucking hard. Then he rubbed his face with the back of the gloved hand while letting the other linger on Butch’s back. He needed sleep. And he needed to stop wanting things he couldn’t have before he’ll develop an ulcer. If only he knew how ... With eyes closed, the world teetered a moment and prayed for his friend not to have noticed.

-Point A: You are a good person, cop.- he muttered, evaporating from every pore, becoming mist of pure exhaustion. I suppose if you had not eaten shit as a boy, the only thing that would have changed would be that you wouldn’t have fucked with any whore, thing that you always said made you feel like an ass. – V opened his eyes and focused enough to try to end the sentence he began. Despite the sting, Butch did not budge.- But you would have remained a cop. And would have kept on trying to help people, because that's who you are. Mother Teresa of Calcutta .- he stroked his goatee, while his view got clouded. Last point of the sentence.- And maybe you wouldn’t have done so well if you didn’t experienced the dark side of force. You knew exactly why you were protecting all those victims. Maybe your personal history screwed up the brain, but it left your heart in good shape.

Better than mine ...

The silence that invaded the room was so dense that it could be modeled as a brick. V left the syringe to the side, picked up another gauze and began to clean the splattered blood droplets on Butch’s kidneys, being well aware that the cop was turned over to him and probably with his eyes nearly out of his head. Perfect. Great. Magnificent. He should tattoo his tongue also as a warning not to open his mouth again?

-Vishous ...

The brother left the bloody gauze on one side, grabbed the jar of vaseline and smeared his gloved fingers. Then carefully distributed it on each of the lines that were reviewed, caressing the skin through the two gloves while keeping his left hand on the side of Butch. Hopefully some of the cop’s light will stick to him, as he said about his neurons. So that he won’t be tempted to put his arms on either side of his body, kissing the skin just tattooed, climb slowly down his back while pressing his crotch against the cop’s ass, lick every inch of silky muscle up to his neck and sink ...

-V ...

He raised his black eyebrows and looked up with effort. Shit. Twice shit. Butch had that look of understanding, that fucking look that threatened to put into words what floated between them. And that would be a disaster. It was bad enough to know that Butch knew exactly what he felt, as an undercurrent floating between them, to make it more real by saying it in words. With undercurrents you could pretend they do not exist and that things were as usual. But if you said it aloud… what was becoming a problem.

Vishous closed the Vaseline pot, took the syringe, the ink tube, clean gauze box, the bottle of alcohol and dismounted Butch quietly while berating himself in all the 16 languages he knew. As he got off the bed, the cop sat.

-You haven’t answered my other points yet.

V pursed his lips into a thin line as he approached the dresser, putting aside the syringe and needle.

- What’s going, V?

Damn, the cop was persistent.

- Do you think you're still in a homicide interrogation? – he threw the needle into the trash.

-No, I'm just talking to you, Mr. I’m an island - Butch got out of bed, standing in the middle of the room with his legs apart, as if to stop the loading of a raging bull. Stop the ignoring game, it bothers me.

-I'm fine .- he said throwing the ink bottle into the trashcan, without turning to him.

-And you lying to me doesn’t jus bother me. It fucking pisses me off. What. Is. Wrong?- Butch’s tone began to be low and serious, but the blood began to boil in his veins. - I know about the eye. We live together, remember? I hear your alarm clock over the day ... Is it because of your visions?

-Give-it-up. – he put the tattoo machine in its box and closed the lid tightly. When he turned to go, Butch was between him and the door, cutting off his retreat. And nobody could dematherialise inside the mansion.

The cop took two steps toward him, so close that their chests were almost touching. Chestnut eyebrows were so tight that formed a channel in between them.

-V, you're my best friend. I worry. I give a shit that you have visions or not, as long as you are okay. What is normal for you, is good for me. The bad thing is when something is not going as normal and you don’t tell me. How the hell can I take care of y ...?

-Don’t even think about it .- Vishous retracted his upper lip, showing his teeth. If Butch started to say he was his best friend for God’s sake he’ll do something inappropriate. Very inappropriate. Their faces were inches away. He had to get out- Point B? I raped a male once. In the camp .- Butch looked at him unblinking.- So judge this if you want.

He walked around the cop by pushing him with his shoulder and disappeared into his room stamping his boots on the ground. When Butch heard the noise of the door closing, he winced as if he had been punched.

OOO

-A pleasure to patrol with you, Butch. I'm glad you ... well, you're with us.

... Despite of what Marissa…

Phury's smile was genuine, just as his hand on his shoulder. The cop nodded, thanking him for the compliment, and his brother crossed the multi-colored mansion hall with his slight limp, taking off his leather jacket on the way to the marble stairs. Halfway he found Zsadist and the twins knocked hands, happy to be home in one piece after another night. When Z came into the hall, and was about to walk into the kitchen, -judging by the box empty Haagen Dazs in his hands, -and Butch met him on the way.

-Hey, Z! Has V came back?

The brother shrugged his shoulders and licked the traces of ice cream off his fingers.

-I do not know, I was in my room for a while. He must be out with Rhage .- Z took a step forward, about to resume his journey, when he noticed the frown of the Irish face-You all right?

... Shit, despite of what Marissa….

-Peachy. I’ll go to the Pit.- Butch waved at him as he turned.

Everything was going wonderfully. Like a fairy tale. It’s been four days since Vishous talked to him and insisted to Wrath that Butch had to go out on patrol with anyone but him. Because the two of them already knew the other's style a lot and had to learn to fight with all the brothers. Which fitted perfectly with the definition of "kicked in the ass."

He left the house saloon and lifted his face to the sky, sighing. Was it something he said ... or done? He fucked up things with the only person in the world that mattered, his ...? With his what? Sometimes the alphabet is severely limited to define reality.

He walked into the Pit with care on the icy gravel. He had four days mulling over this strange invisible ball that they had between them, threatening to explode every time they approached physically or emotionally, and still did not reach any conclusion. What V had thrown at his face like a slap, the issue of raping a male, was determined to mix in his head with the image he had of his friend dominating that female, bound and gagged. So ... angry. That was the perfume that usually floated around V, cold rage. But when the defense was in tatters, as the other night, he only seemed ... alone. Very lonely and very shitty.

The combination would wake up in Butch a sparkling mix of aggressiveness, the need to level to the ground whatever had hurt Vishous, along with an even more disturbing impulse ... to protect him. To hug and ...

Let it be. For now, he would be happy if V would start talking to him again. He always had known how important Vishous was in his life, but until now hadn’t realized that he could become absolutely crazy if he stayed away.

He entered through the Pit’s door with his head down when a smell and a sound made him concentrate at once. Turkish tobacco. And the tune of "CSI Las Vegas". He entered the living room mentally sighing with relief to find Vishous standing before the plasma TV, turning up the volume with his goatee in his right hand, an apple in the left and still in combat pants and shirt. He didn’t look up when Butch came in.

-Hey .- his lips barely moved under the goatee and V sank into the couch, putting his feet up on a pile of "Sports Illustrated" on the coffee table.

Butch suppressed the urge to grab him by the neck and bury his head into the wall. He took off his jacket, threw it on a chair and started to take off his guns. V stayed the same, with the red cap pulled down over his eyebrows and he could only see his profile, sinister with that goatee, but he saw a nice pair of ears. Vishous rested his head on the right palm, with elbow on the armrest of the couch, put the apple to his lips, and bit it. Crunch.

- New season? - Butch nodded toward the TV. That kind of Colombo armed brushes looking for powders fiction was all V watched.

-Yup.

Vishous continued munching on the apple, trying to get his damn sight not to distinguish Butch in the corner of his eye. He had reached such a state of cerebral pressure that if the cop was staring at him for more than two seconds, he would jump. And not even he could predict what would happen. He sighted with relief when the cop disappeared into the kitchen. V sank a little deeper into the couch, saying he could try to relax watching Grissom gut fibers for a while and then try to sleep at ten minutes intervals. Super relaxing death.

Butch reappeared from the kitchen with two Coronas in his hand and handed one to V with a shrug.

-CSI fits neither with Lag nor Goose, so friend, it will have to be beer.

Vishous looked at Butch’s wide hand, then started up to the forearms, biceps as a football ball obvious under the shirt and ended the tourist guide on a very serious pair of hazel eyes. Clear, as always. He returned to crush the little voice that made him wonder how he would feel embraced by that male, by saying he had to put some distance in between them before losing his minds.

The cop then smashed all his good intentions by sitting on the couch, just on the other side, as if he suspected that sitting closer would launch a nuclear fission reaction. Very intuitive. V gave another bite at the apple as his fangs grew longer, as always when Butch was in less than five feet away. He felt like a volcano contained by a layer of ice that was becoming increasingly thinner. He tried to focus on the dead Grissom found beside a pool, but the exhaustion caused his head to spin. Shit.

Butch looked askance at V while taking a drink from the Corona. The brother didn’t walked in the forensic ranting, as usual, didn’t even ruin the episode by telling him, five minutes from the start, who was the murderer. He just sank into the sofa burying his face and nibbling at his apple. Crunch. The cop had a glimpse at the tip of the white fangs, and in a reflex action, licked his own, more retracted. What the hell was on V’s mind to have them so grown?

The image caused him a strange thrill of ... anticipation? Some evil neuron, hidden the plains of his brain brought to mind the feeling of those sharp fangs sinking slowly into his own neck. The wave of pain, V’s arms around his back, his lips against his neck and his hair against his cheek.

He shifted on the couch, saying to himself it was because his legs were uncomfortable.

Vishous closed his eyes for a moment, after thinking with irony that sometimes it looked like a glass security door separated people, even if they were a foot away. It seemed that the space between them crackled. His eyelids refused to peel back and he felt a first twinge of panic when the dream took him with a whip to Neverland.

No, no, no, nononono ...

Yes.

He felt a familiar exhaustion that had nothing to do with not having slept in weeks and knew that the vision had begun. In it, he hurt all over, bones, muscles, as if he spent hours fighting. Then he began the sensation of evaporating, of burning, of his own strength fading, turning to ashes in his veins. He tried to wake but sleep caught him by the balls and agony began. He was dying, he knew it, but something worse, much worse than that, something he did not want to see, something that he could not bear to see, which would shatter him, which would tear the heart out from his chest, which ...

He groaned loudly and something shook him like a sack of potatoes. Thank you, dear Virgin in the Fade ... Suddenly he opened his eyes, taking that express ticket back to reality who turned out to be Butch, bent over him and shaking him by the shoulders.

-V, wake up my man.- the cop examined Vishous with a frown. Shit. He was pale as death, and despite the cap, saw that the skin under the tattoo of the temple glowed faintly.- V, come back with me. You zoomed out, you had a…. nightmare ... Vishous?

The brother swallowed a gulp of air and stared at him without blinking, burning him with those eyes of his. Then, he raised his hands, making them go and stand on Butch’s shoulders. In those clear eyes was something that the cop did not like. He did not like. Fear. And something that brought up strange emotions to the surface. Sadness. And ... longing. It was something that called out to his soul, drawing him to V as if his friend had picked up a megaphone and was shouting "help" in his ear. It awakened strange things in Butch, things aggressive and protective. He leaned over V, with every intention of embracing him, but the male jerked his hands from the shoulders, pushed him away and straightened.

Vishous checked if his cap was well adjusted , turned off the volume on the TV and stood up, picking up the half-eaten apple from the sofa.

-I'm going to crash. I'm tired. Tonight we ran like dogs. They killed a civilian and has been a fucking carnage.

Butch's face as he passed him, ignoring him was the same as if he had said that his grandmother had died.

Shit, I feel the way I hurt you. I can feel it in my soul ...

OOO

- Cop? - The huge figure of Wrath, a mixture of sinister specter and "Pressing catch," appeared in the doorway of the library, dwarfing it-Got a minute for me?

Butch looked up from the pool cue, looking sideways at his king while keeping the cue in place.

- Time for a meeting? – he straightened up, supporting his ass against the table and playing with the cue stick between his legs. Playing alone sucked, but at least it relaxed him.-Your word, boss.

Wrath came into the room and closed the door behind him. Uh-uh. Serious conversation on the horizon Don’t ask me about Marissa, do not dare ask me if I'm okay.

-It’s V.

Thank you, God. Although the issue was not that the joy of the garden.

- What about him?-Butch reached out, grabbed the blue wax square and began to coat the cue tip on reflex.

-You tell me. You're his best friend .- Wrath crossed his arms over his chest, uncovering tattoos of his lineage and his dark eyebrows fell on his nose so much lined with the dark glasses. - He looks like something out of "Night of the Living Dead." I will take him of rounds until he’ll return to normal. His type of normalcy.

Butch looked up from the cue in an instant.

-If you do that you kill him. Shit, Wrath. I do not know what the hell is wrong with V. Island mode is on, but I do know one thing .- he gripped the cue harder. If you refuse him the fights, he’ll explode.

The king inhaled strongly and walked by the library to lean against a chair stamped with Louis XV.

- He didn’t explained anything to you?

-Nope. He's not talking to me .- that’s is, Wrath, put salt on my wound, thank you very much.

The king looked up to him and Butch had the feeling that, despite his weak eyes, he not only could see his face but his soul.

- Something wrong with you two? – he whispered softly.

Good question. Had something happened? Technically, no. The cop shook his head.

-No, but he doesn’t want me near him.- great, whining was all that was left, move your ass and look like a sad puppy looking for love. Should I hang a leash on my neck?

Wrath kept looking at him in silence for a few seconds and Butch returned to wax the cue in his hand as his nerves were getting stronger one after another. Shit, that's why the guy was king, he supposed.

- Can I get poetic for a moment, cop?

-Jesus, try not to.

Wrath twisted his mouth a moment, a hint of a smile, and then pinched the bridge of the nose beneath his glasses.

-Look, Vishous is like a diamond. Equally hard, cold and bright. It gives out strength because you know that will never break, but it doesn’t give out heat because it is distant. You'll never reach it. – despite his poor eyes, Wrath saw Butch’s face hardening, like those words were a blow in the guts.- With one exception: you.

The cop looked straight at him for a second and then looked down.

-V was never like that with me, it doesn’t work like that with us. We have always been ... close.- he chewed on his words.- But something ... something is eating him inside. I do not know how much of that has something to do with his visions. Or the lack of them.

And how much it has to do with me.

Wrath uncrossed his arms and walked quietly around the room, only to lean over the table, forearms resting on the edge of the mahogany. Finally he raised his head to Butch.

- You know how V was when those lesser bastards got you? - The king's voice was throaty, soaked in silent rage. He didn’t wait for Butch's response.- He gave a shit about my threat of reaping him to pieces for giving you his blood.

- You did that? - The cop raised his eyebrows.

Wrath cleared his throat and played with the misplaced black ball.

-You were a human…and a male- he very quickly added .-. But V didn’t care. He wasn’t listening. He just smoked and was very still, like a spring about to jump. Hell, we were all furious. We turned the city upside down trying to find you.

-I know .- shit he was going soft.

-But V seem like…he lost his shellan .- the king straightened, running the ball from one hand to the other and looked up at Butch.- Look, Vishous always has been ... unconventional. But we never seen him like that for anyone. Now he’s acting exactly like that day. About to burst. Especially when you're around .- the cop winced.- I'm blind but not quite. Back then he was relieved only when he knew you safe and now he’ll only come back to normal if things get clea with…whatever happens between you .- he saw that the cop was going to open his mouth, and shook his head, and raised a hand.- Save yourself the saliva, the details do not interest me. But be clear about one thing: the only one who sees what’s inside the diamond are you. If V is keeping you out, despite being the only person who he sees as a brother ... or whatever the hell it is, is because he believes he is protecting you from something .- his brow again made an appearance. -Try to be with him even though you feel like he’ll bite your head off, he won’t let anyone else help and we need him sane.

Butch looked at the back of Wrath huge and long hair bobbing as he walked to the door, not realizing that he had white knuckles.

-Wrath.

The king stopped with his hand on the doorknob and turned over his shoulder.

- How was his life, V’s, in the camp with his father? – he shifted his weight to his feet.- I mean, you know what he did? - Or what they did to him?

Wrath turned toward him a little more to face him.

-What happened there is something private that V does not share with anyone. But be clear about one thing: no matter what he did, it was to survive. Even if he’s a smart-ass bastard as hard as a cement wall and you hear a lot about his…tastes around here, Vishous not as bad as he thinks he is.

Butch stared at the closed door with the two faces of V as he knew him appearing to blend: one, the tough as steel, as cold, fan of sailors knots and leather straps which he confessed to raping a male. Another, the son of a bitch able to give the more hilarious comeback because of his intelligence, the light itself personified every time he healed him, the strong hug and that ... that peculiar longing sometimes in his eyes.

Butch had the impression that if he got past the first V, the outer shell and touch the second Vishous, something would change forever between them. And he didn’t knew if he was ready.

OOO

Vishous sat on the defiled bed of his Commodore penthouse, lighting a cigarette while lazily looked questioning at his table. The session had been hard and dirty, but the good ones always were. So why did he felt completely… empty?

He lifted his head toward the ceiling, blew the smoke and fell back on the bed. Letting his inner monster out, that part of him that dominated his subs in return for all the times he had been overpowered and subdued, should have left him more peaceful. Instead, had left him exhausted. Not physically, because he wasn’t, but rather emotionally.

He rested his forearm over his eyes, holding the cigarette between his fingers, and that damn scene, so many times cursed, returned to his program of personal cinema. He should have looked away when he saw Butch and Marissa on the hospital bed through the monitors, and that way would have saved him the meaningless fantasies where he occupied the place of her.

He took a puff. God he really was a pervert. The trouble was that with his sanity dissolving into nano-fragments, his mind insisted on asking again and again what it feel like to have someone like that, what it would be like coming with someone you…love.

Yup, well, great. You've said it. I've said it, I did, I did! The incarnation his freaky mind began playing an annoying dance with that tune.

There it was, the core of the problem. If only it had been sexual, lust for Butch - the cop was attractive, hell- V would have been able to take care of it, o control it. He had creative hobbies to vent repressed sexual desires. But no. His BSM sessions did not work because it was not that. He loved Butch. Just like that. He could not like it, he didn’t know what to do with it, he could feel the urge to knock his heart out cold to stop feeling it, but that didn’t change the reality with one iota.

When Butch was near, not only he had to control his body, but also his feelings. Those who he had believed that he couldn’t have. Vishous had spent nearly 303 years staying away from people because he was unable to really see them. If something his father taught him, it was to see others like enemies. And humans did not count in that script.

Until the cop had appeared in his life and all that had gone to hell. For a moment he wondered if he had misunderstood what he felt for Butch, if he only wanted him because he was the first person who he allowed so close, if he was confusing friendship or brotherly love with something deeper. Then he remembered what he had felt when the cop was taken by the lessers and shook his head no. Damn his fate, damn it. For once he loved someone and had to be another guy with tastes that were at the South Pole of his own.

He crossed his arms over his chest, watching the wisps of cigarette smoke while it seemed like someone beat his eyelids with a whip. If only he could sleep and turn himself off for a while ...

Shit. Oh, yeah, shit.

The nightmare came in time for his appointment, like an employee on the clock. V squirmed on the black sheets and the cigar fell from his hand, thankfully to the marble floor. That scorching feeling of dying gave way to a worse one, a horrible sense of loss, something that gave him panic ...

He got out of bed as if someone had kicked him in the head. In the cage of black walls and smoked glass penthouse, his breath registered like a chainsaw cutting wood. Shit, his heart was beating so fast that he tried to get his hands on his chest to keep it in.

He needed a drink ... now.

V went to the bar with legs that felt like led, took a clean glass and poured himself a triple of Grey Goose. The glass was almost on his lips when he realized he was not alone. He pulled a black dagger from his belt and turned around quickly.

-Just me, warrior.

God! The Scribe Virgin was in front of him, wrapped in a black robe from head to toe, her face covered and her tiny figure dominating the attic. Beneath her mantle, a glare reflected off the marble floor, as bright as the midday sun.

Ah, this was exactly the audience that V wanted now. Well, well.

He bowed and stood still, trying to find a way to give himself a sip of vodka in that position.

-I feel honored.

-Lie .- she replied dryly. -Arise, warrior. I want to see your face.

Well, well, well. Hang him by the balls if the night was not going to get even more screwed.

OOO

ZeroSum was the same dark hole scented with alcohol, sex and drugs while Phury and Butch watched the bodies writhing to the rhythm of industrial techno from the VIP table informally reserved for the Brotherhood. They had not spoken much in the half hour since they arrived, settling for the routine of looking at the human herd. Butch took a small sip of Lag.

Two days without any word from V. Man, he began to feel snakes running under the skin every time the brother passed him in silence.

A waitress reached over to lay another martini before Phury with an appreciatively smile. Butch opened his mouth to say something when a voice cut him short.

-Move over, cop.

Phury and Butch looked up at the same time. V had just come over the table, eyes wide, his face pale and the appearance of having an accident without any injuries. He sat down and his leather jacket inflated, causing the shoulders seem huge. He gave off kind of soft light, as if his ass was plugged into a socket. In an uncharacteristic gesture, he started drumming his fingers on the table. Butch scowled.

-You look awful. What happened?

Vishous clasped his hands together.

-I do not want to talk about it here.

Puff, as dry as a falling slab. Butch had to convince the son of a bitch to agree to take in into Revhenge's office, on condition that the damn sucker would be there to know everything.

When V finally dropped the nuclear bomb on something of a mission given by the Virgin, implying lots of small Vishous and little Chosen, after having to get the words out with a clench, Butch put his hands on his hips and leaned forward.

- You going to be the what?

Vishous nearly choked on the word.

-The Primale. Of the Chosen.

V tried to swallow his panic and the urge to open a hole into the wall while throwing up the explanations, with his two brothers looking at him as if he had grown a horn on the forehead and Rehvenge’s eyebrows puckered so much they were casting shadows over his eyes.

- When?

-In a few days.

- Wrath already knows - Phury asked.

-Yes.

While V was thinking about what he had just accepted, he felt his heart beat like a bird flapping its wings to try to escape the cage. He accepted because he had no choice, because the Scribe Virgin was fucking right when she said that five brothers could not protect the entire race. The civilian beheaded two nights ago was the perfect example. But the new job was killing him slowly. And see the face of Butch killed him more. So better shut up about the revelation of "I am your mother", if not to give him an aneurysm.

-Listen, can you excuse me for a while? I need to ... shit, I need to get out of here.

-I'll go with you.- Butch jumped at once as the faithful shadow.

-No.- V was so down that he knew that would be the night for him to do something outrageously inappropriate. – I need to be alone.

He kept the gold medallion in the back pocket of his pants and went, amid the tense silence of the office. When he was alone in the alley behind the ZeroSum, he threw his head back, looking forward to the damn ice air to freeze his lungs and everything he had on his chest for a while. He could feel the locket digging into his ass, the world was reeling from exhaustion, his instinct was screaming at him to go find Butch, to shake his shoulders and throw up everything that he kept inside saved before that bitch-mother- would take him to his damn newly acquired life he had not asked.

And exactly what the hell was that going to change things? It wouldn’t. Would change shit. That’s why he had run off alone.

He fumbled in his jacket pocket until he found the cigarette case and, pulling it, he saw his left hand had Parkinson and shined softly. Great. Now he seemed like a fucking light bulb.

Exactly how much pressure can a male handle before exploding?

No idea, but he knew he was right on the edge and panic triggered anger. What had his dear mommy told him? Ah, yes. That his visions weren’t lost, only blocked by his "emotional turmoil". The fear of seeing what his gift had to show made him reject them like the plague.

According to psychologist Bright Light, when accepting his emotions and be brave enough to admit what his worst fear is and let go of that vision, his blessed gift would come back. He was, in the words of Mother Love, at a crossroads in his life. A point where all his learned coolness conflicted with his newfound emotions. Vishous could not manage the emotions, so he blocked them.

Thank you, ma'am.

Anytime, three hundred kids for per therapy session.

According to the Cock Virgin, he had to face and overcome for the fuck’s sake his fear that had caused such an emotional crisis to focus on his future as Mass Fucker before her serene presence. The image of a bunch of miniVishous with pacifiers, tattoos, and glittering like halogen bulbs crawling into the Fade almost made him sick to the stomach.

Very good. Perfect. He’ll do it. He’ll go back to the Pit, not drink a drop, would get into the bed and sleep. And when he’ll get the damn nightmare, would pick it up by the balls and swallow it from beginning to end just to show Mom that he had nothing to do with foolish fears.

It took several minutes and a cigar to restore the necessary stability to dematerialize. As he reached the Pit he found that Butch was still out and took a long hot shower. He reached the privacy of his room just as he heard the cop open the door.

- Vishous? Are you here, my man?

-I'm going to bed.- he shouted loud enough to be heard through the door of his room.

When he was sure that Butch would respect the distance, he got under the black covers and dropped his head on the pillow with a sigh. Just praying - he did not know to what God, but the customs were hard to dismiss-, that the dream had nothing to do with the cop.

OOO

Butch was standing with his fists clenched in the middle of the room, facing the short hall to V’s room. Wrath’s words from a few days ago and his own instincts pushed him to open the door and try to do something, anything, to get V out of that ... that state of hysteria that he was so deep in, something to shake his stubborn hard head and make the two of them ... well, closer again, damn it. And to erase that stupid feeling of... anger. Or treason. Or of whatever he felt and had set a fire in his chest when V had explained the plans of the Scribe Virgin. All of a sudden, Butch did not want to imagine Vishous fucking all those Chosen. Nope, did not.

The freak conversation they had a few days ago in the makeshift tattoo parlor returned to the present. What had he said to V? That he was his rahlman, his savior. The two were bonded and Butch began to understand that, perhaps, in ways more intimate than he ever thought. Why did he felt like destroying the foosball table, dump the couch, smash the TV and yell at the Scribe Virgin to leave Vishous alone, because he was ...?

He took a breath.

The only thing that prevented him from entering his room and force a run-in was the completely devastated look V had in ZeroSum. Sometimes a man needed to be alone with himself before he could share the shit with someone, if they had to do so. He ran a hand through his brown hair, sighed and turned back to his room. If V didn’t break that bubble isolation in which he was, by God he would break it himself, all consequences accepted.

OOO

Butch was awakened by the first scream, jumping off the bed as if he had a spring mattress and with eyes wide open. What was that? Sometimes V’s groans when he dreamed the dream ended by getting him up. But the brother would wake from those dreams, so if things didn’t get hairy, Butch did not move from his room. But it sounded different, very, very different this time.

A scream. So strong that it seemed to bounce inside his head. As if Vishous was having his heart rips out from his chest.

Butch pulled the sheets to the side and rushed out of his room in boxers with such force that it was a miracle he ducked the door . He crossed the Pit’s living room and stumbled just when the screams began to alternate with gasps, as if his roommate was drowning.

- V!

He burst into the crowded room of his friend with the heart of a crazy bunny, but what he saw almost gave him a stroke. V had shrunk in on itself, embracing, and convulsed as if trying to escape the excruciating pain, screaming with eyes closed. All his naked body was drenched in sweat and that damn hand shone like a beacon of hell, even under the glove, the glow spreading across the skin.

Oh, fuck, V, no ...

Butch ran to the bed and dropped to his knees on the mattress, sinking it, shaking his friend by the enormous shoulders.

- V! Wake up! - the brother just groaned, a low sound and still in agony. No, no, no. He shook until he thought he had broken his neck – it’s a nightmare, wake up, damn i ...!

He did not finish the sentence because Vishous suddenly opened his eyes, two fire pits that seemed to glow in the sunlight, with the fully dilated pupil of the right occupying the entire iris. V had just regained his visions. And it was not Disneyland.

-Hey, brother ... ah, V ... it’s over, okay? Look at me, V, focus on me.- Butch still squeezed his shoulders, keeping his eyes on those burning wide pits. That would need a lot of vodka after it was over .- That’s it, trahyner ... come back. Come on, my man.

V’s right pupil shrank to normal size and the brother gasped reminding Butch of the widows who see the coffin of the husbands going down into the ground at a funeral. The thought gave him chills.

- B-Butch?

God, that broken and trembling voice wasn’t V’s. Not even when he had found him on the terrace it didn’t seem so damn bad. Then he hated himself. Now he had a panic attack. Butch sat on the bed, pushing V’s shoulders up and over his arms so he could hold his back and draw him into himself. Shit, he was trembling so badly that he could hear his teeth chattering.

-Calm down, brother. It’s gone.- he took him closer, holding him by the neck and caressing that sweaty broad back with his right hand.

V froze for a moment, as if someone was pulling his body in different directions, and then collapsed. The tremors became gasping sobs. S-o-b-s. V was crying. He buried his face in Butch's neck and passed his arms around his back, shaking so hard that the cop caught his breath.

-Do ... do ... don’t you dare do it, Butch .- the words came out in exhales on the cop’s skin as V convulsed- ... don’t you dare die! No ... oh, dammit! – He had another spasm and he pressed against Butch, completely naked.

Oh-fu-ck. Okay. Good. V had recovered his vision. And he was never wrong. And he saw his death. Butch felt a panic attack at first but it didn’t have time to escalade because the brother let go of him to catch his arms with the force of a hydraulic press and his eyes shone like precious wet stones.

- You cannot in-hale so many! CAN FUCKING NOT! Did you hear me?! - V shook the cop until his brown hair fell over his forehead.- YOU CAN NOT KILL YOURSELF FOR THE OMEGA! – he shouted with all his might-I will not allow it! I will not let you fill yourself with that-that shit! You hear me, Butch?! – he lowered his face a moment, with his hair covering the shinning tattoos on his temple, when another sob seemed to break him in half. -You cannot let me behind.- the scream became a broken whisper.- You're m ... m ...

Butch had felt that someone opened his chest without anesthesia only twice in his life, when his sister died and when Marissa had left him. He had just added a third to the list. Sitting on the bed, he pulled V against him, burying his face in his neck while his hands were desperate to find a place to hold him because he wanted to have him all against himself. V's face pressed against his neck, wet from tears while his body was in spasm. Finally, Butch grabbed the hair on V’s neck in a fist, pulling it.

-I'm not going to leave you, you fucking idiot. I couldn’t even if I wanted.-his voice was a hiss between clenched teeth.- Even when I was with her, I was with you. Damn ... I will not leave you alone, V, no ...

Vishous raised his head from his friend's neck like a spring, without loosing contact, because he needed the heat. "Even when I was with her, I was with you " That’s what he said? Hazel eyes were closed, a frown, worry, and something else, some fierce emotion ... painted on Butch’s hard face. V blinked, completely lost.

Butch dying in his arms ... Butch trying to inhale so many lesser that his body could not stand it ... his light not enough to clean him ...he’ll also die… but Butch will die before him... in his arms. He closed his eyes so hard that his eyelids hurt.

Then it happened.

Butch did not know why he did it. The shock of seeing the pit of despair in the eyes of V before he closed them, the urge to point out that he was still there, along with something ... something very, very strange combined to make his blood boil and he raised his palms to capture Vishous with both hands.

Then his lips crashed against his friend’s as a battering ram.

V when he opened his eyes, as if he'd been punched, he could only find he could not focus on Butch because he was so close …he was ... kissing him. The cop’s lips were pressed against his and Vishous lost his sense of the world.

He opened his mouth for him while he dragged him closer. They rolled in the bed, hugging, holding their faces, shoulders, backs, as if they were fighting. Grunting. Panting. Frantic. V’s tong entered into Butch's mouth, searching him, and, oh, miracle, Butch met him.

Their mouths fused with the ease of old lovers as they writhed on the sheets, pressing against each other.

Butch gasped into his mouth when their saliva mixed and their tongues became wild. V's hands were in his hair, pulling, hurting him, his mouth devouring him, slipping his muscular chest against his it was as if the pieces of the emotional puzzle that was destroying them both finally fit together.

Vishous mounted him, abruptly breaking the kiss and buried the face in his neck, licking all the way on his vein while scratching him with the fangs . Butch arched as if struck by lightning and his sex pushed against his shorts. He moaned, grabbed the black hair in both fists, forcing V to part his neck and returned to crash his mouth while trying to get on top of him. Their legs were entangled and they were lying on their side.

V put a thick leg over his hips, drawing Butch near him, while his fangs drew blood from the cop’s tongue. Butch's body began fusing. He pressed V’s hips against his as his blood mixed with saliva ... and the huge erection Vishous had pressed his bare abdomen, moistening it with the liquid that flowed from the smooth tip.

Oh, God...

A wave of fear, pure and hard, knocked him and he pushed V, but the bastard had the strength of adrenaline pumping through him and Butch only could roll the brother until he was above him. Just at the moment his over 100 kilos of weight fell on Vishous, the brother broke the kiss, cursed and hit Butch with both fists right in the center of the chest.

Pam! Like the impact of two trailers.

The cop shot up and sat on the bed, breathing like a mad man, with a painful erection in his tight boxers and even more painful confusion rampant in his mind. But what ...?

Vishous flattened against the wall, sitting on the pillow, his hair falling over his eyes, massive chest hyperventilating, hand shining like a disco ball in his glove and his swollen sex sitting up to well above his navel, protruding between those tattoos down there.

Sex. The guy gave off desire and hard sex from every pore. The type that was both sensual and brutal at the same time and it made Butch shake from head to toe. Then, V looked down between his legs, lifted his sex to obscure it, groaned and struggled to cover it in the sheets, keeping his knees raised to prevent the thing to sticks out like a lance.

-Oh, fuck ... he murmured weakly.

Winning word. One hundred thousand points.

Butch got out of bed very slowly, as if he didn’t trust his legs to hold him and walked out the door with his head down, a trembling body and a rock hard-on under his shorts.

I need a drink ... One after another ...

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