tampered | Log: Complete

Log: Complete

When; Very early Friday morning 10/24
Rating; PG13
Characters; Lestat (

notapreacher)
Summary; Going underground.
Log; It's well past midnight by the time he gets home from the club. The nights are cooler now and one of these days he's going to have to get himself a winter jacket. If he has his say in the matter it will be like the one he had on Callisto: long and wool and warm but easy to move in. That was a good coat, dammit, and he should have had it with him. But he was a little too fixated on what was going on with Vicious and the whole red-eye business and I'll send a woman and revenge to think about practicalities. Except somewhere in the back of his mind he was; he had the presence of mind to have his sax and a few necessities with him on his spacecraft... for all the good it did him. What was he going to do, bring music to the battle-weary sands of Titan?

Maybe. Now that the war was over they were experimenting there instead of Pluto. Word filtered through -- it always does -- and he figured... what did he figure? Something about how he wouldn't be the only one, the only experiment gone wrong, that he'd be in a place (bleak as it was) where he'd fit in. So much for that idea. He never would have made it to begin with.

It's probably time to take those Titan pictures down off the wall, but he goes back and forth on that every time he looks at them: Titan's part of his story, part of who he was, part of who he is. Even if Vicious isn't here any more and like he told Lin, he's got mixed feelings about that, but... how long will he be holding on to the past? It's stupidly difficult to let go of. Turning the key in the lock he steps in only to find dim lights on, the windows open, and soft music coming from the general direction of his computer.

What a nice surprise. Setting down his sax case carefully, he closes the door and smiles.

"Hi."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

He hasn't ever been to the Underground part of this city. He's read the description of it in the guide -- one time -- but nothing there ever seemed particularly like his cup of tea. Of course, that was before he took up residence with a vampire and so...

"Okay. I don't know the Underground at all. Anything there will be a surprise."

Vicious used to like it, he thinks. But who knows what Vicious ever really liked, and he doesn't want to spend his time thinking about that now. He almost brings his gun, but he's got Lestat.

They'll be safe.

"Lead the way."

"I intend to."

Laughing, he pulls Gren out the door then down the stairs (stopping only long enough for yet another kiss) and out into the street in the direction of the entrance he's looking for. Not once does he let go of the hand in his. It's such a simple human thing but he finds that he actually enjoys the contact. A great deal.

The smile that has been on his face since Gren first stepped into the apartment is still there. And he doubts it will leave any time soon.

The last time he was at this club, he spent most of time either watching the people in the crowd or dancing. He'd be willing to do either. For it being an Underground club, it has a surprising amount of class hidden in its dark shadows. That's the only reason why the Count would ever go there at all.

There are reasons, he thinks, that the bulk of the City's population stays aboveground. First of all, it's nice and light and airy out here, and even at night there's moonlight and street lights and ambient light. He has no idea what the lighting situation is in the Underground, but he spent five months underground on Pluto and...

"Lestat." He pulls him to a stop, turns so they're facing one another, searches his eyes. "I... don't like enclosed places. I don't mind you taking me somewhere dark, but don't make it somewhere dark and small. I'm not sure I could stand that."

Already, memories he doesn't want flood back in and the panic is very real, very palpable. It's just a flash of movement, but he pinches the bridge of his nose and his thoughts pour out in a jumble. Prison. Solitary. Dark, alone, drugs. Don't leave me alone down there. Please.

Just as quickly, his hand falls to his side. Eyes closed, he shakes his head: what a fool he's being for even thinking about this stuff. It's just that he can't help it.

The thoughts aren't needed for him to figure out what's wrong. The memories of what he first saw in Gren's mind is still fresh within his own. All the same, he listens closely.

"It will be dark but we aren't going anywhere that is an enclosed place. I will not leave you down there. Not even for a moment." Cupping his face, he softly kisses him. "My hand will never leave yours and nothing that could harm you down there will touch you. You will be safe at my side."

He looks at Gren fondly.

"This is no prison and you won't be alone. The only drug you'll find is contact with my skin."

"I'll take as much of that as I can get. You know what they say: once an addict, always an addict." Clenching his jaw, he lets his eyes close just for a minute. "I guess that includes being addicted to past fears too. I don't know. I hoped all those memories would just go away in time."

Maybe they will. Maybe three years isn't nearly long enough.

"I'm sorry. I know you won't put me in harm's way. I just needed to get that out." He's been breathing again: it's a learned response, an ingrained panic reaction. He's surprised his heart isn't racing too, because his throat's dry and he's just a little bit shaky. Where are those pills Vicious had now? Did they leave the City with him? No, no, no: he won't take drugs. It's just like Lestat said: the only drug he'll find is contact with his skin and why is there not more contact right this minute? He can fix that, and does, resting his hand on the side of Lestat's face.

"Thanks. You're very patient with me."

He kisses the palm of the hand on the side of his face then moves over until his side is flushed with Gren's and his arm is around his waist. He meant what he said, he won't leave him. The darkness is his playground and he rules it. And he plans to keep it that way.

The slight shaking is felt now. He knows fear. He's felt it before. So he's well aware of what Gren is going through. And from his memories, he knows what Gren wants now. He stares into the distance for awhile then turns to the man next to him once more. Reaching over, he pulls him into a slow, sweet kiss.

When he's done, he smiles at him.

"Feeling any better?

"I might need another one of those later. For fortification. But yeah. Thanks." He could just close his eyes and let his head rest against Lestat's shoulder and melt after a kiss like that. But then they'd never get anywhere and he'd never be able to face this irrational fear of his and the night would be a total waste of time.

"So... okay, I'm ready. Take me wherever it is we're going." He promises himself he won't panic any more. If he can just set memories aside and... "And we can make new memories out of the darkness."

It's what they do for each other.

When he first started that, he hadn't expected it to be continued. There are no complaints, he enjoys it. Something just between the two of them. He likes it. This making memories in places that hold nothing but bad ones. He's very pleased that he came up with that idea in the first place when they were near the carousel.

"Alright." His arm stays around Gren's waist as he guides them into the darkness that only his eyes can pierce through. Because the club has more class, it is on this level of the Underground. That will keep them from the greater dangers of the larger monsters further down.

Humming, he smiles as he takes them through all of the shadows. The only sound is his voice.

The only lights are small and vague and red and they remind him of places he'd rather not think of. He can barely see, anyway, and so he simply closes his eyes and lets himself be guided through the darkness.

This isn't the kind of place he'll be frequenting on his own, he can guarantee that much. Not without a flashlight or a torch and a mob behind him: he's not so sure what's down here but he knows he doesn't like it. The only thing he likes about it is Lestat. In a way, this is the biggest test of trust he's ever put himself under.

It's the confidence in the humming that keeps him going. You are one I would not harm. Were those the exact words? He thinks so. That protection's already been extended -- a courtesy from Dracula, of all people -- and this... this is a vampire's milieu and he's in love with not just any vampire but this vampire. He has to be brave. He has to face it: his eyes open hesitantly and he forces himself to try to make sense out of the shadows around them.

He can't do it, but his eyes stay open and his hand finds Lestat's on his waist. It's like walking through a dream.

The music of the club is what catches his attention. It's low and maintains a steady beat through the darkness. Gren will hear it soon enough. A style all it's own. The one in charge of music must be someone not from one of the many variations of Earth. Well, good. He enjoys hearing new styles of music.

Leaning over, he lightly kisses Gren's cheek. Another moment of comfort before he stops him completely and wraps his arms around him. The embrace only lasts a moment then he's walking backwards with pale hands in his tan ones. There is a smile on his face as he keeps himself within human sight in these shadows.

"Even in darkness you are beautiful."

The words are whispered softly enough that only Gren would be able to hear them. Even then, just barely.

"We are almost there. Can you hear the music yet? Filling the darkness around us?"

Being admired for his looks is nothing new, but it takes on a different dimension coming from the man he loves. Instead of having to fight against it, assuming the words are a veiled threat, he can embrace them. And Lestat's kept his promise so far, hasn't let go even for an instant.

From a distance, the softest low thrumming of music reaches his ears. It's not lyrical, not familiar other than the fact that it's definitely music; he nods. There was something in that last embrace that filled him with relief and he doesn't know if Lestat did it on purpose, but if he did, he'll take it. He was right about his touch being a drug: it calms him, seduces him, infuses him with a needed measure of confidence.

Lestat's good.

"I can hear it. I don't think I've heard music like that before. What's the place called?"

Lestat, you tell me I'm beautiful in the darkness but you should see yourself. You're radiant. Those thoughts might not get picked up -- he didn't give permission -- but he's still happy to think them.

"Mm. I have no idea. I've never bothered to find out. This music is unlike anything I've heard as well. We can share the experience together. Making new memories. That is what you said before."

Tilting his head back, he laughs as he keeps pulling Gren along. A normal person would trip doing what he's doing. Ah the glory of not being a normal person. It allows him to do exactly what he's doing now.

The measure of trust that is placed here isn't lost to him. It's very obvious that Gren has put just about everything in his hands. Quite possibly everything. That kind of trust isn't something he's entirely used to. But, he treasures it.

"It is what I said. A friend of mine introduced me to the concept and I liked it so much I decided to keep it."

That laugh of Lestat's is like its own song and tonight it is music. It's a sound he's glad to follow: it's familiar and it's warm and it's lyrical and it belongs to the most beautiful man he knows, and he can feel his earlier uneasiness slipping away in the face of that laughter. This is just another part of the city, he tells himself, and they're going to just another club. Together.

And it was so good to come home and find Lestat waiting. He hopes that thrill never gets old.

As soon as they are close enough, he kisses Gren then turns so he can enter the club. The lights are low and the place isn't overly crowded. The gothic style and fishnets of a small portion of the people remind him of those who used to follow him around when he was a rock star.

He finds an empty booth that he pulls Gren into with him. It's the perfect place to watch the people dancing. His arm is now around the man's shoulder as his eyes follow the movements of the dancers.

"Just look at them. The way they move to the music. The way it fills their souls to bring out the dance. It's always so beautiful to watch."

He shakes his head then looks over at his lover. "This is the most tasteful club you'll find down here. For that reason, it's never crowded. Even in this booth there is room enough for the many we don't have with us."

It only needs to have room for two, although he appreciates the sentiment. What he likes is the arm around his shoulder, being pulled into the booth like it's their own private domain. The wealth of kisses he's getting tonight. At Lestat's comment he does turn to look at the dancers and they are beautiful... but not as beautiful as the man sitting here with him.

This is like a date. The two of them at a club: it's going to be fun. He hasn't done anything like this -- gone out with a handsome man, and Lestat definitely qualifies as that -- since Mars. And this isn't a club where he works, so...

"It's pretty nice. I don't know what I was expecting, but it wasn't this." He's about to lean into Lestat when he changes his mind. Instead, he turns to face him and there in the booth, entirely of his own volition, gives him a really nice kiss. Not that the others aren't nice, but this one has a lot of... oh, say intention behind it.

And then he smiles pretty smugly and leans into Lestat.

He can't help but laugh when the kiss is done. "Give you some dim light and a somewhat private booth and suddenly you're the one initiating kisses in public. Believe me, I will remember that."

Crossing his legs, he's suddenly looks as if he comes to this club every night and has done so for years. It's an easy thing for him. He can do it anywhere. The trashiest places all the way up to society. It is all a matter of blending in.

A man comes over to them. Clearly, he works here and he asks if he can get them something to drink. He wants nothing. But, he turns his head to look at Gren.

"Would you like something?"

His very favorite drink is specific to Callisto and he's sure they don't have it here, and anyway, he wants to keep his head clear and his blood clean. In the end he settles for a glass of club soda with a twist, just like he orders at work. He's got his reasons.

And enough coins to cover the cost, even after that camera, which just happens to be in his jacket pocket. He'll sneak some pictures later: the thing has to be tested in low light, right?

"It's not so much a matter of dim light and a private booth as it is being on my own time and in a different place. This really feels like a whole other city." In a way, it is. Connected but separate, and this is as much Lestat's playground as the rest of the city.

And his behavior isn't really all that remarkable, is it? "I don't know. I feel like we're somewhere so different from the City above. I didn't used to be as shy as I am now, you know. In a way, this feels like old times, but with a brand-new and much more interesting partner."

He'll pay for the drink later. Yes, he knows that Gren wants to keep things fair. That's a fact that he's well aware of. But, he can pay him back in other ways. He's the one with the money of the two of them. More than enough.

Gren lavishes him with affection like no one has before during his years as a vampire. He loves it and as far as he's concerned that is equal payment for anything he might buy with the money he has.

"I do try to be more interesting. It keeps life from being dull. Especially for partners who I enjoy as much as you."

Smiling, he kisses him again.

"Flirt."

There are no complaints about that. "So do you come here to watch the dancers? Or is it the atmosphere you like?"

Personally, he likes the company. And Lestat still hasn't let go of him -- he promised he wouldn't -- and he likes that too; his hands go to either side of the other man's face because... because that's where they want to be and where they feel at home. Long fingers play with strands of blond hair, feel the warmth of that freshly-fed skin, and it occurs to him this has to be Lestat's second trip to the Underground tonight.

He won't ask about that, though: there are some things he doesn't want to know. He will happily share the taste of his soda with him, though. It's so much fun knowing exactly what methods work for that kind of exchange.

"I haven't been here for months actually. The last time I was here the music was suited for more classical dancing and I was among the dancers." With his partner changing between Aleera and Marishka. "The Count had said that I was welcome to come along. I have not been here since them."

That's his little story told. Playfully, he leans forward.

"Do you intend to just sit there holding my face and staring at it all evening? I have no complaints, I'm merely curious. After all, I could easily throw nights away to do the same to you."

Shy now, he drops his hands to Lestat's shoulders. They just want to be touching him. It's how the drug of contact works its magic, after all; he looks down and away.

"I just... I don't know."

He does know: he's filled with want. He would have been perfectly content to stay at home with Lestat, doing all the things they usually do. But the night obviously had different plans and maybe he just ought to step up and take a little bit of control and he does, urging Lestat forward so he can taste those lips.

And again.

He doesn't even notice the drink being served, but it's there when he pulls back, lets his own tongue run over his lips as if there's more of Lestat hiding there.

"Well. That's what I know."

"You know a great deal, don't you?" Pulling the drink closer to them, he turns slightly so that his legs end up tangled with the long ones next him. Like they belong there. As far as he's concerned, they should and do.

"Tell me something...his drink you always order...just what is club soda? By the time I ever heard of it, it was too late for me to ever drink it."

Not that he's really bothered by that. He's already confessed that he would not trade being a vampire for anything. That was something he learned before arriving in the City.

Switching bodies is a very interesting lesson.

The question makes him laugh. "It's water infused with bubbles, that's all. I get lemon in it to make it taste like something."

He knows how this might want to play out; the weight of Lestat's legs on his is a comfort and a sign of ownership and nobody owns him but he's more than willing to lend himself out to one person and one person only.

The lemon wedge gets squeezed into the glass; even he can smell that so he knows it has to smell at least twice as strong for Lestat. He takes a sip and lets it play over his tongue for a little while before swallowing.

"You want to try it?

"Yes."

He leans forward for a taste. He's smelled lemons before by never tasted them. This will be a new flavor of things he wants to try when he gets the chance, he's sure. That's the way it is with most things.

He picks up on the hint of lemon almost right away. It's an interesting taste. So unlike other things he's felt on his tongue before.

Pulling back, he tilts his head curiously.

"I think that I like it."

To be able to taste things only through contact with another is both intriguing and a little bit sad, although he's more than happy to share. "I'm glad you do. Let me know if you want more." It's a pretty open-ended offer and could mean so many different things, but he likes the ambiguity in the statement. He's big on that kind of thing and always was, even before prison changed his body into what it is now.

The insistent beat of the music and the dancers capture his attention. "Marius asked me for a story the first time I talked to him and I told him I tell my stories through music. He said something about how music was a falsehood, or no: what he said is that art is imitation or representation." His memory for that kind of thing is very good, especially when it hits on the one thing in his life he loves more than anything else.

Those words of Marius' still rankle and he knows exactly what they were: a test and a challenge, but two can and do play at that. "So I have to tell you, I think your friend Marius is full of shit."

He's entirely welcome to view art and music in whatever way he wants, but those opinions are only that: opinions. And everyone's got their own.

"Music is part of the soul." It infuses every single thing he does, so screw Marius and his ethereal vampiric holier-than-thou crap: he's not having any of it. "It's sad he can't see it that way. For all his experience and all his wisdom."

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