Tiberius was not what one might call an  extrovert. He was not a man who enjoyed the impositions of another’s company upon his time nor  did he appreciate the existence of many people for its own sake. As a rule there were few people whose presence he tolerated, and fewer still who he actually liked. Still. Every once in the odd while a melody would separate itself out from the herd and wind its way into the backroom amongst the artefacts, twisting and turning through his mind like an earworm burrowing for a home. At such times he might even find himself drawn out of his study and compelled to interact, albeit briefly, with whoever or whatever was the cause for the new sound.  This was not one such time.

No, no. This fell into that other category of times – the times when it felt like someone was marching into his space with a one man band, hammering away with increasing demand until he could feel it behind his eyes. And yet - and bloody yet – for whatever godforsaken reason he had chosen a job that required him to at least be civil to the miscreants who would sometimes wander into his domain. There was always the hope, however, that maybe if he ignored it….maybe, just maybe it would go away on its own…

The pitchy grate of  Bethnal Green brogue shattered any hopes he had of that insistent melody drumming itself out of the museum. Eyes closing momentarily, he drew in a slow breath to steady himself before turning his gaze to the intruder. Lanky, cocky, lewdly undressing him with his eyes – brilliant. Returning the manuscript to its proper place on the shelf, the curator arched a brow at the younger brunette, dry sarcasm charring the tips of his words,  “That work on all the boys, does it? The museum exit is back that way – wouldn’t want you to be bored by the historical remnants of oh, say, the last few millennia. What’s the achievement of humankind through the ages compared to a bad pickup line?” A scoff escaped him in the soft breath that trailed the question mark, the curator shaking his head as it did. 

Christ, what he wouldn’t give to be allowed to smoke in here.  

This wasn’t the first time he’d been around. Hell, the only reason he’d agreed to come to the museum with Pax was because he knew he could come steal a look at the man before him. He wasn’t sure what it was about him, but he felt drawn towards the other. “Sometimes.” He says with a cocky grin. “Why, is it working on you?” He runs his tongue along his lower lip already shifting into the office, ignoring the others clear rejection. Des wasn’t one who was easily turned away, and far too persistent for his own good. He turns his back away from Tibs for a moment, fingers already running along the various old objects and artifacts, ignoring any common courtesy that one would typically use within a museum--he was never one that could keep his hands to himself. “So what terribly boring thing are we working on today?” He asks, turning back to the older man, smile still playing off his lips as he walks towards Tibs’ desk. His eyes greedily spot something that catches his attention--a small gold charm, glinting slightly as it caught the light. He stares, and for a moment he could have sworn he saw the figures of the charm move, almost as if they were breathing. He moves forward slowly, eyes flickering between the charm and Tibs, casually moving as though he’s looking around. Fingers reach forward when the other isn’t looking, hoping to quietly take the golden charm and pocket it before the other noticed. 

The club scene never changed. The year passed, but everything was still the same - the same types of people danced to the beat, entranced by the idea of escaping the reality of life with the mixed cocktail alcohol, drugs and the prospect of sex. During college, Gray, Godrick and a few others in their circle ran into these crowds - they were in these crowds. However, time would change the man and tonight’s visit wasn’t one direct for pleasure. Tonight’s visit at this club was fueled by anger - revenge amplified unrefined actions and pushed idiotic plans. Normally, Gray was not one to jump into anything without planning it but his wife’s honor was on the line. There was nothing to hold him back at this. 

“Nah,” Gray smirked at the boy he had intended to meet. However, he was surprised that it really was just a boy. “You and I have some business to discuss.” He smiled at the girl that the boy had been flirting with, “Sorry, sweetheart. I’m sure you can find someone else to go home with.”

Desmond gave the man a long look over, his own lanky frame leaning back slightly as he did so. “Some business, eh?” He lets out an obnoxious laugh, looking around to the people he’d been mingling with, all of whom seemed to be suddenly captivated by the sudden confrontation. Des could feel the tension, he was no stranger to it, but he also wasn’t one to shy away from it. His pigheadedness often got the better of him, and tonight was no different. “An’ what sort of business would that be, mate?” He saunters forward a step closer to the man. Brows raise when the other speaks to girl, and she takes a few steps back, but even she can see that something is about to go down here. “Well that wasn’t very nice, me and ‘er were just starting to become friends. Unless it’s you that fancies a night with me.” He presses a sloppy drunken finger to the other mans chest with a grin. “Don’t worry love, I don’t discriminate. Ladies, blokes, there’s enough of Des to go around.” 

@dinosaurswanted

Was there a rule about taking shots from strangers? Karina looked around for Felicity, hoping that she’d be able to ask, but she couldn’t find her anywhere. If it wasn’t for the company, she would have have frowned. With Felicity no where in sight, it probably meant that tonight’s club night was another one of her shady, underworld deal nights. Just like how Karina kept an eye on the supernatural happenings in the city, she figured that Felicity used her job to keep an eye or more criminal things. She wished that the other woman was here though. “Uhm, no.” She copies his movement with the shot glass and tried not to make too much of a face with how much the liquid burned. Awful, she thought. “I lost the friend I came with… I was just going to wait for her here! But I think she got held up or something.” She explained. “I don’t think they’re all that bad…” She was a trained agent, so she was sure that she could handle the worst in this club. The crowd seemed to become thicker and she was roughly shoved into him. “Oh, uh, sorry, it’s a busy night.”

Des smirks at the small face she makes when she takes the shot, his hand flying up to the bartender to signal for two more drinks. “Well at least you’ve got company while ya wait.” He gives her a smirk, eyes darting to the bartender that hands him two drinks. He offers one to the woman nodding a little. “Not as strong as the last one love, but ya look like you could use it.” Taking a sip from his own he lets his eyes flicker around, his attention constantly drifting from moment to moment, a byproduct of who he was. Bodies jostled and he found the woman pushed towards him, her hand suddenly against his chest, his hand on her arm near her shoulder in an attempt to steady her. “Don’ even know yer name yet, and yer already getting frisky with me, love.” He gives her a wink, their bodies now far closer, the smell of alcohol strong on their breaths. “Desmond Wicker, but you can call me Des since we’re clearly already pretty close.” He leans in a little more, his mouth closer to her ear so he doesn’t need to speak quite as loud for her to hear. “An’ wot’s your name, gorgeous?” 

@amcraxwclf

Frank paused mid-pour, sighing before bringing the hand holding the cigarette up to rub over the beginning of a headache, The next asshole that comes to my door is going to be selling door to door syphilis. Setting the drink aside momentarily, he brought the cigarette to his lips for a long inhale to steady himself before going to the door to tell whoever it was to kindly fuck off.  Before the words could leave his lips, however, the discordant string of words hit his ears like nails on a chalkboard. Brows arching over whiskey dark eyes he took in the skeleton standing outside his door. I do not get paid enough for this shit.

Well. He hadn’t been far off with the syphilis comment. The lanky youth stood in a cocksure slouch, cigarette between his fingers, looking every bit the poster child for ‘Crime Rates Skyrocket in White Chapel’.  Maybe the pornographic version of that. Christ if  that’s what this was, one of his competitors trying to pretty woman him with …whatever this little monster got paid for…at least he had to give them points for creativity.   Alright, junior.  “Charming sales pitch, Oliver Twist, that work on all the boys? What’s the racket? Warning me about carbon emissions? Dumping red paint on me for pharmaceutical testing? Nope – wait, raising awareness for AIDS. Gotta say, they picked the perfect candidate in you,  Pip. Why don’t you take whatever dog and pony show this is, whatever little hustle you’ve got in mind, and walk it down the street. 9.5 on choice of victim – 0.0 on technique, sparky, but I’m pretty sure the guy two doors down appreciates slick little shits calling him a slut. Good luck with that. ” Cigarette dangling from his lips he turned to shut the door in the little rat’s face. Fucking kids.

The man that stood in front of him didn’t feel familiar. But how could he? Des had never met his dad, hell he’d never even seen a picture. He’d relied on the dog tags that he’d found in his mothers stuff and the information that a librarian had helped him find. Glancing at the scribbled words on the palm of his hand again, he confirmed that this was, in fact the right address. Des, of course, couldn’t see the similarities between them, never having been one for self-reflection beyond knowing how attractive he was. He’d had many images of what his father could look like, but none looked quite like the shorter man standing in front of him. But hell, the man looked all right, so why not? When he opened his mouth and the words started falling out Des cocks his head, squinting a little against the sun, hands shifting in his pockets, his stance still slouched and lazy. 

“I ain’t selling nothin’ old man.” His accent thick as he speaks still surveying the man, trying to gauge the likelihood that this could be his father. He raises a hand to catch the door, shaking his head. “You Francis Wyler?” He says the name aloud, heels bouncing against the concrete of the steps. Upon receiving confirmation from the man, his head nods. The kid that existed years ago inside him felt a sudden swell of excitement, seeing his father for the first time. The man he’d made up stories about to other kids, bragging about how his father had fought in the war, shooting and killing more bad guys than anyone else. “You remember a woman named Jackie Wicker?” His gaze looks up around the house, noting how nice it was, eyes falling towards the interior, curiosity getting the best of him. “A right cunt from east London? You fucked her and pissed off about 23 years ago?” His eyes come back around, landing back on Frank. “Well, in her words, I’m the fucking shitty result of yer inability to pull out.” He rocks back on his heels again looking Frank up and down. “Though she didn’ mention how fuckin’ short you are.” 

Nyle closed his eyes for a second and gave a chuckle. “Fine. But literally only one, no more.” He shook his head and pointed towards the other. He took the shot and downed it in a second. “There.” He gave a brighter and bigger smile. “Are you here alone?” Hard to believe a guy this charismatic would be alone.

Desmond rolled his eyes, quickly becoming bored with the situation. Raising a hand to the bartender, signalling for another drink, eyes flitting around the room trying to land on anything interesting. “Hmmm?” He mused, eyes falling back on the man who was quickly losing his attention. “Alone? Nah mate, never alone.” 

Bodies collided in a private area of the club that Des hadn’t been to before, clearly kept for those of significant status. The moments were quick, and heated, Desmond doing what he did best. The movements were as lust filled as a random hook up could be, and Des was enjoying every moment of it. The man--Hector von Maur, wasn’t exactly gentle either, which didn’t both Des. It seemed to be going much like any other hook up, that was until the glint of sharp teeth caught the light, and Desmond’s head being pulled to the side to expose his neck. The razor sharp teeth sunk deep into his flesh, the moment both confusing and stimulating, sending Des into an even more intoxicated state. His head felt light, as though he was going to pass out as the vampire worked to drain him of his blood. Just as his lids began to fall heavily, Hector pulled away, tongue running over his lips in pure delight. “You are something special, aren’t you?” His gruff voice murmured into Des’ ear. Unlike the blood that the vampire was used to, Desmond’s had a particular... kick to it. He could already feel his own head getting lighter with the new high he was experiencing. Hector wasn’t sure what it was about the boy and his blood that made him different, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to let this one go. 

The man pulled back taking in the expression of euphoria on Des’ face and chuckled. “You actually enjoyed that, didn’t you?” He pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and dabs his lips to catch any excess blood before pressing it to Desmond’s neck, allowing the wound to clot. “Looks like I’m going to have to keep you around, kid.” Desmond nods, eyes blinking slowly through his drug induced and blood drained haze. “I don’t even need to compel you to come back, do I?” The man shakes his head, a wicked smile playing on his lips as he eyes Des up like a prize he’s just won. He brings a hand to pat Des on the cheek sending him on his way, knowing full well that Des would be back soon enough for more. 

@incvrnvtio 

Heartache → Headcanon

@thehollowlungs