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Madam X’s Shoulder Strap, Part I || Rhys, Xavier, Rohan, & Ariel || July, 2023

Rohan/Xavier: “So you met how exactly?”

Xavier exhaled a cloud of smoke and looked over at Rohan, smiling fondly as he recalled the memory. “He surprised me while I was in the middle of helping myself to someone’s private wine collection.”

Rohan nodded. “I’m surprised he let you walk out alive.” He looked around, taking in their surroundings. The hotel they were standing in front of, the people on the street, the noise of the city. It wasn’t, he knew, the part of New York that had historically drawn Xavier’s interest, which begged many questions. The most pressing of which was, “Why am I here? You’re only in New York for a few days, wouldn’t you rather spend time with your friend alone?”

“Because you need a break and because you’re my friend, too.” Xavier looked at his watch. He’d informed Rhys of his arrival (and Rohan’s presence) and had arranged to meet him. It had been too long of communicating with just letters.

“He’ll be here soon. Then you can stop overthinking.”

Rhys: Xavier had informed of his presence only an hour ago. He had been groomed, of course, lounging as he so often did on the couch, doing his best to ignore the vibration of his phone which he knew to be January Dune. Every Friday on the dot, and almost every Friday he declined. Never would her nightclub be to his taste, but he knew he could only deny her so many times.

And then, rather than the usual short burst vibrations, two long hums. A man he was willing to see.

And, apparently, a new face.

Sapphira ran her fingers through his hair one last time before bidding him farewell and good luck. If he had to step foot in the noise factory, might as well be with welcome distractions.

Dressed in black from shoulders to toes, hair pulled back in a meticulous bun, gold earrings, rings, and glasses, the Lasombra smiled, polite and brief.

"I thought you would have a tan," he greeted.

Xavier: The way Rhys’ presence shifted the air drew Xavier’s attention mere seconds before he became aware of his approach. This such a familiar sight. Such a familiar scenario.

The vampire really did cut a stunning figure.

“I’m an Englishman,” he said, smiling as he put out his cigarette. “We don’t tan, we burn. Good evening, Mr. Mello.”

Rhys: "A burn? That's less likely on you." Pale as usual. Beautiful, as usual. That irresistible hair, just begging to be touched. He would not, of course. Not in the company of others.

The other in question was given the same brief smile. Rather than a frozen offered hand, he bowed his head.

Rohan/Xavier: “Less likely but not impossible, so I found.” Somehow in those initial weeks, and despite his advanced age and experience, he’d managed to underestimate the sun and his own proximity to the equator.

Xavier gestured to Rohan. “Mr. Mello, I’d like to introduce you to a very dear friend. This is Rohan. Rohan, this is Mr. Mello, a new friend but no less dear for it.”

Rohan gave Rhys a nod and a polite but soft smile. “Pleasure to meet you,” he greeted in a distinct Romanian accent. “I’ve heard quite a bit about you.”

Rhys: "'Quite a bit,'" he echoed. "Good things, I hope." Of that he had no doubt, but, it was a coy enough reply, and the company kind enough to tease.

"Would you mind terribly if I stole an hour of your time to visit my friend's club? If EDM won't rupture your eardrums."

Rohan/Xavier: “All good. Where you’re concerned, of course. Xavier painted himself in a far less flattering light.”

Xavier had nothing to say for himself. He simply smiled innocently and shook his head at Rhys’ question. “It won’t. All things can be endured so long as there’s alcohol. Do you mind?” he added, turning to Rohan.

“Not at all.” It wasn’t his music but then again, was any music his music? As one partial to silence, he doubted it.

The demon nodded. “Lead the way then, Mr. Mello.”

Rhys: "Alcohol, dancing, dim lights," Rhys gestured to the east, waiting for Xavier to reach his shoulder before making pace.

"Less flattering, are you?" The demon was given a look behind his spectacles. "What nonsense did you tell this man?"

Only a few blocks from their beloved hotel. Bass could be felt before turning the corner. A gray unassuming building. January Embers in neon cursive of blue, red, and orange. The black door with the same name painted in white was guarded by two men and their blue velvet rope.

Rhys' cigarette was pressed out against the brick and pocketed. The line was ignored, much to the chagrin of a party of five young women.

"Mr. Harris. Mr. Lee," he greeted. A single finger was pointed at both Xavier and Rohan. Nothing needed to be said.

The rope was unclipped and pulled to the side.

The foyer was tight, leading only to a coat check and metal detector before opening wide to a single enormous room. A room that would have been pitch black if not for the stage lighting. Wide strobe lights glimmered in blue, white, and purple. The bar, of course, was like a beacon from Heaven. A long strip of light ran the length of the entire bar. Another illuminated the mirror wall behind the hundreds of bottles.

The music, a heavy rhythmic pump overshadowing retro dance, ran the risk of engulfing their ears, minds, and very souls.

Xavier: “The truth. After a fashion,” Xavier added with a grin. Although with how accustomed Rohan was to hearing stories of the situations Xavier got himself into—and just barely scraped out of—the ‘less than flattering’ light was probably not so much unflattering as unsurprising.

The club was an environment that, unbeknownst to either Xavier or Rohan, reminded them both immediately of John Ramsay. Only someone like him could regularly spend time in a place like this, being consumed alive by noise and movement and colored light.

Well, it was certainly the distraction that the demon had been wanting for Rohan. And the bar was rather stunning, he’d give it that.

Xavier touched Rhys’ arm and nodded toward it, not even bothering to speak. It’d be impossible to make himself heard.

Rhys/Ariel: After a fashion. He'd have to pry a little further into the night. Not so pressing to need to push now. There was certainly a correction pending.

A Rhianna song had been transformed into a progressive trap, mellowing out to chillwave and falling off the melodic cliff back to a heavy four-on-the-floor beat.

There was no sense in drinking other than the pleasure of pretending in Xavier's company. Long fingers brushed along Xavier's elbow, lingering for a beat and slipping away.

The DJ was impossible to miss. The stage was high and illuminated by the long table of equipment. His shirt could have been crisp white or neon pink. Impossible to tell in the dynamic lights. The man was a pure presence. With his arm in the air, it seemed as if he were controlling the crowd with every flick of his hand. Up and down. Up and down.

"You're going to see a woman in a tiara in a minute. That will be my friend," Rhys warned, whispering in Xavier's ear.

Rohan/Xavier: Impossible to miss was putting it mildly. It was near impossible to look away.

Rohan found himself drawn in almost in spite of himself, only giving his surroundings enough attention to avoid running into other people as he followed Xavier to the bar. This may not have been his venue or entertainment of choice but it was oddly…pleasant. Alluring.

Xavier’s brow furrowed. “Should I be concerned?” he whispered back, leaning in close.

Rhys/Ariel: Rhys just knew he could distinguish Xavier's cologne from the stench of over five hundred mortals. A scent he hadn't enjoyed in months. Too long. If he leaned an inch towards Xavier's neck, it was only for a heartbeat. Gone again.

"Nosey. Flirtatious."

She had yet to spot them. A woman with as much presence if not more than the DJ she was approaching. A delicate blend of Audrey Hepburn and Mia Farrow. Pixie cut hair bleached white. Not a tiara. Not even a diadem. She wore a circlet of silver and diamonds. A heart-shaped sapphire dead center, dangling just between her eyes.

The DJ introduced her as Lady Dune, the proprietor.

Rhys turned to face the stage. Glass in hand.

"Right on time."

Xavier: “Ah.” Xavier nodded to himself. He’d experienced no shortage of either nosy or flirtatious interactions but good judgment advised him to exercise caution. After all, Rhys himself—and the manner in which they met—had shown him that while humans could be safely underestimated in many senses, any other being could not.

Still, Rhys’ friend had an air about her that was as entrancing as it was nostalgic. She could have been a film star in another life, or perhaps a model.

“Lady Dune, hm?” Xavier tilted his head as he studied her. “Fascinating.”

Rhys/Ariel: "She was a noblewoman, once. Her own ladies-in-waiting. Too rich for my blood."

Said next to a man that should have had one hundred suitors. He smiled from behind his glass.

It was her turn behind the table. Shifting from house to trance between a single song. Her mirrored dress acted as a disco ball, glittering the dance floor like a thousand gems.

A word was whispered in the DJs ear. He waved to the crowd, applauded Lady Dune, and stepped down from the stage.

Only feet from the bar did the DJ finally turn from the audience. A second more, and he was frozen altogether.

Rohan/Xavier: “So a lady in the true sense of the word then.” Xavier couldn’t help but wonder how a noble ended up choosing this sort of venture but he supposed it made an odd sort of sense, especially if this wasn’t her first foray into the nightlife business. Boredom and wealth were old friends and often yielded interesting results.

Although there hadn’t really been a reprieve from the music—Rohan was trying desperately not to think of it as merely noise—the changing of the guard, so to speak, did offer a small reprieve. It felt like he could actually focus on the drink in his hand for the first time since they’d entered the club although that would soon prove to be short-lived as well.

He’d been noticed.

The man that had halted the DJ in his tracks had rather a different aura than his companions. He was elegantly dressed in a deep brown suit and midnight blue shirt, the top two buttons of which were undone. He was well-groomed, dark hair styled.

And the moment he felt a gaze, silvery blue eyes would meet his admirer’s.

Ariel: They were opposite ends of the coin. Chinos; Nike's as white as his shirt; a silver cross around his neck, just the right size for his frame; silver watch to match.

The man had not shaven in so long the precision was being lost in his scruff. His toffee hair accentuated his hazel eyes, and they were locked, trapped by two full moons.

He was supposed to talk to Rhys. Supposed to point him towards the VIP room and away from the crowds, away from the mirrors. His hand raised in gesture, but forgot the words.

Rohan/Xavier: Rohan felt the sudden urge to break eye contact but found himself unable to despite the feeling that he was caught under a spotlight. He was rarely, if ever, the focus of such attention.

Especially standing right next to Xavier.

Was the DJ trying to greet him or get his attention? He wasn’t waving so perhaps it wasn’t a greeting, and they were already looking at each other so he doubted the man wanted his attention.

He seemed unlikely to know Xavier, which meant that the person the DJ must have been trying to communicate with was Rhys.

Armed with this logic, Rohan finally managed to look away and intended to get Rhys’ attention, only to notice that Xavier had been observing the interaction and was already doing it for him.

“Mr. Mello,” the demon said in a tone that was impossible to discern. “I do believe we’ve been spotted.”

Rhys/Ariel: With eye contact severed, Ariel managed a hundred blinks, turning to the stage with a sigh. Just a moment of reprieve before returning his attention. Would have been nice, just a few seconds more to themselves, but he had to wonder if this was another vampire. Would make sense why he'd been as captivated with those eyes as he was with music.

Another astonishing moment, Rhys thought. A raised brow followed another brief smile, tighter on the lips. Appearances, then. He'd thought them past this, but perhaps with the recent death...

"She wants you in her VIP suite. You and your friends."

Rhys set aside his glass. Might as well indulge in a little curiosity.

"This is Ariel Cassidy. If you want to introduce yourselves..." A look was given to Xavier, to Rohan and back.

Rohan/Xavier: “Mr. Cassidy.” Xavier inclined his head toward the DJ. His smile could have reasonably been interpreted as polite but there was an undercurrent of interest and amusement that, though subtle, couldn’t be denied.

“You may call me Mr. Rossmara and this,” he patted Rohan’s shoulder, “is Mr. Dalca.” Given the circumstances, some formality was probably best for now. If Rohan wanted to give his first name then that was his decision and his business.

Rohan offered a nod and the same smile he’d given Rhys earlier.

Rhys/Ariel: The man had given his name, but Ariel had his eyes fixed on only one. Having finished his micro assignment, he was free to do as he pleased. At least until January had finished her set. Always one a night, and the timing couldn't have been better.

Rhys placed cash on the bar counter, whispered words in the bartender's ear, and set off for the spiral staircase. Fingers brushed Xavier's elbow once again but kept his silence.

Ariel's chest rose high and caved. Before Dalca could move, he leaned in. Damn near cheek-to-cheek to be heard.

"You like music?"

Rohan/Xavier: Right then. Xavier could tell when he was superfluous to the situation and at this moment, he and Rhys may as well have been painted on the wall.

He followed Rhys, grinning to himself and leaving Rohan to his admirer.

Meanwhile, that spotlight Rohan could swear he felt was only getting more intense. How did he even begin to answer that without sounding exactly like the sixty year-old man he was?

A nod was the safest option, and one that made sense given the noise. “I do,” he said, trying to maintain as much distance as he could. An impossible pipe dream.

Ariel: Just two words, but he'd managed to catch them. The nod more so. Having leaned in, some of Dalca's hair had brushed his forehead. Those little touches mattered. There was a scent he didn't immediately recognize, and he wanted another whiff. Couldn't just breathe him in like a creeper. Had to be organic. He knew just the thing.

"So, like, if you're not," he gestured between them, "like I get it. No hard feelings, but like, you wanna dance?"

Rohan: What was this odd mix of bold and friendly that was succeeding so well at flustering him? That was precisely how he was feeling. Flustered.

A sensation as foreign to him as the desert to a fish.

“I—well…” Oh, he was still holding his drink. There was indeed a higher power. He made great effort to sip and not gulp while he took a second to collect himself.

Of course, the moment he had to lean in to speak, his efforts were useless. “It’s not that you’re—I don’t really dance.”

Ariel: Yes, perfect. Another lean in. His cologne, shampoo, whatever that was, was nearly as addictive as his eyes.

Time was ticking. Adagio for Strings had the dance floor buzzing. He took a chance, maybe too eager, maybe too soon, but pinched Dalca's suit coat between two fingers and tugged once.

"All you gotta do is sway and jump. Fake it 'til you make it, you know? Trust me, you're perfect."

Rohan: Rohan took a slow, deliberate breath, reaching for calm from somewhere.

Sway…he could do that. Maybe not jump, but swaying wasn’t bad. He wasn’t nearly drunk enough to be considering this and perhaps the fact that he was considering it meant that Xavier was right and he’d needed a break from work. That was the only explanation for this temporary insanity.

Not the fact that the person asking was a very handsome man. No, that definitely wasn’t it.

Help me, he thought to the universe, finishing off his drink.

“All right.”

Rhys/Ariel: January plugged into her love of all things Tiësto couldn't have made for a better setting with someone unaccustomed to dancing. There wasn't much to this kind of music. Another gentle tug to Dalca's suit, he was led dead center of the dance floor. The safest place for someone awkward, in his opinion.

"Just feel it," he explained, using full voice to be heard over the swelling trance. "Just vibe." He laughed at his own explanation, not realizing they had their own private audience of two.

Rhys had yet to slip behind the blue curtain just behind them. Leaning against the railing, arms crossed, he watched on with Xavier in silence, to be broken by a question.

"This is unusual, isn't it? Or strangely usual." A guess, given Xavier's radiant expression.

Rohan/Xavier: Desert. Fish.

That explanation was decidedly unhelpful. It was impossible not to feel the music, it was making his atoms vibrate. Moving to it was—

He needed to stop overthinking or he was never going to do this. He’d follow the DJ’s lead and blend into the sea of bodies and with any luck, he’d avoid embarrassing himself.

Xavier laughed. Forget radiant, he felt positively giddy for the first time in weeks.

“Oh, it is. Supremely unusual.”

Rhys/Ariel: Rhys attention was stolen by the smile in Xavier's tone. At least he could still smile. Had he missed him? He didn't usually miss anyone. He had to be careful about that.

"You're going to tell me about this less-flattering light you painted yourself before we're interrupted again. First," he pointed down to the sea of bouncing bodies, "that man belongs to January." He didn't want to use the word ghoul in public. Despite the hum of music and chatter, he refused to take that risk. "What he is, is that going to be a problem for your man?"

Ariel had to try his damnedest not to touch. He wanted to, but this man was just seconds into his life. His arms raised, his hands went out, anything but touch.

"You're gettin' it!" he cheered. Stiff as a board but the man was trying.

Xavier: Rhys didn’t have to say it outright. Context was all that was required. Although the jump from baby vampire to ghoul was sure to put up a wall or two, provided things progressed…at all.

This was one evening. Why count chickens?

Xavier shook his head. “It won’t. He’s made of stronger stuff than he seems. And for the record…”

He turned his smile on Rhys. “Don’t go thinking I stooped to self-deprecation. I’m not quite so far gone. I simply told Rohan how we met and in that situation, you come off far better than I do.”

Rhys: Rhys and Ariel had one thing in common, at least in this moment; they couldn't take their eyes off of the man in front of them.

Quietly, Rhys reached out to cup Xavier's face in both hands. Pulled the demon close enough to kiss under his eye. He wanted that since the hotel, and it was his.

Xavier: The smiling, amused man of a few seconds ago became as soft as water the moment he was given affection. Even simple contact would’ve been more than enough.

The effect Rhys had on Xavier hadn’t been lessened by time, distance, or even circumstance; the smallest reminder of it was enough to make the demon yearn.

Xavier closed his eyes and, helpless to resist, leaned into it.

Rhys: He would never, ever understand what made this man a demon. This was no demon. This was an angel. He would know.

A cool, false breath was breathed against Xavier's skin.

"Come," he whispered, knowing he would be heard. Leaning away was a gentle torment and deliberately slow, waiting for Xavier to right himself. He was then led behind the curtain to their own private booth. Black leather wrapped around an acrylic bar table.

Xavier: There would be no righting himself so long as he remained in Rhys’ company, but an attempt would be made. At the very least he could unknowingly do what Rohan had done and take a slow, deep breath. It would have to do.

He followed Rhys into the booth and felt immediately relieved. Although the curtain did precious little to block out the noise, it was comfortable and private.

“I thought I was becoming accustomed to constant noise living in Bangkok. Apparently not.”

Rhys/Ariel: "Now, there is a place I haven't been in an age. Two, perhaps. Are you enjoying as much as your letters imply?"

Some two dozen more mortals had joined the dance floor. A perfect excuse to press in closer, turning to face the stage and the performance from January. Just enough attention so as not to seem his world revolved around his acquaintance. His arm raised as hers raised, singing along to Sarah McLachlan.

This was going to come to an end. How fucking tragic was that?

He turned, almost buried his face in Dalca's hair in a momentary loss of coordination.

"What's your first name?"

Rohan/Xavier: Xavier nodded, a smile returning to his face. Softer, but still a smile.

“I am. Prior to moving there I hadn’t been in over a decade, nearing two perhaps. I’m enjoying it more this time around. I’m…comfortable there.”

Knowing it was going to end eventually was helping Rohan relax, however…it would be a lie to say he wasn’t enjoying himself. Just a bit.

In the moments where he wasn’t hyper-aware of his company.

What was—that’s right. Xavier had only introduced him as Mr. Dalca, no doubt considering his first name personal information that wasn’t his place to disclose.

There was an instinctual reaction not to give it but this man had had him in a trance since he stepped foot in this building.

“Rohan. My name is Rohan.”

Rhys/Ariel: "Is it your permanent residence from this night forward?" His way of asking how often these visits would take place. Wasn't that obvious?

Rohan would be able to tell under minimal lighting that Ariel was testing his name on his lips. Not once but twice.

"Are you having a good time tonight?" January shouted over the microphone. His signal to return. He had to do something.

"Wanna see?" He pointed up to the stage.

Rohan/Xavier: “I suppose that depends on how one defines ‘permanent’,” Xavier mused as he recalled the similar conversation he’d had with Abel. “Let us just say that it’s my residence for now. And that now that things have begun to settle, I have some free time back.”

To write letters. To travel. To pop into Brooklyn.

Rohan looked from Ariel to the stage and back again. Getting away from the crowd was tempting but, “Not if it will get you in trouble.”

Rhys/Ariel: That would do. There was nothing Rhys could think of to say, and it wasn't his place to say anything at all.

Before he could open his mouth, the curtain opened. A man dressed in all black, hair and beard perfectly groomed, tattoo on his neck, smiled politely. Their conversation would have to remain in suspension.

"Champagne?" Rhys asked.

Trouble? Why would he think -

Ariel tried to laugh, not truly reaching his eyes. "Why... would I be in trouble?"

Rohan/Xavier: Xavier nodded. He’d never say no to a drink, even if it came at the cost of an interruption.

“Yes, please.”

Rohan could think of about half a dozen reasons stemming from the mere fact that he was a stranger alone. If he gave it serious thought, he could easily come up with more.

“Maybe your boss doesn’t want random people up there,” for starters.

Ariel: Oh. Okay. Maybe Father Mello had human friends after all, and this was all just a crazy coincidence that Rohan Dalca was like a living breathing drug. Just a wild, spectacular find.

Sure, and his boss wasn't a vampire that sank her teeth into his body every Saturday night.

"It's my shit," he laughed. "It's okay. Just... you sticking around?"

Rohan: The answer to that wasn’t entirely up to him but Rhys had mentioned staying for at least an hour.

“For a while, yes,” said Rohan, nodding. More importantly, why was Ariel asking? His company couldn’t possibly be that enticing.

Ariel: "So I'll see you." That wasn't a question. He knew where he was going because he had to give the message. This was a hopeful certainty he'd see him again before walking out the door.

"Come up to the stage anytime."

Rohan: No, it certainly wasn’t a question, and in any other situation, that had the potential to bother him. Here and now? When he couldn’t even begin to make sense of how and what he was feeling?

All Rohan could do was nod. He would. Either Ariel would see him or, more likely, Rohan would see him given how impossible it was not to look at this man.

“I should…” He gestured toward the stairs.

Ariel: His shoulders rose, as though startled. "Right!" The gap between them was closed, pointing as best he could to Rohan's point-of-view to the corner curtain.

As easy as it could have been to wrap his arm around his waist, maybe even a hand on his lower back, he denied himself both. It was simply too much. Just fantasies of a man he would probably never see again. But he would be thinking about him all night.

Rohan: Rohan nodded a second time. He’d send Xavier a text in a moment to ensure he wasn’t about to interrupt anything.

“Thank you. For the guidance and…for the dance,” he added with a smile that held some its usual relaxed warmth.

Ariel: Oh. The gratitude seemed to have caught him off guard. Ariel gave a boyish smile. One akin to a certain Ravnos.

"Absolutely. Absolutely. Hope I see you again." It just slipped, but there it was, and he was off to the stage before embarrassment took over.

Rohan/Xavier: That brief flash of familiarity felt like a rock lodging itself somewhere between Rohan’s throat and his chest. He didn’t want to think about it for too long.

“Right…” he said weakly, watching Ariel’s retreating back and only making his way toward the stairs when the DJ was back at his post.

Halfway up he remembered what he’d intended.

{Text to Xavier} Are you okay for me to come in or do you want time alone?

Xavier felt at his inside pocket for his phone and read Rohan’s message, smiling to himself.

“It seems our Mr. Dalca has concluded his sojourn on the dance floor.”

{Text to Rohan} Come in

Rhys: "Has he now?" He had an idea why, but he would keep to himself. If he was correct, then January would not be far behind.

Rhys made no effort to conceal how close he had placed himself to the demon. Though, he would move aside the bottle and bucket of champagne to the empty side of the booth.

"Welcome, Mr. Dalca."

Rohan/Xavier: With the all-clear given, Rohan made one last effort at composing himself and stepped behind the curtain.

“Mr. Mello,” he greeted, slipping into the side of the booth opposite the two of them. Their closeness was barely even noted.

“Did you enjoy yourself?” Xavier asked, using his glass to hide his smile.

Rohan made a noncommittal noise and poured himself some champagne. “Mm.”

“Did you not? Your skin is positively flushed.”

Xavier was given such a look. “It’s hot.”

Rhys/January: "I'm sure it is." Though, unlike Xavier, Rhys wasn't fighting a smile. He was not one to judge proclivities, but he would be lying to say he wasn't entertained by Xavier's response.

"The owner has yet to plant me on the dance floor."

"But one day!" A voice no harsher than a flute chimed from the other side of the curtain. A man as tall as Ariel, dressed in the same black suit as the bouncers, stood on the other side of the velvet curtain as it was opened and closed. A bodyguard if there ever was one.

"Hello. I'm January." Her petite hand was offered first to Xavier.

Rohan/Xavier: Almost as one, Xavier and Rohan got to their feet when their hostess entered the booth.

“Good evening.” Xavier gave her a smile that was all charm and took her hand, placing the most delicate, gallant kiss to the back of it. “A pleasure to meet you, Lady Dune. I am Xavier Rossmara.”

Rhys/January: Rhys was the last to his feet, and after decades of knowing January, did nothing more than nod his greeting. He was ignored; she was all too flattered by the beautiful creature by his side. And this wasn't the one that had caught Ari's eye? Of course her bouncers had been of no use, telling her two men with no juicy details!

"Now that is a gentleman." Her hand was offered then to the one with eyes like ice. Not too shabby. No, not at all.

"Tonight's my lucky night!" she giggled, taking her place by Rohan's side.

Rohan: Rohan made far less of a show of his greeting than Xavier had, but he afforded their hostess the same courtesy and treatment, and gave her a smile that, though quieter, was no less charming.

“Rohan Dalca. Pleasure to meet you, Lady Dune.”

January: "Rohan," she said slowly, sounding out his name. No, he had not captured her in the same manner, but the second time that night, someone mouthed his name to remember it. The second person because of the first.

She turned back to Xavier and Rhys. Two seconds to study both, and she nodded once.

"Not every night a demon walks into my establishment."

Rohan/Xavier: Curious. Ariel had done the same thing down on the dance floor. Was his name that uncommon or was it simply a shared quirk? Something to ponder while he sipped his champagne and the attention was blessedly on Xavier.

Xavier smiled at their hostess. All cards on the table then. To be expected, and quite frankly easier. Whatever power Lady Dune did or did not have, Xavier recognized that by virtue of her not being human, the playing field between them was level enough to beget respect.

Respect, and cautious honesty.

"No, I don't imagine so. But I can assure you, my lady, that no trouble will be caused to you or to your establishment from my quarter. I am a gentleman."

Rhys/January: "I should hope so, or Rhys has lost his senses! Priests have such big hearts, don't they?"

Rhys was staring at his empty glass. Long fingernail circling the rim before tapping twice. His own language with his coterie, it seemed, as her smile dropped by a centimeter. Her attention returned to Rohan. Elbows on the table, chin in hand.

"Wow. Wow, wow. And you. You sure do... sparkle."

"Will you excuse us." Rhys said, getting to his feet. "Won't be long."

"Yes! You two enjoy yourselves. Please! Music, drinks, lovers, whatever you want. It's yours."

The curtain was opened before either vampire reached it, closed by January's bodyguard.

Rohan/Xavier: "You flatter me, Lady Dune," Rohan said with a smile. Was it the suit? Had Xavier had some catnip-like substance sewn into the lining? All of this attention was so odd. Not unsettling or bothersome, just...foreign.

Xavier wasn't about to comment on that. If he remembered correctly, Rhys no longer considered himself a priest and probably didn't appreciate being referred to as such.

"Yes, of course," he said with a nod as he and Rohan got to their feet. Their seats would only be resumed once they were alone. Well...alone was a relative term in a place like this.

Still, it was enough for Xavier to do some innocent prying.

"You never really answered my question." He grinned at Rohan. "Did you have fun with the DJ?"

Rohan heaved a good-natured sigh. "Must we?"

"Of course we must. I don't think I've seen you dance once in all the years I've known you. It's a momentous occasion, how could we not discuss it?"

"We could just as easily discuss why you're visiting a Maserati dealership when you already have a car."

"Can't a man just look at a car?"

"Can't a man just dance when they've been dragged to New York?"

They squinted at each other over the rims of their glasses.

Rhys: Rohan would have no way of knowing it was all about the auras. The distorted mess that made up a demon and the sparkling glow of a magic user. Then the obvious trance he had placed on her ghoul; Rohan was a man worth investigating. A Toreador had to admire what captivated another Toreador, whether that be a ghoul or Kindred.

The music had slowly transitioned from trance to house. Dark house to be specific. Rhys couldn't differentiate the many genres the way January could. A far cry from her previous lives. A lady-in-waiting, a duchess, a fashion designer, a painter. Just a river of hyper-fixations lasting decades only to nearly drown in the next current.

But that was only a fleeting thought from the Lasombra. This was nothing more than a check-in. January had made it seem urgent, and he should have known better. Had it been important Sapphira would have been in her office.

Rhys returned from behind the curtain within ten minutes.

Rohan/Xavier: Xavier and Rohan’s conversation was kept light and casual. Frivolous even. In unknown territory, the safest option was always to assume that the walls had ears, and that nothing said in private truly was private.

Paranoia had its uses.

So they discussed the merits of one luxury car brand other another, the various trinkets Xavier wanted to buy, the places they each wanted to visit while they were in the city.

Rhys would enter the booth to find Rohan with a fond, long-suffering look on his face while Xavier told him, with great disdain, how some random dilettante had swooped in like a vulture and made off with a painting Xavier had been in negotiations to acquire.

Rhys: The bodyguard January had left planted in front of the curtain was dismissed. One ghoul was an indulgence. Three was an agenda.

"Not another instance of breaking and entering?" Rhys greeted, returning to his seat no worse for wear.

Rohan/Xavier: “If only.” Any sourness in Xavier’s expression dissipated the moment he saw Rhys and heard his voice.

Rohan noticed.

“Breaking and entering would’ve been simpler, but the painting was meant to be a gift for someone who rather prefers me to acquire art through ethical means. So now I must contend with auctioneers who can apparently be swayed with a comped weekend in Atlantic City. Can you imagine?”

Rohan grinned into his champagne. “The absolute state of art auctions in this country,” he said, his intended sincerity easily won over by amusement.

Xavier gestured with his glass. “You joke but it’s true.”

Rhys: "I can't see you stooping so low as to seduce someone for a bit of art. Holding their head in a bucket of water, certainly."

The only one with an empty glass. Rhys was in need of sustenance. Reluctantly, he leaned closer to Xavier, sighed, and whispered, "I... might have to excuse myself again in a minute... for a drink."

Xavier: “I only seduce through bribes, I assure you.” Although now Xavier was certainly wishing he had held that man’s head in a bucket of water. It might have yielded a less infuriating result.

Xavier nodded and whispered, “I understand.” And he did, even if it brought to mind the memory of a certain jazz club singer and even if that memory happened to gnaw at him.

Rhys: A single nod, and green eyes climbed from that exquisite neck to those lips to those stormy blues.

His back then curved, slouching back, making no effort to distance himself from the demon as he looked at the one January called a magic-user.

"You were introduced to me as Rohan. You must be very dear to Xavier to be on a first-name basis."

Rohan: Rohan noticed that, too, but notice was all he did. The nature of Rhys’ relationship with Xavier wasn’t his business. Whatever Xavier wanted to disclose and when was up to him.

Rohan smiled and nodded. “We’ve been friends and colleagues for many, many years. Good ones.”

Rhys: "You've been to battle for this man," Rhys smirked, curious which way Rohan would take his phrasing.

Rohan/Xavier: “And I would do it again,” said the witch, directing his words and his smile at Xavier. There was more than fondness and loyalty in his expression; there was love as well. Love, but no possessiveness or ardor. Theirs was a platonic relationship.

Xavier smiled back. “As I would for you.”

Rhys: His expression seemed akin to the ones Sapphira would give him, and the ones given by January, when she was less distracted by her own life. That was all he needed.

Whether sex was a part of that relationship was of no concern to him.

"Tell me of your first meeting, if significant at all."

Rohan/Xavier: “We met through a mutual acquaintance,” said Xavier. “Or rather a mutual acquaintance suggested I seek him out. I was looking for an antique at the time and wasn’t having much luck finding it.” An antique with magical properties, but an antique nonetheless.

Rohan nodded. “I was working in a historical archive at the time. I had access to resources that allowed me to track it down and we remained in contact. The rest is history as they say.”

Rhys: "And this is something you still do for him, no?" Not the only thing, but a resourceful companion was a hell of a thing to waste.

Rohan: “Occasionally, yes. I no longer work for the archive but I enjoy doing research.” And he’d discreetly maintained most of his resources.

Rhys: "So, a resourceful, intelligent, charming individual as yourself... would or would not want this." A business card was pulled from his coat pocket. Dusk and neon purple. Placed center of the table. DJ Cass.

"A gift from our hostess, from her ghoul."

Rohan/Xavier: Xavier tensed beside Rhys. The revelation would surely come as no shock or great surprise; in fact, it was the most logical assumption that could be made considering who owned this club and how her kind operated. Surely Rohan realized that.

No, what gave him pause was how said revelation would be taken by Rohan given…recent events. Spring had come with a vengeance for them both.

However, Rohan…wasn’t really reacting outwardly. His initial surprise had tempered toward neutrality and he was now staring at the card on the table as if…well, it was impossible to say.

But this had been a gift, and it would be rude not to accept it.

“Thank you,” he managed softly, taking the card and putting it in his inside pocket.

Rhys: Rhys was watching intently. If Rohan took the time to study the card, read the name, number, or email. If his brows rose, fell; whether or not his blinks were soft or frozen altogether.

He was merely the perception. January had the wit to do something with his information. Just seemed a little silly to him.

"Where did you plan to go after this visit?" His attention returned to Xavier.

Rohan/Xavier: Not once did Rohan’s face harden or close off. His expression had remained soft, but to someone who knew him as well as Xavier or was studying him as closely as Rhys, there would be a definite impression that effort was being exerted to keep a mask in place. His thoughts were hard to gauge.

“Ah…” Xavier turned to Rhys. “Unfortunately most of the things I’d like to do will have to wait until the daytime but I had a thought that I might pop into a museum or two before dawn.”

Rhys: Ah, the daytime. He could just imagine the sun on that pale skin, in his hair, and the glow in his eyes. He wanted very much to request a photograph but would do no such thing with another present. Perhaps if ever alone again. Felt as though their privacy was merely a dream in a place like this.

"Which museums did you have in mind?"

Xavier: “The Met and the Guggenheim primarily. It’s been a long time since I’ve been to either one and going when all the tourists are there is pointless and a waste of time.”

Rhys: "If you'll allow me the honor of accompanying you..." He waited to gauge Xavier's expression, "...then please allow me to excuse myself, one last time."

Xavier: The smile returned. He’d wanted to ask but worried Rhys wouldn’t be available since this visit had been such short notice.

“I’d love your company,” he said with a nod. “Please, do whatever you have to. There’s no rush.”

Rhys: "Thank you." His eyes lingered as he bowed his head. He would touch him again, soon enough, but at this moment he needed to find someone. The bodyguard January kept on the second floor, perhaps. The one with silver crosses for earrings and the birthmark on his neck.

Rohan/Xavier: They had no more privacy now than they’d had the first time they’d been left alone in the booth, but Xavier needed to see how Rohan was doing.

So he got creative. Telepathic communication involved more of an effort with someone who didn’t possess the gift but it was still possible.

“Ro,” Xavier said softly. “May I?” He tapped his temple.

Rohan nodded and poured them both more champagne just for something to do.

‘Are you all right?’ the demon thought at his friend, lingering in his mind so he’d be able to hear his responses.

‘I’m fine, X. Why wouldn’t I be?’

‘You know why.’

Rohan sighed and sat back. ‘I’m fine. Really. This isn’t the first time the universe has had fun at my expense and it won’t be the last. I don’t think I can even say that’s what’s happening. It was a single dance, nothing more.’

Xavier shook his head. ‘I’d agree with you if he hadn’t gone out of his way to give you his card. That’s something people only do if they want to speak to someone again. Or see them.’

‘Are you telling me that’s what I should do?’

Xavier shook his head again. ‘No. Whether you do is up to you. I simply don’t want you to write it off because of everything that’s happened.’

Rohan went quiet for a while, watching the bubbles in his glass while he contemplated.

‘I’m not carrying a torch for him, if that’s what you’re worried about.’ He snorted softly and shook his head at himself. ‘Not that I even have a reason or a right to. He didn’t think of me that way. We weren’t in a relationship. I was alone in my feelings.’

‘But you did have them.’ Xavier reached across the table for his friend’s hand. ‘I’m the last person who’d tell you to pretend they didn’t matter. I just don’t want them to haunt you. You deserve to be happy.’

Rohan took Xavier’s hand. ‘It was only a dance, X.’

‘Nothing in this world is only anything.’

Rhys: The bodyguard, Jori, was just as pleased to see Rhys as Rhys was relieved to see his source of food. By now, after a year in January's service, he was certain this bubbleheaded mortal was her so-called gift. She did so love gifts.

His sigh of pleasure was drowned by heart-stirring bass. The stuttering writhing might have been pleasurable before, but tonight could not carry his interest. That was not the kind of love he sought this evening.

The little wound was sealed with a swipe of his thumb. The stain licked from his finger as he bid the young veteran goodnight.

The curtain was opened for the last time.

"Was the champagne to your liking?"

Rohan/Xavier: Again the immediate smile on the demon’s face. This was becoming a pattern. “Very much so.”

Although Xavier and Rohan had let go of each other’s hands before Rhys’ return, the effect of the comfort the contact had given would be noticeable if one were to look closely.

Rohan didn’t look quite so much like he was trying to keep his composure anymore.

“Shall we?” Xavier asked Rhys, getting to his feet.

Rhys: The curtain was pulled completely. He found himself irritated. Not with anyone but himself. The way he altered his demeanor for the sake of a new face. How close he wanted to walk to this man. To share a cigarette.

He felt out of balance. The worst feeling.

"I assume you have your means of being unseen? What of your man?"

Rohan/Xavier: Xavier patted his pocket. “But of course.” His means this evening didn’t take the form of the coin Rhys would’ve perhaps expected, which only meant Xavier would have the opportunity to show off a bit more of his magic.

“Rohan is going to return to the hotel. He’s a creature of the day and sleep is paramount.”

Rohan nodded. What Xavier said was true, but he wasn’t going to return just yet.

“It is. The two of you enjoy the museum. It was lovely to meet you, Mr. Mello.”

Rhys: A small noncommittal noise accompanied his nod. "Shame." The polite thing to say for someone tolerable.

"Please," he turned, offered his hand, "a friend of Xavier's is a friend of mine. Rhys."

Rohan/Xavier: “Perhaps another time.” And so was that.

Rohan shook Rhys hand and smiled warmly. “Then you must call me Rohan. Please be careful,” he added to Xavier. “And remember that you’re there to look at art and not to make a shopping list.”

“I can only promise the former.”

Rhys: "Enjoy what remains of your night."

Fresh air and a modicum of silence were all he needed for the next five minutes. Stepping out into the warm city night. Sanctuary given under a streetlight. Rhys raised his head to the moon and reached for a cigarette. Alone at last.

"I apologize for the inconvenience."

Xavier: Oh, blessed silence. For a moment there Xavier had forgotten that it existed. And knowing that the museum was going to be even quieter than the street? He could weep.

“No apologies are necessary,” he said as he followed Rhys’ lead and pulled out his cigarette case and lighter. “Errands are errands and my arrival was a surprise.”

Rhys: "You were the surprise I wanted." His own cigarette was offered to light the other.

Xavier: There it was again; the immediate utter softness in Xavier’s face and entire demeanor that to Rhys’ mind made him seem more angel than demon.

“I’m glad.” He lit his cigarette and put the lighter back in his pocket. “Which museum would you prefer?”

Rhys: "I have no opinion." If that didn't tell Xavier everything he needed to know.

Xavier: It did, and it made him smile.

“Then let’s go to the Met and look at beautiful art and enjoy being in silence together.”

Just as soon as they found a secluded spot from which to teleport and engage Xavier’s concealment magic.

Ariel: Last he'd seen of that suit was coming down from the VIP staircase. He almost checked his watch but stopped himself in the nick of time. Raised his arm in the air and sang along with the Ne-Yo.

Hours until the last call; he didn't need to check his watch to know the obvious. The club was still at full capacity.

He understood his domitor now; the long stares at walls, the hours of the same song on repeat. Her hyper-fixations had fascinated him before. She had promised one day soon he would have his own, and there it was like euphoria.

And now without those eyes, the music wasn't quite the same.

Rohan: As much as Rohan envied that Xavier was about to be embraced by the soaring halls of a silent, empty museum, he knew himself well enough to know that if he stepped out of this club, he probably wouldn’t ever step back in again.

And for reasons he couldn’t fully reconcile yet…he didn’t want that to be the case.

So he stayed. He didn’t know yet for how long or what he hoped to learn or accomplish by doing so, but he stayed. He found a seat at the bar with a decent view of the DJ booth, ordered himself a club soda, and watched while he tried to sort out what he felt and why he seemed so aware of the card in his chest pocket.

Rhys: In all his years in New York City, The Metropolitan Museum had been mentioned only once, in passing with Sapphira. A place she had slipped into on numerous occasions, never once invited a single soul. It was her private world, and if not for knowing for a fact that she was in Queens that very moment, he would have expected to see her stalking the very hall they had entered.

"This isn't your first time," he mused. "Not with that look on your face."

Xavier: Xavier breathed deeply and closed his eyes, letting the bliss wash over him. It had been too long since he’d done this.

“Not remotely. It’s been an absolute age since I’ve seen this museum with people in it. Any museum, really.” After the club, stepping in here felt like a cool shower on a hot day.

“Have you ever been here?”

Rhys: While he could have enjoyed another cigarette, Rhys slipped his hands into his coat pockets, denying himself cigarettes and touch out of respect.

"I can't say I have. Never had a reason to." He shrugged. "Now that I'm here, I wouldn't mind seeing the religious artifacts."

Xavier: “Then let us do precisely that.” As this ground was hallowed only metaphorically and he didn’t intend to touch anything, he’d be safe from whatever they encountered.

“If memory serves, the hall that houses them is this way,” he said, walking perhaps just a little closer to Rhys than he strictly had to.

Rhys: A hand slipped from his pocket, placed over Xavier's stomach as the reached the end of the hall.

"Security is still a thing with two legs," he whispered. Xavier was the seasoned explorer here, but a healthy dose of caution was his nature.

Xavier: Xavier could’ve told Rhys that the spell he was using to hide them protected them from being detected by guards as well as the security system, but then the vampire wouldn’t have a reason to touch him.

He let himself peek around the corner and cocked his head for any sound. It wouldn’t hurt to check anyway.

“We’re safe,” he whispered back. “The closest guard is on the floor above us.”

Rhys: It only dawned on Rhys in that very moment the lengths he had gone to spend time with this man. The noise factory that was January's club; hidden within a museum in the heart of Manhattan, not at all his territory, nor where he was welcome.

"Your lead, then." Said, though he had yet to release Xavier from his hold.

Xavier: “Right.” It would be another moment, or perhaps even two, before Xavier took that lead.

Their letters made it feel like he spoke to Rhys very often though in reality, months had passed without them seeing each other. Every point of contact, every look, every smile felt precious. Rare. Something to be treasured even if beneath it all there was an undercurrent of guilt.

But…at least for tonight…he wanted to try to forget it was there.

He just wanted to enjoy the quiet and look at beautiful things with the man that had so captivated him from the very first moment they’d met.

Rhys: Eventually, Xavier would have to be released. Time was of no concern in the grand scheme. But this man, despite time, space, and loss, was still his lover. A word Xavier had seemed to shun, but not outright reject. Didn't change how he felt. All he had wanted tonight was his comfortable silence.

There was too much museum and not enough night. Rhys intended to read the details of every interesting artifact, starting with a painting in a room off to the left of Christ and his mother. Surrounded by older artifacts of books, medallions, and saint pendants.

"Do you know your saints?"

Xavier: Despite what they represented, the artifacts were still beautiful and worthy of admiration. But watching Rhys admire them? Watching him learn about what he was seeing? That was infinitely more interesting.

"I did at one point." The knowledge had been beaten into him. "The only ones I can ever seem to remember are Saint Christopher and Joan of Arc."

Rhys: "The patron saint of travelers, loved by every mariner with an ounce of Christianity in their blood."

Rhys smiled from his hunched position, still admiring the golden pendant before him.

"I can tell you a secret about her. A rumor by association. Do you know the name Gilles de Rais?"

Xavier: And associated with one mariner in particular in the mind of a certain demon.

Xavier nodded. "I do, yes. His name is often associated with hers." The man had been a serial killer himself, if he was remembering correctly. One far more vile as far as Xavier was concerned.

"What is this rumor?"

Rhys: "From one elder to another elder to another elder, Gilles de Rais was a mage. I don't know what kind. But her supposed vision of angels was untapped magic that drove her insane. He might have had a hand in it. So the story goes."

Xavier: "Ahhh..." Xavier turned the matter over in his mind. Not only did that make perfect sense, it was so much more plausible than Joan's own account of what she experienced.

"I knew it had to have been something. Simply hearing angels supposedly renders humans all but deaf, actually seeing them would've blinded her if not killed her entirely. I'm more inclined to believe the influence of this mage."

Rhys: The statement of angels had Rhys sitting up straight, turning his attention to Xavier.

"Have you ever laid eyes on one?"

Xavier: "Yes and no. I wouldn't be standing here if I'd ever seen an angel's true form but..." He hummed thoughtfully. "Nothing will ever shake my belief that my father is a fallen angel and I've either just never seen his actual true form or if I have, it's been so warped by Hell that it's indistinguishable from a demon's."

Rhys: Rhys' chin rose and slowly fell.

"The one who made you? Your... sire." As he could understand it.

Xavier: "Yes," he confirmed with a nod. "Sire, father, creator. I suppose it all amounts to the same thing."

Rhys: "Dangerous line some cross, confusing sire as lover. Not unheard of. I rarely hear 'father' or 'mother' in my circle." He could assume the taboo was universal.

Xavier: In that moment Xavier could have sworn he felt Zagan's touch beneath his clothes, along with the all-too-familiar shame and despair and self-hatred licking at his insides like flame.

"Creator and father--or mother--seem to be used interchangeably among demons."

Rhys: "In recent years, you find childer making attempts on their sire's head. The respect it once carried has diminished." His mouth curled, incredulous. "Maybe it's just the abundance of frivolous embraces these nights."

Xavier: He thought, inevitably, of Holden White.

“Pardon me if I’m mistaken but aren’t there meant to be systems in place to prevent those frivolous embraces? Outliers will always exist of course but it seems like a terribly reckless thing to leave unchecked.”

Rhys: "Systems, yes. Keeping your equals in check."

His hand felt for his pack of cigarettes, squeezed. Not here.

"Camarilla run a tight ship. You hear a Scourge is coming for you, your time is up. The bringers of death to high generation illegals."

Xavier: “I take it at least part of the reason for the state of affairs is a decided lack of Kindred keeping each other in check?” An unsettling thought to be sure, just like whatever this Scourge was.

Xavier wasn’t entirely certain he wanted to know.

“I hope no one in your territory is making trouble of that caliber.”

Rhys: "A lot of people abandoning the Ivory Tower. We don't like being told what to do."

Two fingers were pointed towards the nearest window.

"We're in Camarilla territory. Manhattan belongs to them. Anarchs surround them. It's a mess."

Xavier: “Politics usually are. But you can at least rest easy in one respect.”

Xavier smiled at the window, knowing full well that if one were to look in, they wouldn’t see anything but the items on display.

“No one but me will ever know you’re here.”

Rhys: His smile returned. "You make it sound as though you've stolen me."

Xavier: “It feels as though I have. Just for a little while.”

Rhys: Hmm. A thought tingled the tip of his tongue, urged to escape. With a little hum, it was bedded down.

"Then I am yours. For a little while."

Xavier: The demon smiled. “Is there anything you’d like to do tonight? Anywhere you’d like to go?”

Rhys: "You're the one..." in recovery, "tonight is for."

Xavier: “Then…after we’ve seen all we care to here…would you be opposed to sitting on the bridge with me again?”

Rhys: "Play a game of hawk-dove with the sun again?" A replica of that unforgettable night? "With pleasure."

Xavier: “A game that we’ll win,” he said with an easy smile that he had to turn away to hide. He needed to keep some of his excitement for himself, lest Rhys suspect an ulterior motive and ruin the surprise.

Rhys: What was that? He reached forward to pinch Xavier's chin. Affectionately, of course, wanting another second of that secretive smile.

"Lead on."

Xavier: He wouldn’t have to try hard to get it; Xavier was doing a terrible job of not appearing like someone with a secret.

“Let’s go seeee….” He went over his mental map of the museum. “The Greek and Roman art. I’m in the mood for sculpture.”

Rhys: Rhys' smile grew and his hand fell. Now it was his turn to look away. He should explain himself.

"Sculpture, yes. You're touch-starved." He shrugged, starting off towards the hallway. "January's theory."

Xavier: Xavier blinked, then kicked himself mentally. Of course January had a theory; she’d been observing and gleaning all the information she could about those observations because he was a stranger in her territory.

He’d accounted for the lack of privacy but not, somehow, for that little inevitability, fool that he was.

“Mm.” Xavier fell into step beside Rhys. “And here I was hoping my impeccable sense of style would take center stage.”

Rhys: "She loves her theories. One of her favorite stories is how her ability to read people saved her from a swift beheading." A diminutive hedonistic detective with no drive beyond her own pleasure. "Her joie de vivre will do her in."

A lot to say after so long apart. Too much, perhaps. The art opposite of Xavier was suddenly interesting.

Xavier: “Fortunate as it was that she managed to keep her head, one cannot always rely on their ability to read people. Humans and things like us are frighteningly unpredictable.” Yet another benefit of paranoia.

“Did she happen to share her theories about Rohan?”

Rhys: "Enough trust in my own judgement to give me his card. If she didn't like what she saw, he would be empty-handed."

He could face Xavier again.

"What do you know of ghouls? You tightened."

Xavier: Xavier heaved a long sigh. “Not much beyond know what they are and how their bond is established but that isn’t exactly what caused my reaction. Do you recall the fledging I told you about?”

Rhys: "Something happened to him." Or Rohan wanted something to happen with him for him to be the subject.

Xavier: “He walked into the sun. It all finally became too much for him to handle.”

Rhys: "I'm not surprised." Not with everything Xavier had told him. "It's for the best."

Xavier: “I’m inclined to agree. But Rohan was beginning to develop, or rather had developed, feelings for him.”

Rhys: "Feelings. Hmm. You didn't warn him against it? For a fledgling..."

Xavier: “Perhaps I should have, but I never imagined that he would begin to see him that way. In any event, those feelings were unrequited. The rabbit never stopped pining for the woman who turned him and Rohan never said a word to him.”

Rhys: "Would it be wise to play with a ghoul, then. He seems to be a stone enamored with flighty things."

Xavier: “I don’t know,” Xavier sighed. “I didn’t say as much to him but it almost seems as though the universe is toying with him a bit. He loved a Kindred, then cared for a fledgling, and now seems primed to be pursued by a ghoul.”

Rhys: "Forgive me, but, is he a masochist?"

Xavier: “Would that he was. Then this all might not be so tragic. You said he seems like a stone but really…he’s a harbor. He’s a harbor that wants a boat to keep safe.”

Rhys: "Saying that, does he need a lover or children?"

His shoulder rose and fell. "I had a captain like that. Wanted to be the leader of his misfit of lost boys. A menagerie of oddities. He's an only child, I assume."

Xavier: Xavier nodded. “He is, yes. In all honesty, he needs and deserves both. Someone to love him and make him happy and show him the same care and compassion he shows to everyone else. Someone who wants him and not someone else.”

Rhys: Rhys leaned over to read the history of an ornate mask embedded with lapis lazuli. Rohan seemed with them even in their privacy.

"And what do you need and deserve?"

Xavier: Xavier managed to catch himself before saying the first thing that came to mind, which was that he didn’t think he deserved anything. He had a feeling Rhys would find that answer unacceptable.

“A Maserati,” he said, choosing the most frivolous, casual answer to steer them into less fraught waters. “And a cigarette on top of the Brooklyn bridge.”

Rhys: "You're not already bored of the museum." The column read, he turned back around. Both hands held out, palms opened, then closed.

"Show me your favorite artifact."

Xavier: He smiled and shook his head. “I don’t think I’ve ever been bored in any museum I’ve visited. Granted, I’m very picky.”

He looked around the hall. “My favorite artifact here or in the whole museum?”

Rhys: "The artifact you must visit every time you step foot in this building."

Xavier: The answer was immediate.

“Follow me.”

Xavier took a moment to listen for any guards before leading Rhys through hall after hall and gallery after gallery to the opposite end of the floor they were on. He led them into the American wing, to a small cozy corner where their goal lay waiting.

“There she is,” said the demon, gazing adoringly at the portrait of the infamous Madame X.

Rhys: Rhys followed in step, making no effort to hide the way he glanced at Xavier, admiring the flow of his hair and the click of his heels. This man belonged here. And for a moment, all he could imagine was his pale, lithe form splayed on the floor, surrounded by his beloved art.

His spectacles, which had been sitting gingerly between his teeth for the length of the journey, were returned to his face as he leaned in to study her. He could not by a margin understand the depths of beauty a Toreador could, but he could appreciate complexity when it was in his face.

"These straps on her shoulders are meant to be diamonds? Gold, maybe," he mused. "Her face is familiar to me. Masculine. Tired. She seems... human."

Xavier: “Mhm. Jeweled in some fashion.” He sighed wistfully. “She does, doesn’t she? When I first saw this painting I sat in front of it for hours, studying every inch of the canvas, every nuance of her expression. Coveting her. Do you know the story behind it?”

Rhys: "I can't say that I do. She's not fantasy. That much is clear."

Xavier: “Indeed,” Xavier said with a nod. “Madame Gautreau was very real. This portrait is what you may call a revision.

“When John Singer Sargent originally painted it, this strap here,” he indicated the strap farthest from her face, “wasn’t sitting on her shoulder. Do you see how its placement disrupts the line created by her profile, the direction in which she’s leaning, and her arm? It doesn’t quite look natural because that wasn’t what Sargent intended.

“In the original, the strap had slid from her shoulder. When Sargent exhibited the portrait, it was deemed so scandalous that he was forced to paint over it.”

Rhys: Over a strap. If prudish critics were to go so far, might as well condemn straps altogether. Cover her shoulders entirely.

"If only those same people were dropped in Lady Dune's club," he smirked.

Xavier: Xavier laughed softly. “Oh, they’d faint clear away. They deserve far worse in my opinion.

“You know…I’ve often thought of taking her. The first day I saw her, I wanted to take her. I’d even picked a spot for her in my mind. But I didn’t—and haven’t—because it’s never quite felt right knowing that how she is portrayed here isn’t how she was meant to be portrayed. So instead I’ve spent years searching for a painter with the skill required to reproduce Sargent’s original vision of her.”

Rhys: "And your replication, was it ever produced? If ever comes a time... I would like to compare." He wouldn't mind seeing more than a painting. The wallpaper, curtains, wood floor. Every decision Xavier made for a house he no longer calls home.

Xavier: He shook his head. “I’ve never been able to find a painter equal to the task. You see I don’t just want my cake, I also want to eat it.”

Xavier finally looked away from the portrait and smiled at Rhys. “I want a perfect reproduction, indistinguishable from Sargent’s in every way except for that single detail.”

Rhys: "That is something you cannot create from your magic?"

Xavier: “Personally, no. I’m not quite sure what sort of skill set would be required in order to do it with magic. Perhaps I should look for a painter who also happens to be mage.”

Rhys: "Plenty of those, I'm sure. But if you're willing to be in her presence, you could call upon a certain Toreador. She was once a painter herself. Her style is... Monet. The one with flowers."

Xavier: “Ah, yes. His famous water lilies.” The notion wasn’t entirely unappealing. He certainly had nothing against January, only a reservation about her apparent penchant for putting people under a microscope.

“It’s an option to keep in mind.”

Rhys: "Mm." He looked back at the woman, wondering what she was looking at during her modeling.

"Have you ever been painted?"

Xavier: “I have. I’ve sat for portraits and been both subject and canvas for an artist friend of mine.”

Rhys: "Elaborate on canvas."

Xavier: “My friend is a body painter. He’s quite literally painted me.”

Rhys: That had Rhys staring at the demon with fresh eyes. "Now that's scandalous."

Xavier: If Xavier were a weak-willed sort, he would’ve blushed at the prospect of Rhys trying to imagine what that looked like. “Scandal follows art like a shadow and like beauty, it’s in the eye of the beholder.

Rhys: Speaking of which, "Is there any more beauty you wish to dazzle me with? I am yours."

Xavier: “Countless things more, but then we’d be here all night and miss our time on the bridge.”

Rhys: "The night is young, I assure you. You have me until dawn."

Xavier: Not young enough. It felt like the night was going by so quickly and so slowly at the same time. Xavier wanted to show Rhys the entire museum but knew, or at least hoped, there would be another opportunity in the future. He wanted to take him to the Guggenheim. He wanted to show him beautiful things.

But more than anything, he wanted to be close to him and give him what he’d been wanting to give him for weeks.

Xavier held a hand out. “Come with me to the bridge.”

Rhys: Xavier had said he wanted to take him here, and here they were. Nearing an hour, possibly longer. He'd expected to stay until the first rays of the sun, dodging security guards and whispering in each other's ears until the inevitable could no longer be ignored. That was the kind of passion this demon harbored, and he was a willing tourist.

There must have been a reason he was intent on leaving.

Pale fingers in a pale hand, squeezed, saying nothing more.

Xavier: Xavier hardly knew where the sudden urge to leave had come from, only that…he was suddenly feeling too many things. Rhys’ comment about stealing him had been made in lighthearted jest but it had a ring of truth.

Xavier did feel like he was stealing something, although it was hard to discern precisely what he was stealing and from whom. Was it Rhys? His time? His affection? A moment of levity and comfort?

Or was it all of those things, neatly wrapped in a package of guilt and the undeniable feeling that he did not deserve any of it?

These questions would haunt him in the days to come, of that Xavier had no doubt. They’d steal his sleep, unsettle his mind. But maybe, just maybe, if he whisked them to the top of the Brooklyn bridge and let the night air shroud the two of them, the wind could fend off his thoughts for just a little while longer.

So that was precisely what he did. He took them back to the spot they’d visited all those months ago and felt himself finally able to breathe out.

Rhys: Stolen was a word used carelessly. Xavier had done nothing of the sort. In Xavier's presence was exactly where he wanted to be. Not in the heart of a club, and despite good company, not with anyone else. In privacy was how they had begun. He had become spoiled by their intimacy, even in correspondence.

The high winds were an old friend. Rhys pulled a cigarette from his coat and took a seat. This night would be different. Tonight, Xavier would have his arms around his waist.

"Come."

Xavier: Leaning into Rhys, the demon closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Though his hold was tentative, he could slowly feel himself returning to his center, returning to calm. They were alone and together and that was a comfort.

“Thank you.”

Rhys/Ariel: "Don't thank me." His voice just managed to carry over the insistent wind. There was not a single hesitation in leaning his weight against the demon, offering his cigarette to share. Their version of a kiss.

Ariel had the best vantage point in the club, but no amount of height was going to shine a spotlight on a dark suit in a room of darkness. He had accepted the loss after an hour of passive searching.

He needed to think about something else. Editing his latest video; the dance class on Wednesday; the conversation he'd have with January tomorrow night.

It was time to start wrapping up. Transitioning into his chillwave mix to set the tone. People needed to take the hint and start for the door. Just an hour remained.

Rohan/Xavier: I have to thank you, thought Xavier, taking the cigarette. Thanking Rhys and writing to him and being here holding on to him were the only ways Xavier knew to express his eternal gratitude for this man’s presence in his life.

Perhaps it was for the best that Ariel hadn’t been able to spot Rohan. Seeing the storm of emotion in his face probably wouldn’t have inspired any confidence.

And it most certainly was a storm.

While he’d sat and watched and contemplated Ariel, Rohan had had to stop himself from leaving half a dozen times. He’d stopped himself from drinking more alcohol. He’d stopped himself from calling Abel or Ramsay and begging one of them to tell him what to do.

By the time the music seemed to settle into something less frantic, Rohan had no more insight into how he felt than when he’d sat down. All he knew was that he couldn’t make himself leave, and that he simply could not take his eyes off of the man onstage. He was surprised Ariel’s skin didn’t catch fire from how intensely Rohan was staring at him.

He also knew that when the music stopped entirely? He was going to have to talk to him again.

Ariel: The music came to a crescendo at exactly 2 AM. Half of the club knew the ritual and had started outside. Some didn't want to leave. Some never left. The guards upstairs began ushering people to the spiral staircases. January was nowhere to be found. Tucked away somewhere enjoying yet another meal.

No sooner had the music ended did Ariel grab a bottle of water, finishing and crushing the thin plastic. The next priority was his phone. Hunched over his equipment, his shoulders wilted.

Rohan: As was almost always the case, the silence brought clarity. And in Rohan’s particular case? Resolve.

He didn’t know what he wanted to happen as he finally slid off his barstool and crossed the emptying dance floor with a singular focus, moving against the tide of bodies toward the stage. He didn’t know how he wanted the DJ to react. How he would react. Would he be surprised? Glad?

Had he expected anything at all when he’d asked January to pass on his card or had it been just a shot in the dark?

“…Ariel.”

Ariel: The word almost didn't register. Ringing in his ears to blame. And then, for just a moment, believing he had imagined it. Looking up was only to confirm his sanity.

His phone was placed face down on the table. Both hands hold him steady. He rocked forward and back. Stared, processing. Not disenchanted or listless. Surprised, elated, confused, enamored.

"Hi," came a small, modest voice.

Rohan: Out of the turmoil that had been his emotional state for most of the night, the feeling that rose victorious in that moment was relief.

Ariel seemed glad to see him. Surprised, but glad. That at least could be a comfort.

“Hi.” Rohan breathed deeply. Now that he was here he didn’t quite know what he wanted to say. “I um…I received your card.”

Ariel: "Shot in the dark," he blurted. A glance was given to his equipment. A hundred ideas. Hardly any of them worth the same shot. Quickly filtering out something worthwhile.

"Did you - Did you, like, go and come back?"

Rohan: Rohan blinked. Oh. Well that was one question answered immediately. He suddenly felt a bit better about his decision-making this evening.

There was a possibility that telling the truth might make him sound pathetic, but he didn’t see the point of lying about such a small detail when it wasn’t necessary.

He shook his head. “I’ve been here the whole time.”

Ariel: Ariel's smile was a bit incredulous. There was no way. Right? Couldn't be.

He began shutting down his equipment.

"You don't look drunk," he said through a suspicious laugh.

Rohan: “I’m not.” Although it had been very tempting, being drunk wouldn’t have helped him one bit. “I’ve been drinking club soda and ginger ale.”

Ariel: That was...

Enough to have Ariel look up. This man hadn't plastered himself in the hopes of getting laid. Having a night with someone he could brag about later on Instagram or Twitter. Rohan didn't even seem the type to have social media. Maybe he was judging that suit too much.

Or maybe this was a serial killer, and he'd never trust himself again.

"You hungry at all?"

Rohan: “I—“ Rohan had been about to say that’d he’d already eaten dinner but it was two in the morning. Dinner had been hours ago.

“…I could eat.”

Ariel: "Some of us go to a place called Greasy Spoon. It's around the corner. You know, breakfast food. Bad burgers. They got like thirty kindsa omelets."

He looked up again, bit his lip.

Rohan: Xavier often described his jaunts to hole-in-the-wall ramen shops and street stands of questionable repute in the middle of the night as a way to help his mind when it needed to sort itself out. A balm in the form of a midnight meal.

Tonight felt like the kind of night for that.

“Would you like to go with me?”

Ariel: Ariel was back to swaying. Forward, back, forward. This was obviously a habit.

"I'd love you to come with me. You're not tired?"

Rohan: He shook his head. “I’m used to staying up late.”

Ariel: His job, maybe. At least now he had time to ask.

"Occupational hazard," he smiled.

"I'll be done real quick."

Rohan: More like force of habit for reasons that…no longer existed.

“I’ll be here.”

Ariel: "Ever...?" He motioned to his lifeless machines.

Rohan: “No, never.” Ariel may as well have been shutting down a spaceship for all that Rohan knew of his equipment.

Ariel: His smile returned. "Oh," he rubbed his hands together, "I'm starving, but next time. Next time I'll show you everything."

Rohan: Next time…

For Ariel to say that, he must’ve had enough optimism about this meal they were about to share—and about him—that he anticipated another meeting. It was flattering in a way that Rohan wasn’t accustomed to, even if part of him did want to caution Ariel that he might well be disappointed by him outside of this club.

Still, Rohan smiled and nodded. “Next time.”

Ariel: He said next time! His body was both alive and exhausted, but one was clearly winning with that ear-to-ear smile. Bouncing on his feet as a large cloth was thrown over the equipment. Having another set at home had been the most sane purchase of his life.

"Awesome." He suddenly looked over Rohan's shoulder.

"Joey!" The bartender was given a wave.

"Spoons?"

"You coming?"

"Not tonight, bro."

Ariel nodded, secretly relieved. "Take it easy."

Rohan: Ah, so the bartender’s name was Joey. Rohan was almost embarrassed to look at him after all the hours he’d spent sitting at the bar staring at Ariel.

He took a sudden interest in his phone that was mostly to save face but also an opportunity to tell Xavier where he was going.

Ariel: Yeah, Joey was cleaning glasses and staring, wondering how that would go, and if he'd ever see that face again. A lot of people were in and out of these clubs. Men and women for January, the guards - hell, he'd had a few tasty treats himself, before asking one of those treats to give marriage a try.

Enjoy your snack.

No sooner did the summer breeze kiss his skin did Ariel tilt his head back and sigh.

"I can't believe you waited."

Rohan: Rohan had never been so glad to be out of a building before in his life. Even though his bones weren’t being rattled by noise anymore and the city wasn’t exactly silent even at this hour, being outside still felt like the first real quiet he’d had since earlier that day.

Ariel wasn’t alone in his disbelief. “Neither can I,” Rohan said softly.

Ariel: So, around the block, then. The streets were still saturated with inebriated fools talking as loudly as they had with his music, taking selfies, or hugging a little too long.

"So, where you from?" That accent wasn't lost on him.

Rohan: Cities at night all tended to be the same. Their charms were highlighted during the day but when night fell? They became the universal dominion of drunken humans and the things that usually lurked in the shadows.

“Romania. I was born in Bucharest.”

Ariel: "Oh, uh... this is gonna sound dumb, but like, Dracula?"

Rohan: At last! A smile. “It doesn’t sound dumb. Yes, he’s Romanian, too. From Transylvania.”

Ariel: "Always get that mixed up with Hungary." Now that he'd made a fool of himself, moving on. "I'm from Seattle."

Rohan: “You’re not the only one. Their capital is Budapest. Easy to get them mixed up.”

Rohan turned to him. “Are you really?”

Ariel: "Born and raised nineteen years. Clam chowder is still the best shit ever."

Rohan: “A friend of mine lives in Seattle. I lived in Washington too when I was growing up.”

Ariel: A few waves to shouting fans. Rohan was kept to his left, away from the street and away from line of sight. Nosy people.

"Oh yeah? Where?"

Rohan: “Near Spokane. My parents like being close to nature.”

Ariel: "Jeez. You might as well have been in Idaho!"

Rohan: Rohan laughed, and realized as he did that it was the first time in a while.

“Idaho wasn’t as appealing to them as Washington. I think they liked the sound of it better.”

Ariel: This song and dance was familiar. Where are you from, what do you do, how long are you staying; it was expected, and they'd already begun. He didn't want that to be all they had.

Another wave to a group of five drunk heathens as he rounded the corner.

"How do you know Father Mello?"

Rohan: “I don’t really,” Rohan said, watching Ariel out of the corner of his eye. He was popular, seemingly well-liked. Easy to talk to.

“I only met him tonight. Rossmara is the one who knows him.”

Ariel: "The one that looks like Dracula?" he asked, making a point not to look at him. Anywhere else.

Rohan: Rohan laughed again. He had to. Everyone looked at Xavier and wanted to put him in a museum and now here this man was with such a biting assessment.

“You think he looks like Dracula?” he managed, clearing his throat to try and get his mirth under control.

Ariel: At least he was laughing. His logic assumed if the man had been a vampire, his reaction would have been much more offended. Again he wondered if Rohan knew anything about the things in the dark.

That laugh was perfect.

"Yeah! Thought he'd have your accent!" he smiled.

Rohan: He shook his head, unable to stop another small bout of laughter.

“Nope. No Dracula and no Romanian. He’s an Englishman through and through.”

Ariel: "There any English Drac - Draculas?" He laughed now, too. "Bro, I think we found one!"

Rohan: Somewhere in this city Xavier’s ears must have been burning. If they were, Rohan wouldn’t tell him why.

He might tell Abel though.

“I think we have. He even has a castle.”

Ariel: And Ariel had shit to tell no one. Everyone at the club spoke to January, using any information for favors. It was better to keep the important things to himself. A little suffocating these past few years.

"No shit? Fucking where?"

Rohan: “France, Germany. Technically it’s castles, plural.” Vague enough information to divulge. Besides, at least two of those castles were about to be sold.

Ariel: Who the fuck was this guy? Had to be a vampire, or January and her associates would make him one.

He'd save his next question, for now. The diner was packed with people from the club and the bar across the street. Ugly yellow tile for walls and records hanging from the ceiling. Pictures of famous people framed on the walls. A run-down jukebox by the equally run down cash register. Cash Only written in sharpie and slapped on with tape.

The Hollies' "Long Cool Woman" played over the drone of a hundred voices.

The DJ was quickly recognized. People from across the street knew his face and wanted a handshake, half-hug, or how you do.

Rohan was noticed as well.

"You a DJ, too? Can you take our pic?" A woman in a red sequined dress asked.

Rohan: It wasn’t as quiet as the street, but Rohan much preferred a crowded diner to a crowded club. At least here he felt more in his element, even with Ariel getting recognized as much as he was.

“No, not a DJ.” But he would take their picture and make sure it came out nice.

You really do look good with anyone, Rohan thought as he tapped the screen.

Ariel: She and her friend in a backless drape and shorts hugged to either side of Ariel, holding up peace signs as he did the same. Now that that was over, a single tug was given to Rohan's suit before making his way over to a table with dirty empty plates. A woman in her thirties with the name tag Rachel was quick to finish tidying up.

"Lemme finish first, Ariel!"

"Sorry, Rach!"

Rohan: Rohan thought nothing of being tugged along except for how foreign it was. And a little endearing. It made him happy in a way that made his chest ache.

He apologized to their waitress for rushing her and took his seat opposite Ariel.

“You really must come here often if you’re on a first name basis with people.”

Ariel: "Thursday to Saturday. If I eat before work I feel weird, so," he threw his hands up.

Right, the question he had pending.

"So you like, the Dracula's secretary or something?"

Rohan: “More like second-in-command.” The Dracula, he thought, shaking his head with a smile.

“I manage some of his business interests. Not nearly as interesting or exciting as being a DJ.”

Ariel: "So, vice-president of a company? Or, I know this, fuckin' - COO?"

Rohan: “Mhm, exactly.” It was actually more accurate than it appeared on the surface, especially these days with Xavier in Thailand.

Ariel: "Wow, wow." Man probably made more money than him! So this wasn't someone trying to jump in the sack with him, wasn't drunk out of his mind, wasn't trying to get his own picture snapped, and wasn't after his money.

"I'mma start calling you Prince Charming," he laughed.

Rohan: “Please, that’s far too generous a title for someone like me,” he chuckled, shaking his head and looking down at the table. “I’m not usually…”

He gestured at himself, his suit.

Ariel: "Oh yeah?" Ariel leaned forward, arms folded over the table. "What's usual look like?"

Rohan: “I work in jeans from a home office. This is only because I went to a nice dinner earlier.”

Ariel: "A nice dinner when?" Was he about to have a glass of water for a meal, and this was all for him?

Rachel returned in the nick of time. Ariel leaned back in his seat. He didn't even need to look at the menu.

"Well, you're a new face," she greeted Rohan. A little too fresh for Greasy Spoon.

She looked between the two. "Sweetie, you know what you want?"

"I know what I want." Ariel looked to Rohan. "Think we need a minute. Been talking his head off. He ain't even looked."

"Oh! Well, our specialty's omelets. If you can eat the Monster Clucker you get your face on the wall, Facebook, all that."

"That's like, a dozen eggs. I think he'd die."

"Well for now, what you wanna drink?"

Rohan: “A while ago.” He only wasn’t feeling the hunger full force yet because he’d kept himself well-hydrated back at the club.

Rohan returned Rachel’s greeting with a nod and a smile. A dozen eggs? He’d have to tell Abel about this place.

“Coffee, please. And French toast.” No need to look at a menu; he knew exactly what he wanted.

Ariel: "Coffee. Strawberries, chocolate, or smores?"

"You sure? It's like a huge dessert."

Rohan: Rohan nodded. “I’m sure. Strawberries.”

Ariel: "Was gonna ask if you like fried cheesecake, but I think you'll die if you have both."

Ariel ordered himself an egg sandwich with chard, extra bacon, hash browns, orange juice, and fried cheesecake bites with caramel.

No sooner did she leave was he back to leaning forward.

Rohan: “Fried cheesecake?” He asked when Rachel had gone. “That’s the most American thing I’ve heard in a long time.”

Ariel: "It's so good. They do smores french toast, pizza, waffles, pancakes, but their fried cheesecake? Oh my god. It's like Lucky Charms kinda marshmallows."

Rohan: “So pure sugar,” Rohan chuckled. Maybe he’d give it a go next time, if there was a next time. “At least it’s something it makes sense to fry. I’ve seen lots of questionable fried foods in this country.”

Ariel: "Fried Oreo is God's gift to mankind."

Rohan: “I won’t argue with that. It’s like eating an Oreo wrapped in a funnel cake.”

Ariel: "Oh shit, it is!"

Ariel leaned back long enough to stretch, arms over head.

"You going back to Washington or a castle?"

Rohan: “Neither actually. The company’s in California. San Francisco.”

Ariel: "I didn't see you being a San Fran kinda guy. More like... Spokane."

Rohan: He smiled. “I don’t live in the city. Nearby, but not in San Francisco proper.”

Ariel: "So, nice suit," he counted with his fingers, "work for Dracula, you're from Dracula's country, you... work in San Fran but too fancy for that shit. You're hot. You're... You're smart." You hang around vampires. "Prince Charming."

Rohan: Rohan’s efforts to appear calm, which had almost been working up until Ariel started in on his list, vanished in an instant and he went right back to feeling flustered.

“You’re far too kind,” he said, shaking his head. Where was that coffee, he needed a distraction. “And you’re giving me far too much credit. I promise I’m no Prince Charming, I’m just me.”

Ariel: Coffee, orange juice, and two glasses of water arrived before Ariel could think of anything to say. Only word to come to mind in that moment was sophistication. The next he managed to fathom was modest.

"We'll see." For now a lull in conversation, momentarily distracted by "Roadhouse Blues" by The Doors.

Rohan: He sent up more thanks to the universe for giving him the much-needed reprieve of stirring sugar into coffee and sipping it to ground himself.

It served another purpose, too. There was something he’d wondered from the moment Rhys had given him Ariel’s card until now and for whatever reason, he finally felt brave enough to find out.

“Can I ask you something?”

Ariel: By now his hands were being used as pillows for the back of his head, staring first at the ceiling and then Mr. Charming. In this light, the red under his eyes was becoming more prominent.

"Anything."

Rohan: “I just…why me?” His voice and expression were genuinely curious, and maybe just a bit confused.

“You said it was a shot in the dark but something must have made you take it. You could have your pick of anyone. Everyone. So why me?” Back at the club, Ariel hadn’t known the majority of the reasons he’d cited when he called him Prince Charming; all he’d known at that point was Rohan’s name.

Ariel: There was truth in his questions. He could have practically anyone.

"So I'm Prince Charming?" His smile was brief.

"Because." Not good enough. "First your eyes, then your voice. Then... I dunno. You seem... genuine. Like, there's no filter on you." He gestured to his own face.

Rohan: From where Rohan was sitting, Ariel certainly came closer to Prince Charming than he did.

“So…it was because you were attracted to me?” The most normal reason in the world, yet this man looked surprised.

Ariel: "Course." He looked Rohan in the eyes. "How can I not be?"

Rohan: Look at you. Look at me. Something doesn’t add up here.

Rohan sipped his coffee and was grateful that there was still something in his immediate universe that made sense.

“I have no idea how to answer that.”

Ariel: "Can I ask a question now?"

Rohan: “Go ahead.”

Ariel: "Did someone hurt you? You're acting like no one's ever wanted you before."

Rohan: “Getting hurt is a part of life, isn’t it?” Rohan said quietly, staring into the depths of his mug. His words were neither admission nor denial.

Ariel: Absolutely fucking not, he was about to say, before Rachel arrived with their orders. A thank you was muttered, waiting for her to be out of earshot.

"When my grandparents die of old age, yeah. When someone's kid gets hit by a bus. Yeah. Someone being a douchebag, you don't gotta take that."

Rohan: Yet another distraction. Rohan thanked Rachel and let his attention shift to his food instead. He still wouldn’t meet Ariel’s gaze.

“That’s just it. Existence isn’t always pleasant. Things can happen that are no one’s fault and sometimes those things can hurt people.”

Ariel: Ariel would have to think on that a moment. Take a bite of his sandwich and stare out the window. The man spoke with such eloquence.

Ah ha.

"You loved someone that didn't know you loved em?"

Rohan: “No one escapes being a teenager without at least one unrequited crush.” More generalizations, more avoidance of eye contact.

Either he was pathetically easy to read or Ariel was far too astute for his own good.

Ariel: That was just it, he could catch a lot of things a lot of the time; didn't mean he had any wits to utilize that information effectively. That, or he chose blindness. Jessica suddenly flashed in his mind. A mistake on the cusp of his adulthood.

"How old are you?"

Rohan: “Thirty-two.” A lie that, tonight at least, felt bitter on his tongue. Ariel might have been a ghoul but that didn’t mean that they could discuss the complexities of that question in a public diner surrounded by people with no awareness or knowledge of anything supernatural.

He finally looked up. “How old are you?”

Ariel: Raised brows gave away his surprise. He couldn't put his finger on why that caught him off guard. Not at first. He thought maybe 29 by his clear skin and healthy eyes. His demeanor, on the other hand, older. Much older. He didn't fit at any age.

"I'll be 28 on the 29th. You're invited to my birthday party. Gonna be a little thing at my place. Then some shit at the club."

Rohan: Rohan just hoped that it was actually surprise and not disbelief, however justified it might have been.

Regardless of how Ariel reacted to hearing his age, Rohan looked more than a little relieved when he heard Ariel’s. Why? He wasn’t about to say.

The smile made a tentative return. “Are you looking forward to it?”

Ariel: One day, he would have to lie about his age, but not for a long time to come.

"Looking forward to you being my date," he smiled, taking a bite of bacon.

Rohan: “So I’ve gone from guest to your date, have I?” A good-natured tease now that they were in less complicated territory.

Ariel: "Wanna come? I'll show you a good time."

Rohan: He was just being nice. They’d only met a few hours ago, there was absolutely no reason to interpret it as anything other than a friendly invitation and therefore no reason to say no.

“Sure. I’d be glad to go to your birthday party.”

Ariel: "Yes!" Fist and all. "It's a date." But then he remembered the obvious. "How long you in town?"

Rohan: Cute, Rohan thought as he took a bite of his French toast.

“Just a couple of days this time but that’s not a problem. I can come back.”

Ariel: "You'd private jet back just for me, Mr. COO?"

Rohan: “I’d commercial jet back just for you, Mr. DJ.” Another white lie but again, time and place.

Ariel: "Over there making me feel special."

Rohan: “Everyone should feel special on their birthday.”

Ariel: "You make me feel it and it ain't even my birthday yet."

Rohan: “I wouldn’t be a very good date if I didn’t.”

Ariel: "I make you feel special?" Nothing else in the diner existed.

Rohan: Only an honest answer would do. Rohan may have found it surprising, it may have felt foreign and perhaps even undeserved but the fact of the matter was…

“Yes. You do.”

Ariel: His empty plate was pushed to the edge of the table. Orange juice given a sip. Courage without the alcohol.

"Can I sit over there?"

Rohan: Unknowingly or not, Ariel was giving him no time to settle. He was determined to fluster the old man sitting across from him.

And the old man was helpless to stop him.

Rohan nodded. “Yes,” he repeated.

Ariel: No one would say a thing. His bisexuality had been known from his very first posted video. If people didn't like it, they could say it to his face. Preferably when a gentleman like Rohan wasn't around.

Around the booth he went. Both hands on the seat, shoulders up. His smile was between ecstatic and sheepish. No secrets behind those eyes. He was enjoying every inch of exposed skin. Looking beyond, undressing only in a daydream.

"Hi."

Rohan: All there was for Ariel to enjoy was some of Rohan’s chest and his neck. Everything else was covered by his suit and it would be up to Ariel’s imagination to fill in the blanks.

There was an instinct to lean away but Rohan tamped it down. He was sixty dammit, not sixteen. He’d been close with a man before. He’d been in relationships.

He would not lean away, he’d meet Ariel’s eyes, and he’d return his smile.

“Hi.”

Ariel: Ariel had kissed people this soon. Men and women. Sex in gyms. On rooftops. He didn't feel compelled to rush things, but there was an honest yearning. He didn't want to fuck this up, but he wondered about those supple lips and whether or not they were warm.

He forced himself to look away. Rachel didn't need to swing by with the check.

"I'm gonna go pay, and when I get back I'm gonna ask if you wanna come back to my place for more coffee, or chill, or whatever. Don't gotta be anything. Just think about it til I get back?"

Rohan: For a moment—one brief, fleeting moment—Rohan thought Ariel was going to kiss him. Then he didn’t, and everything in Rohan seemed to relax.

A tiny corner of his mind voiced its disappointment but he paid it no mind. Rohan didn’t go around kissing strangers, even if they looked like Ariel.

He also didn’t just go into stranger’s homes but…he didn’t get a bad feeling from Ariel. And if that changed, Xavier was just a thought away.

Rohan nodded. “Okay. I will.”

Ariel: God, he was right there. Just a few more inches and he could have those lips.

Instead, he got to his feet and over to the cash register. Paid for both meals plus tip. Rachel was given a cheek kiss. She whispered a ‘good luck’ and a wink.

Rohan: Another small battle between relief and disappointment raged in Rohan's mind as Ariel moved away, with relief coming out the victor. Letting himself get swept up in the moment and acting on impulse would only lead to trouble later on down the line.

He didn't want to get attached or get his hopes up or start making more of things than he should. Not again. Better to be sure of what he felt and what Ariel wanted before anything happened.

For all he knew, Ariel just wanted to be friends. Attraction or not.

Rohan got to his feet as Ariel returned to the table.

Ariel: The door was opened for Rohan to leave first. Ariel never too far away, brushed his shoulder and stretched yet again. DJing was a mental and physical workout, no matter what anyone else said. He felt different coming from the club than an hour at the gym, but still an ache from his legs to his jaw.

But he had no intention to sleep. Not anytime soon.

"Thought about it?"

Rohan: Back out into the quiet of the night. Like before, the silence strengthened his resolve. "I did."

Rohan turned to face Ariel. He was an adult, he had his failsafes, and he trusted his gut. There were no bridges to cross or things to overthink. He was completely free to do as he pleased.

"Ask me."

Ariel: Ariel's stomach twisted. The delay in a response had him expecting a decline. This man wasn't like that. He didn't kiss on a first date. It was a miracle he had taken his card.

But Rohan had stayed for hours at the club. Had gone with him to dinner. Had allowed his nearness, his insistent gaze, and his flirtations.

To ask again had to be a yes. His eyes lit up with the very prospect.

Both hands were ever so gently claimed. He didn't give a fuck who was looking.

"Come back to my place? Lemme play you some music. Talk. Get to know you."

Rohan: Rohan let his hands be taken. They were warm and steady, and just calloused enough to suggest that they were used for things other than typing on a computer and handling paper.

He took a deep breath and nodded, smiling softly. "Okay."

Ariel: His smile became a grin. He wasn't going to ask if Rohan was certain; he didn't seem the type of man to say when he didn't mean.

"Fifteen-minute walk or an Uber?"

Rohan: There it was again; that achingly sweet enthusiasm. "It's a nice night. I don't mind a walk."

Ariel: "Alright." He might as well have been walking on air. This kind of happiness made him want to dance, but that could wait. For now, he clapped his hands once in celebration and started for across the street, heading deeper into Brooklyn Heights.

Rohan: Ariel's reaction alone was worth having accepted. Whatever else ended up happening tonight, at least Rohan got to make him happy and know that he was the cause.

"What would you normally be doing after work? If I wasn't here."

Ariel: He had planned for nothing short of honesty the moment Rohan had uttered his name. This question made no difference.

"I wrap up at the club. Get paid right there or wait til Saturday." Get bitten or given blood. "Go to the Spoon. Find an after-party to go to." Teeth softly raked over his lip. "Get high, drunk, both. Pass out til like, I dunno, 9 or 10 AM. Then it's like, gym, audition for some shit, work on my channel."

Rohan: Rohan nodded as Ariel spoke. Minus a few details, that sounded almost exactly like Ramsay’s routine on any given night. Perhaps that was why Rohan seemed so unfazed.

Except of course for one little thing.

“Your channel?”

Ariel: "Yeah. Got a thing on YouTube." Man, Rohan really didn't know him. Didn't follow any of his social media. He wasn't upset about that at all. Just confirmed this man wasn't after any shallow fame.

"Got my music on there, a music video, some vlogging. Working on another song right now. Thinking about doing some dance tutorial shit."

Rohan: They were back in the desert and Rohan was once again a fish.

Well, not entirely. He wasn’t so old that he didn’t know what YouTube was, he could give himself a little credit. All was not lost.

“That makes sense,” he mused, mostly to himself. Ariel was a musician; it was logical for a musician to put their work out into the world to be appreciated and enjoyed.

“Is this what you always saw yourself doing?”

Ariel: A question which put a smile on his face again, looking up at the sky and shoving his hands in his pockets. A safe place for them.

"Nah. Most my life I thought I was gonna be a dancer. And then like, the guy teaching the dances. Like I wanted to be the guy in all the music videos. Still... sorta doing that. Been in some but," he shook his head. "I'm - I'm not a choreographer. Like doing my own thing more than telling a buncha people what to do. Music's way less stressful.”

Rohan: “You certainly have the face for it.” Rohan suspected he had the body for it, too.

“I can understand though. It’s more freeing to only be responsible for what you create without having to think about different moving parts. We only have control over ourselves, after all.” He imagined that especially applied to a creative field.

Ariel: "Oh, well thank you," he beamed, hand sliding over his stomach.

"You sound like you're not the COO of someone else's shit." Or had his own dreams, once.

Rohan: Rohan smiled back. It was the truth and after all the little white lies, it felt good to tell the truth.

“I’m only in charge of one small part of a very large whole. Usually the part I’m in charge of is even smaller. The moving parts have always been Rossmara’s to think about.”

Ariel: "So what do you wanna do? If you could do anything you wanted to do, anything at all, where would you go? What you wanna be?"

Rohan: “Would you think me boring if I said I’m already doing it? Not the COO part, of course, but I have a lot of freedom. I get to travel, I get to indulge all my hobbies, I get to spend time with people I care about.”

Ariel: "So you're a sentimental guy. Still should do something that makes you happy to get outta bed in the afternoon - morning, whatever."

Rohan: “I do. All those things I mentioned make me glad to get out of bed in the morning. That’s all anyone can ask for.”

Ariel: "Agree to disagree, but, you're happy. What's these hobbies, anyway?"

Rohan: Rohan chuckled to himself. “You’re really going to think I’m boring but, I used to be an archivist so…I like doing research.”

Ariel: "So reading?" he chuckled.

Rohan: “Reading, learning things, tracking things down.” Slowly losing his mystique and appeal in the process, he added silently, heaving a great internal sigh.

Well, there was nothing to be done. It was going to happen sooner or later. Ariel was a DJ and he was a boring old man.

Ariel: Not his mystique. More and more he seemed like an international man of mystery. An educated man that wanted for nothing. So what would he want with a disc jockey.

"What about... hiking? Skiing? You know how to swim?"

Rohan: Rohan hummed and nodded. “I can ski and I can swim. Spend a lot of time hiking since I live in the woods. I fish sometimes. I can drive a boat.”

Ariel: "You fish? My grandpa says we fished when I was little but I don't remember at all. Been on a cruise once. Was fucking dog sick most the time."

Rohan: “Mhmm, there’s a creek and a fishing hole near my house. I went sea fishing not that long ago, too.” Thanks in part to Abel and his insistence that Rohan come along on his birthday trip to the beach.

“Don’t do well on the water?”

Ariel: "I dunno what that was. Maybe something I ate. I dunno. I barely left my room after the first night. Maybe try it again?" His hands weighed up and down.

"You take me fishing, and I'll take you... to... Tomorrowland in Ibiza."

Rohan: “If you do, get a sea sickness bracelet. Just in case.”

He had no idea what Tomorrowland was, but given Ariel’s profession, Rohan could make an educated guess.

“Is that a music festival?”

Ariel: "Yeah." He thought everyone knew what that was. Thousands upon thousands of people. An entire town's worth every single scene. Blew his mind what Rohan didn't know.

"What's a sickness bracelet?"

Rohan: “They’re basically wristbands that put pressure on a specific acupressure point that helps nausea and motion sickness. They work pretty well.”

Ariel: "Sounds like new age kinda thing." He bit his lip. A new question presented itself, but, "Here."

A modest building, given the location. Eleven stories of red brick. A code was placed in the door. The next set of doors required a key card.

He felt an instinct to tell Rohan the code, but one only needed it coming in. He said as much, for Rohan's security.

"I'm on seven."

Rohan: Rohan was debating how to respond to that when they arrived at Ariel’s building. Saved by the metaphorical bell.

Why Ariel felt the need to share that, Rohan could only guess, but he’d file it away regardless.

“I almost expected you to live in a skyscraper.”

Ariel: "What, like Manhattan?" He pushed the elevator button.

"Brooklyn just feels better. Ever been to Coney Island? Wanted to live over there until I met January."

Rohan: “Not necessarily. Just something, I don’t know…more modern.” More suited to a DJ.

Rohan nodded. “I have. What made you want to live there?”

Ariel: "Something about it felt like Seattle. Families. Fun. Food. Music. It's got good vibes. Brooklyn Heights, Dumbo, ain't bad, but it ain't Coney Island."

Seven stories, and the first white door on the left with a silver handle. A code was punched in as a camera above them came to life.

A modest loft, some might say. Clean and minimalist in its beige and gray and single yellow chair. A table of DJ equipment sat against the window in the living room. A Tomorrowland poster in neon hung behind the couch. Laptop shut and forgotten on the kitchen counter. One floor to ceiling window took up the entire back of the loft. This space would have been an astronomical price in Manhattan. Here... still shameful, but convenient.

"Want a drink? Water? Juice? I don't have wine. Seem like a wine guy."

Rohan: Yet more surprises. They’d just met but even so, if Rohan had to picture the kind of space Ariel would live in, he wouldn’t have pictured this. If not for the equipment and the poster, this could have been anyone’s apartment. An accountant’s, a banker’s. It didn’t quite fit the friendly vivacious man he was coming to know.

“Just water is fine. I’ve had way too much wine today.”

Ariel: The aesthetics of a man rarely ever home.

Rather than pulling from the tap - perfectly acceptable - a bottle of water was pulled from the fridge. Long ago Ariel had stocked his house for things a guest might prefer. He was never more grateful than the night half the guests from a party crashed all over his house.

The TV was turned on. An R&B playlist clicked and turned low. The back of the TV came alive with a slow transition rainbow of color.

Rohan: Rohan smiled to himself. Not at the music, but at the colored light. That was more like it. Such a little thing but already the space felt so much more like Ariel.

Still smiling, he took his water and went over to the window to see what sort of view Ariel had.

Ariel: A view back in the direction they had come. Not much of a view from the seventh floor but that of other buildings and a party going on at the neighboring apartment complex. The roof had been this building's selling point; a distant view of the Brooklyn Bridge.

His host had yet to bother with a curtain.

Ariel made his approach with his hands behind his back.

"Dance with me?"

Rohan: He turned away from the window and the party across the way and gave the man in front of him a helpless smile.

“You’ve seen just how much I can’t dance and you still want to dance with me?”

Ariel: "Ain't nobody better to dance with. I can teach you. It's just you and me. Look as dumb as you want. I won't tell."

Rohan: It’s because it’s just you and me. That’s what Rohan wanted to say. In the club he’d almost been able to hide; in the sea of people, in the dark, in the noise. Here it was quiet. Intimate. There was absolutely nowhere to hide.

So why on earth was he unable to help saying yes to this man he’d only just met?

Rohan sighed fondly, setting his water aside and shedding his suit jacket.

“All right.”

Ariel: Something about the loss of an article of clothing had Ariel sitting up and hands falling to his thighs. This momentary shock to his system lasted about a second before righting himself, turning to position by Rohan's side.

"Don't know any dance?" Before he began any instruction he needed to know his student.

Rohan: “None that would help here. I can waltz if I have to but that’s about it.” And the only reason he could do that was because of his mother and her insistence that everyone should know how to waltz.

Ariel: "I've never waltzed. That how you say it? A waltz. Never even been in a suit."

Alright, time to inspect. He ran his fingers along Rohan's arms, feeling the tension or lack thereof.

"We're gonna do something called a step touch. All about bending your knees, okay? Add a little bounce to your body."

Rohan: He nodded. “Yep, that’s how you say it. And like a suit, it comes in handy every now and then.” At weddings, at events, and, according to his mother, whenever one wanted to make a good impression. Not that he’d ever had the opportunity to use it for that last one.

There was tension but not enough to make Rohan stiff. Just a bit nervous.

Rohan nodded. Bounce, bent knees. “Got it.”

Ariel: He'd made at least one fantastic impression.

Ariel moved to stand in front of Rohan, showing the very basics of hip-hop dancing, only to return to Rohan's side to bring it all together. Every laugh that followed was pure happiness at his good fortune, and never at Rohan's expense. Going so far as to avoid laughing when he felt it might be misinterpreted.

"You look so good like this."

Rohan: Rohan took it all in stride. For all that this was foreign to him, as long as he had a task he could avoid thinking too much and focusing on the intimacy and nearness of the situation.

And besides, it was making Ariel so happy. How could he not relax and enjoy himself?

“How?” he chuckled. “Learning how to dance in your apartment?”

Ariel: "Relaxed." God, could he just kiss this man already?

Instead he sighed, blissfully, and turned around to find the remote, switching the music to something as retro and silly as possible. A little "Pump Up the Jam" would suit their purpose.

"Okay, follow me. We're gonna bust a move," he laughed.

Rohan: The song change succeeded in getting another one of those laughs Ariel liked so much.

“Do you know how many years it’s been since I heard this song? I forgot it existed!”

Ariel: "You fucking millennial!" Ariel laughed along with him. "Come on! Move your arms! Lemme see you work it!"

Rohan: Oh, if Ariel only knew.

Rohan had no idea how to work it but move his arms? He could do that. He could do anything as long as Ariel gave some guidance.

Ariel: And guidance came as easily as his smile. Eventually his fingers came to rest over Rohan's ribs, no gentler than tickling feathers.

"Don't just move side to side, really move your knees. Put your hips into it."

This was not at all as he danced to EDM, but that wasn't the point of this lesson; it was an excuse to get in close, not to mention learn a little about the man he'd become obsessed with.

Rohan: Whatever Ariel told him to do, Rohan would do—to varying levels of success and embarrassment. But he remained relaxed and smiling, even when Ariel touched him.

Because as long as he kept moving, he wouldn’t have to think about how intimate this was. That would come later.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

Ariel: "Fucking right I am." As though his bright tired eyes and dimpled smile wasn't evident enough. By now he had brought himself in. Hips dangerously close to what could be considered a grind.

But something held him back. The lack of Rohan's hands on his body, possibly.

The song came to its inevitable end, moving on to something soft by Usher, and Ariel began leaning away.

Rohan: Dangerously close was close enough. Any more and there was nothing in the world that would be able to keep Rohan from overthinking.

Thankfully the universe gave him a reprieve.

He let Ariel put some distance between them and fish that Rohan was, he took refuge in his bottle of water. An easy out considering all the moving around they’d been doing.

“Surprised you’re still standing. You must be exhausted.”

Ariel: "Got someone to stand for." No one else in the room, nothing else to see. His eyes were fixed exactly where he wanted them. The flesh of his lip softly bitten. He smiled at his own line and retreated to the kitchen.

Rohan: Rohan couldn’t have second-guessed himself even if he’d wanted to. Not with Ariel looking at him like that.

This man…really knew how to walk up to a line and come just close enough to crossing it to leave Rohan flustered.

“Too smooth for your own good,” he muttered softly, all but gulping his water.

Ariel: A glass of tap water for himself. Chugged in merely two gulps. He kept his distance, the few feet of sanctuary in the kitchen, but he couldn't keep his gaze from Rohan for long.

"Nah. I haven't done what I wanted all night. If I were really smooth... I'd know what you taste like."

Rohan: Rohan nearly choked on his water. Nearly. But even though he’d saved himself the embarrassment of that, there was no hiding the cough or the way his entire body seemed to freeze for a moment before he pulled himself together.

Well, one thing was for certain; Ariel was a dancer in the literal sense only.

“I—you—hmmm.” Water wasn’t cutting it, he needed to look out the window. “Case in point.”

Ariel: That reaction was almost as delicious as he imagined his lips to be. He savored Rohan's expression while it lasted.

"Look, I dunno... why you waited all night at the bar. I dunno why you came home with me. But you can say no anytime. But I want you here, and I don't care if that's with or without a goodnight kiss."

Rohan: How could he explain it to Ariel when he didn’t know himself? When he’d sat for hours trying to figure out why he was sitting for hours? When he’d probably walk back to his hotel later and wonder why he was walking back from Ariel’s apartment?

“I don’t have a good answer.” For either Ariel or himself. “I just…it felt…like something I couldn’t not do.”

Ariel: A hundred things he could say. As with any moment of his life, there were always a hundred things. Some clever, some shitty, some perfect. The perfection always eluded him, but he tried in the fleeting seconds that felt essential.

He took a step towards his muse.

"If you could be selfish right now, do anything you want, do it."

Rohan: “I’m already doing it.” Rohan doubted that was the answer that Ariel wanted but it was the truth. Selfishness was the only explanation for his completely self-indulgent actions this evening. He couldn’t call the last time he’d behaved this way, if ever.

“What about what you want, Ariel?” he asked softly, meeting the DJ’s eyes in the reflection in the window. “What do you want from me?”

Ariel: "If this is what you wanna do, and this is all you wanna do, then... I've got nothing." Because if he answered truthfully, Rohan would become a stuttering mess of modesty, and he would probably never see him again.

He didn't just want from Rohan. He wanted with him. Wanted to be with him. Wanted to kiss him. Wanted to be naked with him. Wanted to hear the music this man made between the sheets.

Wasn't that obvious?

Rohan: He may have been modest, but a blushing maiden Rohan was not. He also wasn’t naive; he could feel the intent behind every lingering look from Ariel.

They were adults and the writing was on the wall.

“Can we put all our cards on the table?”

Ariel: "Mhm." Not knowing what Rohan was about to say was giving him a bit of a thrill.

Rohan: “If all you’re looking for is sex, I’m not the person for that.” It was best to just get it out in the open. They’d already established that Rohan wasn’t a dancer.

“There’s nothing wrong with wanting that and only that but I’m not your guy if that’s the case. I’m sure you could find dozens of people who would be. But if you’re looking for something else, something…more, then…I’d be open to that. To talking and getting to know each other and, if things go that direction…” His voice trailed off.

Ariel: "I've had the that and only that. Had the other thing, too. But... you waited for me at the club, and you - you clearly don't think I'm a serial killer," he laughed, briefly.

"I don't wanna not see you again. You feel me? But I think - I think we can do both." And he was willing to explain, if Rohan needed a guided path.

Rohan: Oh, the turns his life had taken for being a serial killer to not be an immediate deal breaker.

“You mean be sex friends? Or friends with benefits or whatever you want to call it?” His tone remained steady, open. Earnest. When he’d said he wanted all cards on the table, he’d meant it. Life was easier when you talked about things honestly and with good will.

Ariel: They had been so close to clarity. Just a few better-chosen words. Now, at last, it was Ariel blushing. Hand wiping at his mouth as he looked away. He wouldn't have minded that, either, but he couldn't believe himself. Couldn't believe what he was about to say.

"I feel like I'm being weird. I'm - I'm sorry... if I'm being weird. But I feel like you know where I'm coming from. Is that crazy? Like - the you staying, like... it means something. What I said before. What I mean is, would you... uh, would you wanna try... being... "

Rohan: It wasn’t often that Rohan felt his age in such an…endearing way. Somehow knowing this bold, outgoing DJ was actually capable of blushing was what finally had Rohan turning away from the window and leaning back against it.

He tilted his head as he listened, arms crossed over his chest and a gentle, teasing smile on his face.

“…being something more?” he said, finishing the sentence. It would seem he’d gotten his answer. “Are you saying you want to date me, Ariel?”

Ariel: "Yes!" he blurted, grateful for the reprieve. He couldn't help but laugh. Rohan was smiling about this! The audacity to laugh at his fumbling! It was cute and maybe confident. From Rohan, it seemed like confidence.

"Do you - Do you give a shit if it's long distance? This is crazy. This is crazy! Yeah. I wanna date a man I just met. It feels right. You feel right."

Rohan: Oh yes, Rohan was absolutely smiling about this. He hadn't even been trying to fluster Ariel and now that he had, he was delighted. Ariel delighted him.

And surprised him. He'd had no expectations and still Ariel was managing to subvert them. It didn't quite feel real. Nor did his own feelings and behavior. Was he actually considering this? Was he actually considering dating a man he'd met less than ten hours ago simply because his gut wouldn't let him walk away?

...Yes. He was.

"No distance is ever really that long in my world so no, I don't have any objections to that." Crazy? Yes, this was definitely crazy.

Ariel: He knew this was desperate. He'd never offered such commitment on the first swing. Sex, absolutely. Different levels of intimacy, desires, and willingness. The expectation of never seeing someone again never stung. The opposite of what he had placed between them.

Rohan had to have known he would say yes to anything. Had to see right through him, and feeling seen made him feel exposed.

"Can I kiss you?"

Rohan: Rohan wouldn't have called it desperate. Like almost everything else about tonight, including his own thoughts and feelings, it was an unexpected surprise. He couldn't see through Ariel any more than he could see through himself, explanations and rationale as far away as stars.

For the first time in a very, very long time, Rohan was letting himself be led by instinct. Whatever it was that drew him to this man, he wasn't fighting or embracing it. He was simply letting it draw him. Simply letting it exist.

He nodded. "Yes."

Ariel: By the time Ariel had asked his question, half the distance of the loft had been crossed, and by the time Rohan affirmed, two large hands were cupping Rohan's jaw, bringing the exquisite man to his lips and tongue. This was a ghoul, not a vampire, and his skin was damn near feverish. His tongue like cashmere silk, eager and begging for an invitation.

Rohan: Selfishness wasn’t the only explanation for this; it was pure madness. He who had always been so careful about his relationships, who never took a step that wasn’t thoughtful and deliberate, was now standing in a loft in Brooklyn and was letting himself be kissed by a man who felt like the sun.

That’s exactly it, Rohan thought as his hands came to rest on Ariel’s waist and his lips parted just so. Ariel was the sun, and Rohan was getting swept away by the intoxicating heat of him.

Ariel: Those lips fit lock and key with his own. In the throes of love and lust, he could not be dissuaded from believing Rohan's tongue was nectar, and a taste he knew by heart. The accepted invitation leaned Ariel closer, hungrier as he pressed Rohan against the glass. His hand dropped down to explore as he had daydreamed all night. Feeling for strength in his chest, and the shape of his body.

Rohan: The juxtaposition of the coolness of the glass at his back and the heat of Ariel at his front had goosebumps covering the whole of Rohan’s body. He was barely aware of them.

He felt drunk. It was as if Ariel were seeping into every one of his senses and making his head swim. There was something about him that felt so comfortable and familiar and thrilling all at once.

He wouldn’t stop Ariel from exploring. Although their difference in height was slight, Rohan wasn’t as broad. His frame was smaller, toned but not quite athletic. There was give to him, a softness that couldn’t help but press against the wall of muscle that was Ariel.

Ariel: Ariel understood he was being reckless. A part of him believed the blood of his domitor had caused some manner of temporary insanity. But Rohan felt so good in his hands, and being allowed to explore, his fingers roamed from Rohan's ribs to his shoulder, down his arm to his wrist, finding a beaded bracelet with some sort of charm. He felt the vague shape of it, assumed a cross, and brought Rohan's hand to his lips to kiss.

And froze when finally laying eyes on the ankh. How he had managed not to notice until now, he couldn't say. Not at the club, not at the diner. All excitement drained from his eyes.

"Ro?" his voice had become small, with a world of caution behind it.

Rohan: He had forgotten about it completely. It was so much a part of him that he’d simply stopped noticing its presence.

It followed, then, that the bracelet Rohan wore was the farthest thing from his mind while he was tentatively surrendering himself to Ariel’s hands and lips. He was too caught up in the moment to think about how much there was to explain between them. He was enjoying Ariel’s touch and his kisses too much to remember just how many things would eventually need to be laid on the table with the rest of their cards.

For a while it felt as if nothing could break the spell between them, until Ariel stopped and said his name in that quietly alarmed voice.

“What? What’s wrong?” he asked, concerned, confused eyes meeting Ariel’s. His brain hadn’t caught up yet.

Ariel: He didn't know how to word his intention. If he was wrong, this man would surely think he was stupid, or a lunatic, and he would never see his face again. But it couldn't have been a coincidence. Not at January Embers. Not with everything he knew.

He had yet to release Rohan's wrist.

"I - I uh... Do you... believe in supernatural shit?" That felt clumsy as hell, and easy to misinterpret.

Rohan: Only with Ariel’s question did he realize just which wrist Ariel was holding and what was on it. And just like that, reason and reality came flooding back in.

Rohan sighed and leaned back against the window, catching his breath. He would answer the question with an explanation, as that would spare the need to dance around the issue.

“I bought in Cairo years ago. I go to Egypt a lot. I do know about the supernatural and I do know what the symbol is associated with outside of Egyptian mythology, but I can promise that that’s not why I wear it.”

Ariel: For everything Rohan admired, his stature, strength, and heat, Ariel's hand had just the slightest tremble. Too subtle, perhaps, if not paying attention.

The symbol had put the fear of reality back in his soul, but also a dangerous possibility that caused a wave of guilt churning his stomach like a terrible cramp.

"I'm sorry," his voice shook. "I'm sorry. I thought - I thought for a minute you... you were... like you played me."

Rohan: Rohan shook his head. Now it was his turn to take Ariel’s face in his hands, to hold it gently, to offer comfort. The tremble hadn’t gone unnoticed. Not when they were this close and this attuned to everything about each other.

“You don’t have to apologize,” he said softly. “I should, for alarming you. I’ve worn the bracelet for such a long time that I don’t notice it anymore.”

He took one of Ariel’s hands and placed it over his chest, holding it there so Ariel could feel how his heart thundered in his chest.

“There is a reason I wear this bracelet but it’s not the reason you fear. I’m human. I’m alive. I promise.”

Ariel: "So you... you know?" That was one dance he had been dreading since their first conversation, and now they didn't have to. He stood there, hands cradling Rohan's jaw and chest and doing everything in his power to control his breathing. A wave of warmth washed over him so completely he knew it was relief in its purest form.

There was a heartbeat. He'd seen this man eat. Felt this man breathe. Basked in his warmth. The bracelet was from Egypt. This man had a heartbeat. This man... had a heartbeat. Safe.

Rohan was suddenly lifted into Ariel's arms. Held up by his thighs and gently pressed against the window once more. From this angle, the rest of the loft could be seen. The upstairs softly glowed from neon purple squares on two sides of the room. If Rohan would notice at all with warm lips roaming from his neck to his chest.

Rohan: “Yes, I know,” he said, taking slow even breaths both to calm himself and, subconsciously, to encourage Ariel to match them.

Reality had thrown a bucket of cold water over them both but it had been needed and there was no harm done. They were okay.

Caught by surprise, Rohan inhaled sharply as he was lifted. He hadn’t expected them to pick up where they left off after he’d unintentionally put the fear of god into Ariel but apparently Ariel was recovering just fine. Better than fine.

Before his brain could short-circuit again—and it would if those lips had anything to say about it—Rohan gave into an urge of his own and, taking advantage of his position, kissed Ariel’s hair in silent, tender apology.

Ariel: How much Rohan knew he couldn't exactly say. Enough that fear had been swept away like a breeze, for now. Tomorrow morning promised something else, but he didn't have to think about tomorrow. Only the pulse beneath his lips and tongue and the mindful use of his unnatural strength to massage Rohan's thighs.

Burying his face in Ariel's hair was much like nuzzling into his neck. The scent of citrus and spice was as strong there as it was everywhere else. Hiding the heart note of his own natural scent.

"I'm gonna carry you upstairs. That okay?"

Rohan: There were multiple conversations that needed to be had and multiple things they needed to share. But not now. Not tonight.

Tonight, they could give themselves the luxury of staying in this little bubble where the only things that mattered were Ariel’s hot hands and the scent clinging to him.

“Yes.” Murmured softly as Rohan wrapped his arms around Ariel and breathed him in.

Ariel: The man moved about as though Rohan weighed nothing more than a child. Up the stairs, pausing only a moment to make certain Rohan's head wouldn't strike the loft beam. The upstairs was simple. Bedroom, bathroom, closet. On the one wall by the stairs towered a six-by-six grid of clear containers, each filled with a variety of shoes, mostly sportswear. A long braid of purple lights had been draped over the square, mimicking the same shape over the gray platform bed frame. A camera had been set up on a tripod by the foot of the bed.

Still holding Rohan in his arms, he laughed.

"When I vlog," he explained, "I sit there," he nodded to the foot of the bed. "Nothing kinky."

Rohan: Like downstairs, Ariel’s personality was reflected in his space in very specific, if sparse ways. The wall of shoes, more colored light.

But if there was one thing that would always give a person pause, it was a camera at the foot of the bed. Or anywhere near the bed really.

“I see,” he laughed softly. He didn’t entirely believe that camera had never been used for kinky purposes but he’d take Ariel at his word. “Why don’t we…move it out of the way.”

Ariel: Yeah. He could do that without releasing his prize. He bent just enough for Rohan to reach, stifling another laugh.

"Go on, grab it!" No hiding it. He was terrible at hiding it. Shoulders quivering and all as he chortled.

Rohan: Rohan was not a gymnast. But.

He’d been on enough horses and climbed enough trees to know how to hold on very, very well with his thighs. So when Ariel bent for him to reach, Rohan released him and, holding onto him with only his legs, used his newly freed hands to remove the camera from the tripod. There was no need to move the entire thing when only the camera was the issue.

“Where do you want this?” he asked, smiling.

Ariel: "Where do you want it?" He squinted. "You want it moved." And he didn't care where he put it, so long as it wasn't thrown. He didn't come from money, so things that cost an arm and leg were valued as such.

Rohan: “A drawer somewhere, so it doesn’t feel like we’re being watched.” Of course he wouldn’t throw it! That would be unacceptably rude behavior.

Ariel: "Ohh." He wanted to laugh again, point out what he did for a living, all of his entrepreneurship, but it went without saying. Rohan was carried to the floating end table and bent again to tuck the camera away. Only then was his guest placed gently on the edge of the bed. Ariel then lowered his knee, looking up with no pressing expectation.

"Hi."

Rohan: A shame to have to let Ariel go, but getting to look at him properly more than made up for it. Again Rohan had to wonder just how the hell he'd ended up here.

"Hi," he said softly, smiling at the beautiful man in front of him. "Are you okay?"

Ariel: "Yeah." His tone had become something tender, whimsical even. Looking Rohan over in the purple light, doing everything in his power not to pounce. Rather, he leaned up and over, offering a softer, almost chaste kiss.

Rohan: Rohan would take it, placing his hands on Ariel's shoulders and squeezing them for the pure pleasure of feeling all that muscle. And maybe to offer just a little bit of reassurance and gratitude for Ariel's restraint.

Ariel: If this bed wasn't leading to sex, then he wasn't certain by any means where this was going. Rohan had agreed to the bedroom, but to what end? He wanted this man to lead him in this confusion. He offered lips, tongue, and patience, waiting for Rohan to do something else, tell him something. Until then, he continued to lean, and lean, until his beautiful guest was flat over the mattress.

Rohan: Somewhere between being set down on the bed and being pushed back on it, Rohan had made up his mind. All it took to confirm that choice was breaking their kiss, just for a moment, and looking at Ariel’s face.

The uncertainty Rohan read there made him smile.

He hooked a single finger around the chain on Ariel’s neck and tugged him down with the most delicate, feather-light touch to meet his lips again. Then he began to explore.

Rohan’s hands traveled across Ariel’s shoulders, down his arms, across his back, over his chest, learning him. Mapping him but making a point not to touch bare skin. Not yet.

He found Ariel’s nipples through his shirt and teased them, wondering what his reaction would be while keeping him trapped in a kiss.

Ariel: It hadn't occurred to Ariel that Rohan might desire a certain behavior from him. Not at all a thought on his mind as he lowered when commanded. He became a pillar for Rohan's explorative touch. This was his boyfriend now, wasn't he? He could take as much time as he desired to memorize and map every nuance of the unseen. It only served to stimulate an already encouraged man, his erection hidden and pressed into the mattress. An undulation he could not pretend was anything else.

Rohan's determined pinching sent a shiver through the ghoul. A pause was needed to exhale, pressing their foreheads together and smiling.

Rohan: Delightful, just like everything else about this man. But it wasn’t nearly enough.

Rohan hooked a leg around Ariel and rolled them so that he was on top, giving his DJ a smile before continuing his exploration.

His lips now joined his hands, kissing everywhere he touched but still refusing to move clothing out of the way…until he reached the waistband of Ariel’s pants.

Then that shirt would begin to be pushed up one agonizing inch at a time, and every sliver of skin kissed as it was exposed. Rohan wouldn’t let Ariel take the shirt off and wouldn’t do it himself. It was so much more wonderfully maddening for it to stay on.

Ariel: This delicately beautiful, perfectly sophisticated, painfully modest man flipping their positions was the last thing Ariel had expected. His grunt of surprise was followed by a flighty laugh, dissolving into a barely-there moan. Hands left over his head, denying himself an equal touch.

What Rohan would find was an unshaven auburn treasure trail, gooseflesh, followed by the only cause of self-consciousness. Only a glimpse at his protruding navel, before his hand appeared from above to cover his stomach.

Rohan: A treasure trail went both ways, and getting denied access to Ariel’s navel had Rohan looking up at him with a gentle smile.

“You don’t have to do that,” he murmured, kissing and nuzzling Ariel’s hand. “It’s cute.”

Ariel: Another response he hadn't expected. He bit his lip and slid his hand away, head falling heavy on the bed.

"Okay," he breathed. "Sorry, just..." He had nothing to say. His actions were obvious enough.

Rohan: “It’s okay.” Now that Ariel’s cute little navel was exposed, it was getting kisses like the rest of him. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

But, to distract Ariel, Rohan continued his slow torment. The higher the shirt went, the higher his lips went, not stopping until he got to Ariel’s nipples. They’d be given relentless, loving attention.

Ariel: Ariel suffered from a bit of farmer's tan around his hips, worsening the further Rohan pulled at his shirt. There were no other tattoos than those at his forearms and hand. A freckle by his left nipple, and a thin white scar over his ribs.

The man underneath him was writhing and taut. His moans floaty and bordering on a laugh.

"Ro... fuck."

Rohan: Would Ariel be able to feel Rohan’s smile against his skin? Because not only was it there, it grew and warmed with every passing moment.

He gave each nipple one last kiss and sat up, looking fondly at Ariel as his hands slid down his body and came to rest at Ariel’s waistband.

“May I?”

Ariel: Even this request was given so sweetly. What a man. What impossible luck.

"Can I?" He reached out to pinch Rohan's button-down.

Rohan: “In a moment.” I have plans for you.

Rohan undid Ariel’s belt and his pants before bending back within proper reach of his DJ’s hands. If he wanted to undo Rohan’s shirt, he could. If he wanted to remove it, he could do that, too.

Rohan, however, had no intention to remove anything. Instead he was going to slip his hand into Ariel’s underwear and squeeze him gently.

Ariel: The answer was enough to return his hand by his head. He could only stand so much of this slow torment before using his elbows to bring them deeper into the king-size bed, sitting up long enough to offer Rohan his lips and falling back. Their foreplay nearly slid them both from his bed. And no sooner had clarity returned was it stripped by the warm grasp of Rohan's fingers.

"What hap - happened to taking it slow?" He couldn't believe he was jeopardizing this by opening his mouth. "If you don't... want..."

Rohan: Ariel’s questions were answered with a kiss every bit as sweet as he was.

Rohan was absolutely sure of himself and what he wanted. Foreplay didn’t always lead to sex, and sex didn’t mean only one thing. They didn’t know each other well enough for a lot of things, but they knew enough for this.

“I’m sure,” he whispered, nuzzling Ariel’s cheek and squeezing him again, more deliberately this time. “Let me give you some relief. Let me make you feel good.”

Ariel: "I wanna make you feel good, baby." By now he was brave enough to reach out and cup the back of Rohan's head, burying his fingers in thick brown locks.

He didn't want to lay back down. Sitting up on his elbow, holding Rohan close as he was caressed and massaged. Forehead-to-forehead as he breathed, eyes closed, just within reach of a kiss.

Rohan: It was so tempting to just lean in and kiss him, but Rohan wanted to hear Ariel’s reactions even more. He wanted to see if Ariel’s brow would furrow, how his eyelashes fanned across his cheeks. He wanted to torment himself staring at Ariel’s lips while he learned and mapped even more him, while he committed Ariel’s shape and girth to memory.

“You already are,” he said, working his hand up and down Ariel’s shaft, occasionally massaging his scrotum.

Ariel: In the limited light, Rohan would only see enough to tease a complete image. He would not see that his eyelashes were the same color as his treasure trail. Would not see the goosebumps that had reached his entire body or the tear of precum he could only feel with his thumb, threatening to drip over his pale cock.

He would see the concentration behind those lashes. Eyes that could not stay closed for long. Wanting to study and memorize just as much. With the loft window directly behind Rohan, he was little more than an erotic silhouette.

He could not stop the whimper that escaped his throat any more than he could cease the throb between his legs. He was being denied so much and it was driving him crazy.

"Fuck, fuck." If Rohan wouldn't stop him, he would reach out to unbutton his shirt, frustrated and needy to see more of his boyfriend's bare skin.

Rohan: No, he wouldn’t stop him. Ariel was free to touch and do with Rohan’s shirt as he pleased.

For his part, Rohan was far too enraptured with his DJ to care much about himself at the moment. Even if the dark was hiding much of Ariel from view, Rohan could feel the affect he was having in his firmness, his whimpers, the gathering moisture at his head that Rohan simply couldn’t resist squeezing out.

It was a delicate balance between drawing out Ariel’s pleasure and giving him the relief he needed and prolonging his own enjoyment, but Rohan couldn’t bring himself to deny this sweet man everything.

So Rohan indulged them both and gave Ariel his lips.

Ariel: It was now, with Rohan's body covered in shadow, that Ariel ever considered a curtain over the loft window. Frustrating was putting it mildly. But he couldn't deny the truth of it. The delayed gratification was a thrill he never wanted to experience again.

Collapsing back, both hands felt blindly at his chest in victory. The exploration was clumsy but well-intentioned. Kissing was proving a distraction.

This was just a hand, but it was Rohan's hand. It made all the difference. His stomach was alive with butterflies.

"Baby," was a barely-breathed warning, "I'm gonna come."

Rohan: Rohan’s approval was given with a soft hum and a deeper kiss. His hand squeezed a little bit harder to give Ariel some more friction but kept its steady pace in a final mild effort to make Ariel’s pleasure last.

He had no idea of the effect he was having beyond that, or that part of Ariel’s pleasure stemmed from the simple fact that it was Rohan giving it to him. That he wanted to touch because it was Rohan, that he felt frustrated because it was Rohan.

Ariel: The man had given him nothing but a faraway noise and the promise of his tongue. If this was their relationship going forward, tonight was another promise: the promise of further torment.

Pleasure had begun as a tickle in his scrotum and thighs and ended in devastating waves. There was nothing he could do but clench and cling for dear life as thick white spilled onto Rohan's hand. Only a broken uttered, "Fuck," interrupted their kiss.

Rohan: “That’s it,” Rohan whispered in Ariel’s ear, kissing his cheek and his neck as he reveled in the throbbing heat of him in his hand. He wouldn’t stop until he’d gotten every last drop and Ariel was little more than putty in his arms. “Dulce băiat frumos.”

Ariel: Through the fog Rohan had created, only one word had registered. The limp and useless man beneath him barely managed a laugh. More like a cough.

"No, you're sweet," he mumbled.

Rohan: Rohan laughed softly, nuzzling Ariel’s neck. His DJ looked utterly spent and all the more beautiful for it.

“How are you feeling? You okay?”

Ariel: "You okay?" For some reason he believed his hands had been too strong. Had squeezed too roughly.

Rohan: “I’m perfectly fine.” Tiny praising kisses were littered across Ariel’s chest. “You didn’t hurt me.”

Ariel: Then just as easily as Rohan had flipped them, Ariel did so in kind. At last, he could see this beautiful body, and immediately put his lips over one of his nipples.

Rohan: Oh! Here Rohan thought he’d be coaxing this beautiful rag doll into the shower and then to bed in a minute but it appeared that Ariel was getting his second wind.

It wasn’t until Ariel’s mouth touched his skin and elicited a gasp that Rohan finally became aware of his own body’s pressing need. It had become background noise while he pleasured Ariel, easy to tune out and ignore. Not so now.

Ariel: This body was softer than his own. Pale and perfect; as delicate as his voice. He should be praising god just for looking at him. The ebbing current of his orgasm offered clarity, and a more constructive activity.

Removing his belt, button, and zipper took calculated strength, and only one quick pull with both hands to bring his clothes to his knees.

Ariel looked up, watching for permission to continue. Fingers climbing back to his nipples to tease.

Rohan: That body couldn’t have been more of a contrast to Ariel’s. Rohan was slighter, paler. He had no tattoos, only a few artfully scattered moles to add any visual interest to his skin. All his body hair seemed to begin below the waist. But, despite his appearance, there wasn’t a single part of him that wasn’t warm to the touch.

He gave an involuntary groan of relief as Ariel removed his clothing and freed him from their confines. There would be absolutely no mistaking the effect that bringing his DJ to orgasm had had on him, and even though his whole body shuddered beneath Ariel’s hands, Rohan still said, “You can but you don’t have to,” with a breathless chuckle.

He hadn’t done what he’d done because he’d wanted something in return. He really had just wanted to make Ariel feel good.

Ariel: As sexy as tattoos could be, he hoped there wasn't one hidden on his body. The ink would have been an insult to the canvas. A fleeting thought as he smiled up and shook his head. The very idea of leaving Rohan to ache was unacceptable. His pleasure was the only cloudless intention.

"I want to." The last affirmation before sucking the warm, soft tip into his mouth. One hand restless on his chest while the other slid down to cup his scrotum. Not long for Rohan to feel the back of his throat. Bright amber eyes watching his every breath.

Rohan: Rohan swore softly in Romanian and felt another shudder pass through him from head to toe. The heat of Ariel’s mouth was nearly unbearable in the most delicious way.

He held Ariel’s hand against his chest, idly and sporadically caressing it while he made his best effort at taking slow, complete breaths.

Any sound he made would be soft and quiet, always accompanied by either a shudder or a furrow in his brow, as if he were concentrating and losing himself in sensation at the same time.

Ariel: For a half-second, Ariel was concerned Rohan's hand had meant something. Permission had been granted, he reminded himself, and continued to suck to the point of wanting to gag. A small tear from his efforts rolled down his cheek, paid no mind as he came up for air, licked down his impressive length, and buried his nose in his balls.

Rohan: The permission held. Holding Ariel’s hand was merely Rohan indulging his desire for contact, as well as a way for him to ground himself. He didn’t want to lose himself completely to the moment; he wanted to be present, to enjoy it as if he was never going to get another.

A gasp and a bloom of goosebumps followed another involuntary noise that was pulled from the depths of his chest when the cool air hit his aching shaft. Something between a moan and a whimper that sounded too much like Ariel’s name to be anything but.

His free hand searched for his DJ’s hair and buried itself there, petting him gently.

Ariel: Was that his name? He wanted to hear it again. Selfishly, again and again. How could he care so much about someone so quickly? Lust was an acceptable excuse, but this was more than that. More profound than any guiltless lay on any given night. He could swear he knew this man, but he wouldn't. No matter how many supernatural oddities surrounded him, he would not dare say he harbored anything as significant as clairvoyance.

And another fleeting thought was thrown away as he licked underneath his scrotum and back to the tip, sucking everything down as though life-sustaining air. His head began to bob, losing himself in his determined rhythm.

Rohan: Although presently Rohan’s mind was a haze of pleasure, Ariel wasn’t alone in his thoughts and questions. Before today, before meeting this man, Rohan never would have believed he’d be doing this with someone he just met. There was something about Ariel that was special, something that drew him and held him and wouldn’t let him go, something that was absolutely making it so that Ariel would hear his name again.

And again. And again.

So long as he maintained that pace, his name would fall from Rohan’s lips like a chant in between gasps and breathy moans. He wasn’t going to last long at all if Ariel kept this up.

Ariel: Truthfully, he loved hearing his name from the lips of lovers. Loved giving just as much. In the span of a single night, Rohan had spoiled him rotten. Nobody else would give as exquisitely ever again.

Eyes finally closed, pouring all of his concentration into coaxing every last salty sweet drop from Rohan's writhing body. He swallowed, moaning, licking his lips of his sweet treat. His shoulders bowed as he hunched, licking across the length again and again, suckling the tip and kissing his stomach.

Rohan: Rohan just managed to give Ariel a bitten off warning before the exquisite tension that had been building and building and tightening and tightening finally released into blessed free fall.

“Ariel…Ariel…”

Even breathless Rohan couldn’t stop saying Ariel’s name. He moaned softly as his DJ lovingly brought him back down to earth, petting his hair, squeezing the hand he’d yet to release.

“Ariel…”

Ariel: One could easily believe the eyes looking up at him were loving. Eventually, Rohan would be too tender to play with, and even nuzzles would be too much. When that time came, he would kiss his ribs, nuzzle one last time, and ask, "Can I kiss you?"

Rohan: He’d somewhat managed to catch his breath but at Ariel’s question, Rohan found himself all too glad to lose it again.

He nodded, giving Ariel a dreamy smile as he opened his arms to him.

Ariel: Open arms he wanted to collapse into. He climbed the few inches back to Rohan's lips, offering all the energy he had left, and the remnants of his flavor on Ariel's tongue.

"Thank you." He didn't know why, but he felt compelled to say it.

Rohan: Rohan would take that energy and offer what remained of his own, happily letting Ariel flood his senses like he had been all night.

“That’s my line,” he whispered, nuzzling Ariel’s jaw like a cat.

Ariel: Clothes still trapped both of their legs. A disheveled heap they were. He would laugh in the morning, but for now, with what remained of his strength, he wrapped his arm over Rohan's ribs and hauled them to the pillows in just two shifts.

"Why?" His eyes were already closed, now resting his cheek on Rohan's shoulder.

Rohan: “Because I’m the one that just had the orgasm.”

He’d intended to talk Ariel into a shower but he’d still had willpower then. Now that his body was spent and he had his DJ resting on him and was comfortable, all that willpower had left.

Besides, playing with Ariel’s hair and stroking his arm were infinitely more appealing.

Ariel: Rohan could count the seconds until the man in his arms breathed evenly with sleep. Thirty-two seconds spent fighting the oppressive urge to sleep. Too many hours awake. Too much excitement. Too much all at once. Another five minutes before Rohan was nuzzled, and not another movement.

Rohan: He hadn’t quite counted, but he certainly didn’t discourage it.

Rohan would keep offering his quiet affection long after Ariel had fallen asleep, thinking and reflecting in the purple illuminated dark for a few long moments.

“What have you done to me?” he whispered to his sleeping boyfriend, kissing his forehead and sighing contentedly as he let himself drift off.

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