The Adventures of Jay and Si...Hel

[Jameson Dade]

Chapter 1: Freud is a Pervert and Probably a Sexist

‹Kaspar› It wasn’t his busiest gig, but it was definitely one of his favourites to play. A quieter set, acoustic with just him and one other guitarist unlike his normal loud rock sets. He could really let his vocal range soar, connect with the crowd and absorb their praise. Kaspar Wilhelm Grube was a simple creature when it really came down to it, all he sought was the opportunity to share what he had with those around him. He liked to bring them happiness, give them something to smile about and hum on their drearier days. It’s what he told himself every time he got up to play, confident he’d touch someone who was listening and they’d go home feeling better about themselves, sometimes they even got to go home with him so he could touch them all over again. Yeah, then they’d feel REALLY good about themselves. He struggled to fight the urge to laugh, though he flashed the small audience one of his trademark devilish grins in compensation. After the last song he gave it a few minutes before returning to the bar, to meet with the public and have a drink or two. You had to make them wait a short while, but never more than fifteen minutes, that was the kill zone, too many began to doubt themselves and grow too shy to say hello.

As he emerged from the backroom he did his best impression of the humble, small town musician, just wanting a quiet drink after a set and made a beeline for the bar.

‹Jameson Dade› "Man **** you." He said with the easy good nature of someone who was more at home in a bar than anyone had right to be. He reached across the wood surface so he could grab the perspiring glass of gin and gin, lifting it to his lips to sip. The music had died down only a short time before. Naturally, Jameson had been there to see the band. He did that a lot. Local rocks groups were his favorite, but punk was good too. Metal. Indie and alt. As long as it wasn't too pop-y, he was fine. And even then, that didn't stop him from singing Aguilera in the shower. But a boy had a reputation to uphold. His free hand lifted to push through his dark hair, tugging it away from his face. The length was a little greasy, as if he hadn't washed it in a few days, but it always looked like that. Fingers tapped against the sides of his glass, all paint splattered, nails chipped. He was thrown together. That was all of who he was. Tonight was special. Or it was supposed to be. Son of a big rock star who had started his own band. Be still Jameson's heart. He could have lived on the floor in front of the stage for days, on nothing but music. There was a roar, as the band emerged from the back and Jay glanced up, his jaw working. Maybe he could mop some trinkets off of one of the members, pay homage to them in the shrine that was his bedroom mural of all things he loved.

‹Kaspar› Kaspar gave a sheepish laugh at the reception they received, the tall creature ducking his head as if away from the attention. Long fingers reach to brush a lock of ash blonde hair behind his ear, revealing a few well placed piercings. As per usual he had his favourite leather jacket with him, casually carried instead of worn, his loose grey t-shirt had a low neck that showed tempting flashes of his tattoos as if to tempt people to ask more about them. He wore a flannel shirt over the top, the sleeves pushed up artfully so that occasionally they might slip to allow him to look coy as he adjusted them. Everything about his effortlessly casual, thrown together look was thought out, whether he intended it or not. His tight jeans tucked into heavy leather boots, giving him a leaner silhouette and showing off that famously adorable backside. If he’d seen other men pulling the same tricks as him he’d laugh at them, shame them for their foolish vanity but he wasn’t other men. He was the exception.

His eyes flicked over the waning crowd, accepting handshakes and giving hugs when asked as he worked his way to the bar, allowing his band mate to take the brunt of the affection and attention so that he could focus on the scene. It didn’t take him long to spot the dark haired boy, he was slight of frame, and there was something shady and shaky about him that really appealed to Kaspar. He wasn’t ready to settle for the night, he’d let the boy come to him if he wanted and made sure to flash him one of those smiles that only curled the corner of his mouth, the one that had him appearing to look up through his lashes even from his impressive height. The man didn’t hesitate to pour himself into a seat near the bar, hand reaching to accept the offered drink from the bartender and respond to his idle chatter about who was in tonight.

‹Jameson Dade› Jameson's own outfit was thrown together, largely based on whatever was cleanest, on the floor, and closest to his bed. All it took to freshen something up was a spritz of some cheap masculine cologne, the variety that came in a spray can, and was meant to drive the opposite gender wild. Of course, the scent had worn slowly through the night and what was left behind were just hints of it, mingled with undertones of herbal smoke ash, paint, and leather polish. He wore a hoodie in black. Plain. No logos, no anything that could make him easily identified by police or witnesses. That much was very much his style, of course if the object was not to be memorable, he had a ways to go because over that, he had his motor club cuts. The Night Lords prospect. Faded skinny jeans with too big boots and random accessories finished the look, which was just a hodge podge of not very much.

He did a double take when he caught sight of the guy seated near him. It was the lead singer. It was a lot like having Bon Jovi walk over to you and offer a greeting. Not that he got a greeting, but that was beside the point. His brows lifted. Was this some kind of challenge from the gods of rock? If so, it was accepted. He drew himself up to stand (though he'd technically been standing before, just slouching). If nobody else was going to crowd around the star, then he was more than happy to be a fan boy. 'Play it cool', he said to himself. "How's it hanging?" He asked.

‹Kaspar› For someone so careful of his image Kaspar wasn’t afraid to laugh, and loudly if he wished, enjoying some quiet joke with the bartender over some of the regulars who’d rocked up and were already a bit of a state so early in the night. He’d turned in his chair, leaning back against the bar to watch an older pair dancing and getting a little too handsy with each other, utterly out of sync with the music that played through the speakers around the pub. It would’ve been almost endearing if not so comical, if Kaspar was into that love thing that is. He gave a little stretch, reaching out to rummage in his jacket pocket for a small metal tin. He needed to get some fresh air, people were starting to hover closer, he could feel the energy in the room shifting as a few of the braver young patrons plucked up the courage to come and chat him up at the bar. The little tin rattled as he pulled it free of the leather, flicking it open to check out the contents, “****... Papers.” He’d run out the night before, and in all the commotion of the club he’d forgotten to grab more before turning in for the day.

He was about ready to abandon his plan, to skip ahead and talk to the pretty little redhead girl who’d in the last few minutes taken approximately twelve steps closer to him as if her slow shuffle were the most natural thing in the world. She’d be an easy enough one to impress, unlikely interesting enough to take home but it never hurt to be flatter pretty girls. They might just have prettier friends. One foot made it’s way to the ground, weight leaning on it when he heard the male voice at his side. A slow turn had him face to face with the dark boy, yeah, he was the familiar sort alright. Dark and brooding for sure, maybe artistic? Probably up to no good most of the time but easily swayed by a higher power. He wore a patch, proof of his allegiance to some group or other, it didn’t matter, they were a whole bunch of the same. “Well, hello there. It would be going better if I hadn’t been forgetful again” The coy laugh, a push of his falling sleeve as the other hand presented the empty cardboard rolling papers package. His accent was thicker when he spoke in this relaxed manner, focusing solely on the man,“One less vice for me tonight, but how are you hanging?”

‹Jameson Dade› The first time Jameson had smoked, he had been only about eight. Well no. It hadn't quite been smoking so much as picking a cigarette up out of his passed out mother's hand so he could suck at one end, and then cough for five minutes solid. He'd sworn them off for a few years after that, before it had become 'cool'. Not that he needed help in that department. He dealt a little bit of weed in middle school, because his father always snorted the family's cash as soon as he got it, and somebody needed to pay the bills regularly. Of course, things had gotten a lot worse from there, and in the end, he'd died. Died and come back, but died all the same. Without even really thinking, he patted at his pockets before retrieving a pack of smokes with a lighter nudged inside. They were store bought, but they were like an accessory, more than anything. He always had them on him, and they were as much a part of him as the vaguely rodent features and 'too thin to be healthy' look. He offered them up, and nodded in the direction of the exit. The only way they were going to smoke was outside, but Jay wanted to head out there for selfish reasons. Chatting with an artist, someone who bled music.

He respected that. "A little more to the left than the right." He answered, going with his favorite response to that particular question. He shifted where he stood though, as if waiting for Hel to take the lead. "How long you going to be sticking around these parts? There's not much to do by day, but at night, you could say Harper Rock knows how to live." He added. Vested interest in that. The crime rate in Harper Rock had steadily become worse and worse over the years, likely due, in part, to vampires. It had gotten so bad that the prime minister had been forced to relinquish more powers to the mayor, Mr. Bancroft. But even with more cops, crime just kept on happening. People moved away. The city was a shell, and a shithole and it was home.

‹Kaspar› The rest of the pub seemed to fade away as he focused on Mr. Sketchy, as he’d dubbed him quickly in his mind, pleased to see the hands shifting over his pockets and eventually coming up with a packet of cigarettes. A grateful nod was offered, Hel reaching to pluck the packet from the man’s fingertips, letting just the tip of his pinky brush the hand holding them out so lightly that it would leave him wondering if it had happened at all. He was already standing when he got the nod towards the exit, giving an agreeable grin though what the man said next gave him a good laugh, the kind that wasn’t rehearsed. Genuine. “Oh man, yeah, well it is good to know where the gentlemen are sitting, hm?” Blue eyes took their fill of the skinny frame, roving over him from head to toe and right back again to meet Mr. Sketchy’s gaze. “Oh, I’ll be around. Come on, Sketchy, I need a smoke.” His hand reached out, fingers capturing a fistful of the other guy’s hoodie. “And you need to tell me your name or i'll give you a worse nickname.” He laughed, starting to walk and hoping he’d follow.

‹Jameson Dade› He was jerked in the direction of the door when Kaspar gave a yank at his hoodie. He'd forgotten about his name. He did that a lot, though generally, it was because he was on something, and more than a little out of his own head. In this case though, he knew the other guy's name. Knew his father's name. Knew his stage name. "Jay." He said as a response after his feet conspired to leave him stumbling, a plot they almost got away with legitimate grace hadn't been one of his strengths. When you were trying to get into a high security warehouse, to pull out some kind of antique, you had to be pretty good at walking on a proverbial tightrope. He was sluggish to move, but when he did, he followed right along after, his gaze briefly dropping so he could appreciate the shape of an ***. Jameson had no qualms about people seeing his lingering gaze, and he certainly had no problem with offering another guy a compliment on their backside. Even if they weren't strictly into that sort of thing. In fact, several of his friends were straight, and he was more than happy to let them know if they were attractive. For the most part, they were smart enough to know that didn't mean he was going to do anything about it. So by the time they got outside, decided to finally share more. "Short for Jameson, but nobody calls me that." He added as he came to rest his back against the pub's exposed brick wall. The alley to one side was dark, but he knew first hand that it had a grungy couch, but he wasn't in the mood to sit. Too much going on in his head. "Call me what you want though, it don't matter to me."

‹Kaspar› It was no surprise that Kaspar took some pleasure in the way the man stumbled behind him with little hesitation, if any. He could have easily let go once he’d gotten Mr. Sketchy walking but where was the fun in that? Control. He had it over the man already, that much was obvious. The decision of how much to exert was more challenging. Too much would either make him fight it too hard, or turn the man to a sniveling lapdog begging for pets. Not enough? Well, that was just dangerous, he needed some semblance of control at least. The man’s words hit his ears, Kaspar sparing him a sideways glance, a dashing grin. “Jay.” He repeated it without sound, just forming the word upon his lips, testing it out. It fit, short and sweet, easy to remember but not overly remarkable.

He felt a strange tingling at the base of his spine, moving down, curving around his backside. His sixth sense was knowing when he was being checked out, and a pleasant little shudder wracked his frame as reward. This was more like it, the redhead definitely wouldn’t have been as satisfying. His hand found the door to alley and he gave it a shove, the air inside suddenly feeling too heavy. Fingertips dropped their grip, Kaspar moving to lean against the brick wall, knee bending to prop one foot against it. “Jameson? Oh, I like that even better, suits you. “ He toyed with the cigarette packet, tapping one free of the deck. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Jameson, I’m Kaspar…” He paused, fishing around his back pocket in search of a lighter. “Or Hel if you prefer it, ok?”

‹Jameson Dade› The other man said his name. The rest of the world was white noise. Like when you turn the television on and there's nothing but static; that's how it was. 'Play it ******* cool.' He repeated to himself, even as his hands crept into his hoodie pockets. There was a zipper bisecting the front of the garment, and there were large holes built in like flaps, designed to have the hands tucked into. The thing was a few sizes too large, and he didn't so much swim in it, as it hung on him, dragging down over his hips. The look wasn't precisely flattering, but Jameson wasn't the type of person to care about that. "Pass me one." He finally said, holding up his hand, because smoke was just about the only thing he wouldn't take second hand. The paint on his fingers was mostly black, with a little bit of red, because that was what he normally used. He painted a lot. Mostly on his walls. His home was a testament to his life, a growing mural with his thoughts, and fears and feelings on display. There was a lot of red and black.

"I know your name. Hel's just fine by me." He said as he let his shoulders slowly lift, dragging them inward as if they could press against his neck. "You know, if you're looking for a party later tonight, I hear there's going to be one in the slums." The shittiest part of the shithole. It was a place where cops had given up even trying to clean up the meth labs and crack houses. It was close to the Handle Bar, where Jameson sometimes worked. 'Or you can hang out with me, and get so high you won't be able to walk right for a couple days.' He didn't say that part, because it would probably happen anyway. if there was one thing that was true about spending time with Jameson; it was that people got to know their vices really well.

[Kaspar]

‹Kaspar› Seconds ticked by before Jameson spoke again, Hel managing to fish the lighter out of his tight jeans at last. He lifted the pack, taking out a cigarette and tapping against the deck, a habit he’d packed up from watching his father in his formative years, the man chain smoking while he spoke on the phone to his agent about what to do next, whether he was ready to tour again. When he was stressed he didn’t both to roll his own, he’d grab a packet, pull the first out and tap it a few times before pressing it between his lips. Each one smoked shortened the process, to the point where as his pacing had begun he’d shake one loose, lifting the packet so he could pluck it out with his lips, cutting out the middle man altogether. Yeah, his dad wasn’t always the best role model when it came to vices, even when had given up most of them at home the damage was done.

Kat was bigger on the drug scene, she was a real upper and Klaus had taken to smoking with ease, he also didn’t exactly mind a drink but he was definitely the more reserved of the three. Kaspar? He had a little bit of it all, not in dangerous excess, but the subtle dark shadows under his eyes that had added to his edgy look were early evidence of how things could’ve gone. He placed a cigarette between his lips, sparking the lighter to life until he was able to inhale the first rush of nicotine. He’d wanted it more than he realised, and the quietest of groans escaped with a curl of smoke. He tilted the packet towards Jameson, leaning over to hold up the lighter at the ready as the man continued to speak. “You know my… OH, ja, you caught my set? Of course I said my name didn’t I.” That sheepish look again, “A party? I do enjoy a good party, let’s see where the night takes us? Hm, Jameson? Maybe you could even show me your paintings?” He’d noted the paint, of course he had, and with that he flicked the lighter to life once more.

‹Jameson Dade› There was that sacred moment when Kas took his first drag. Jameson knew it well enough, because it was a shadow of the same ritual he used when he was about to suck meth into his lungs through a pipe, or when he needed to tap a vein for heroin. It was a miracle the man didn't look more fucked up than he already did, because he wasn't a classy drug user. He didn't do it recreationally. He didn't get high to fit in, or to be one of the cool guys, or because he needed the Meth jitters to make his art work. No. He got high because he needed to live and breathe and survive in every single minute. He craved that particular chase more than he had craved food in life, or blood in death. Because the 'miracle' was vampirism. No really. He had the mug shots to prove he could get uglier.

So he took a cigarette. He didn't pat it, because he always packed the entire case when he got them, before he ever even opened the container. Just like mom had taught him. He leaned towards the hand with the lighter, with the white tube sticking out of his mouth. When the flame touched the end, he took in the heat and the chemicals until he felt them in his lungs. He didn't release until he absolutely had to, gaze dropping to his hands. Someone picked up on details. "Sure thing. You played music for me, so I might as well." Reciprocity. Fair trade. He swallowed so that his prominent Adam's Apple could bob, and then he leaned a little bit closer to the star as if trying to leech a little warmth right off of him. "You have to tell me though. How do you write your songs? You probably hear that all the time." He observed. 'But I'm special.' He added, in his mind.

‹Kaspar› Almost, there was almost an interaction with someone who knew him, who’d seen him perform who didn’t ask the question within the first thirty minutes of meeting. It was almost disappointing, but he didn’t let it show. Instead he mulled it over, watching the slender man inhale deeply and taking a few measured puffs of his own cigarette, drawing it out. Normally some part of him would dismiss it, be flattered of course but rule this one out as someone with ongoing prospects. Here he stood, with this half starved creature, not overly remarkable in reality and yet he was drawn to him. He was interested in listening to him speaking, his attempts to stay cool and collected, to not show that he was interested. It earned him some modicum of respect from Hel, and yet that wasn’t it. Maybe it was the way he seemed able to blend in and yet something was off, something that didn’t quite sit right and made him stand out. Like if you cut his hair, put him in some different clothes and taught him how to better mask his cravings he’d be a different man.

He wasn’t after a different man, no this one was fine for now, but it certainly sparked his curiousity. It was why he answered, earnestly for once. “In the interest of keeping up our mutually beneficial exchange, and in gratitude for the smoke…” He let out a long sigh, eyes closing as he tilted his head closer to Jay as if about to reveal some dark secret. “It was to piss mein vater off, you know?” He laughed breathlessly, opening his eyes to catch Jay’s gaze. “I wanted to be better at it than him. He can write music fantastically but lyrically not so much. While we play a lot of covers, I do have quite a few originals I am just slightly more reserved with sharing them. After a while I started doing it because I liked to, I have pocket books I carry to fill with words at all times. Largely I write from experience, and I am not ashamed to admit to collaborating, to seek inspiration from…” Another calculated pause, a final deep drag of the cigarette before the butt was dropped to be crushed under his boot. “Others.” He breathed out. “Look I think it is a way for me to actually be honest, to show more of who I really am, and yet I know I hide behind pretty words. I twist them around, I use silly little metaphors and cunning wordplay to mask true intent. Why? I don’t know, I could say whatever I wanted and I do, I do it is just…” He stopped completely, kicking off the wall and taking a few steps, hands pushing up so that his fingers swept up stray locks of blonde hair, pushing them back into the thicker waves where his fingers locked together at the back of his head.”It would be so easy to pour out my feelings straight up, but they just wouldn’t sound as good, and I think I’d lose what I need to keep going. What I need to get by. We all have our little vices, ja? Mine is being the arschloch. So, Jameson.” His accent had grown thicker, words clipped as he came to the end of his outburst. Hel let his arms drop, turning back towards the man he’d ranted at, pushing out one of his hands as if offering a shake, the hand remarkably steady after such a show. He took a deep breath, as if preparing himself for rejection. “… Won’t you have some sympathy for the Devil? Pleased to meet you…” The line was borrowed in part from a favourite song, he wondered not only if the man would notice but how it would be received.

‹Jameson Dade› Daddy issues. There was something Freudian in the other man's words. The great psychotherapist would have said it was because Kas wanted to have sex with his mother, and thus needed to supplant his father as the masculine figure in their little domestic circle. Of course Freud was a pervert and probably a sexist, but that was beside the point. Kas was far from the first guy to want to be better than his father at something, but more often than not, or at least in Jameson's case, that came from a practical place. His father had been a shitbag. Was a shitgab. The man was in jail, and it was Jay's job to regularly make sure the patriarch of their little biological family had enough cash so he didn't get turned into the cell block's go to *****. But Jameson had fallen into the same patterns as his dad. He would never have kids, and that was probably a good thing, because kids always turned into their parents, and he couldn't stand being the **** up that his own had been. Echoes of shadows of reverberations, just flowing down through the ages. **** that.

He listened to the other man, puffing away at his cigarette, letting the smoke stay in his lungs probably a lot longer than it needed to. He picked up on the lyrics. Rolling Stones. Some people thought that every original thought had ever been verbalized out loud already. Every lyric had already been sung and written. So what was the point? Kas seemed to get it. Jameson didn't paint because he wanted to have his work portrayed as some hot ****. He didn't do it to be edgy, or to be cool, or because he thought he knew something nobody else did. Jay painted because at the very core of who he was, there was something broken, and the only way he could share his truth was by spewing it out on walls and canvas. Because he wasn't some well adjusted boy, who talked about his feelings, and he wasn't the guy who would go on to marry a pretty girl or take care of a family.

All he had was what he put into the world in the form of art. Authenticity. He flicked his own cigarette away when he realized it was little more than a stick of ash. He'd been listening, and he could focus really well on...exactly one thing at a time. Then he grabbed the hand that was offered to him and yanked firmly enough that Kas was bodily forced against him. But that was the intention. Get into the personal space. Get so close that they were practically chest to chest, eye to eye. His gaze locked for a moment with Hel's. "What the **** is an arschloch?" He finally asked, bushy, messy dark brows raising. He had a guess, but before they went off somewhere else, he needed a second to enjoy that breath on his face, all acrid with the scent of smoke on it.

‹Kaspar› He’d seen the look on his face, had a moment to study it thoroughly before his hand was grasped. The confirmation that this strange young man seemed to understand on at least some surface level the words that had tumbled forth from Kaspar’s lips was there. It was as if he were hungry for the words, for the meaning behind them and it made Hel pause, to be briefly concerned as to whether Jameson had made up his own meaning to suit his own needs. Wasn’t that the point really? Why did that bother Kaspar? He was honest after all. He could have been more brutal in his honesty, more revealing but it wasn’t the time for that. He’d given away plenty, especially so soon. He wanted this one to want him, want to hang on his words and to ask for more. To love him, perhaps, not in the romantic way so much as the desperate, craving way. Like an addiction. That was crazy, he knew it was crazy but he didn’t pull away. In fact to his surprise he was pulled in, quite literally, by Mr. Sketchy Jameson.

Hel’s breath came faster, hand gripping the other's as they stared at each other, closer than he’d expected to end up and taken off guard by it. He didn’t like to be taken off guard usually, but there was no harm in it here, he still had the upper hand even if he yielded and yield he did. His tall frame relaxed and curved towards his new acquaintance, free hand moving to press against the wall beside Jameson’s head, creating an illusion of even greater intimacy. He kept the bodily contact to a minimum, letting him feel the outline of a body that was broader than it first appeared, taut muscle with little bulk. Although Jay was shorter than him it was a novelty not to have to hunch over too much to try and meet someone’s gaze. He held it of course, until the arschloch question. Hel struggled to keep his composure, letting his head fall forward, forehead brushing Jay’s shoulder as he chuckled to himself. “It means asshole.” He whispered, shaking out his artfully messy hair. “I am a complete asshole, fair warning, ok? I try to be a good boy.”

‹Jameson Dade› There was a hand beside his head. Jameson was about average height. Everything about him seemed about average, or below on the outside. Some of that was intentional, because he was also a thief. A good one. One of the best in Harper Rock actually. Not that he bragged. Bragging was what got you put in jail, and he couldn't afford to go to the slammer. A day on the yard would be enough to leave him fried and ashy, and he wasn't about to risk his non-existant good looks. So he had cultivated this appearance of being just like everyone else, so he could be overlooked. His eyes had to break away from Hel's so he could tip his head just enough to nip at a wrist. It could have been taken as a warning, but it wasn't. Not really. He had invited the other man into his personal space, after all. Affection. That's what it was. Jameson's own unique brand of 'hello friend'.

"Don't." He said after a minute. His hand dragged up so he could push fingers through blond hair. He could feel a forehead touching his shoulder. His head was turned away from it while his fingertips worked their way into a scalp with lazy strokes. "Being a good boy is boring, and overrated, and every other cliché I can't think of right now." Jameson had a vested interest in not wanting people to be good. Because when people were good around him, he ruined them. He'd done it to his very first love. Turned the man from a star athlete into a junkie who overdosed. And died. Jay didn't need good people in his life, because if someone was already bad when he met them, then they could **** up their own lives, and he wasn't to blame. "Besides, I like ***." Deadpan. Total deadpan.

‹Kaspar› A nip to the tender underside of his wrist, actual teeth. ****. Kaspar might be in trouble for once, it was rare that he felt that tightening of his stomach muscles, a flutter described sweetly by most as butterflies. How had this average man given him that feeling, even as he had him pinned to a wall inside a cage of his own making, how did he make Kaspar suddenly feel like the smaller one? The caught one? What in the hell was going on? He tried not to let it shake him, but the little groan of approval wasn’t exactly going to help his situation. His chest constricted as Jameson spoke, “Don’t”, he said, don’t be a good boy. Be the bad man. Did this boy have ANY idea what he was asking for? Probably not Kaspar realised, and decided maybe he should keep it that way a little longer, to maintain some of the mystery that kept others drawn into him like a moth to the flame. Metaphors, he always thought in stupid metaphors when he was slightly rattled.

It was all he could do to keep his breath steady, though he let it hitch a little, for Jameson’s sake of course, as fingertips sank into the weight of his hair. He nuzzled his head closer as those fingers kneaded at his scalp, brushing over the area of the long healed wound that had been an end to his previous existence and causing a deep shudder to run through. Trying to maintain control over this situation was growing more difficult by the second, he was shook up by average. Him. “Are you quite sure of that?” His voice came out husky, as if caught in his throat, words muffled to the man’s shoulder. “Hell on earth, what am I doing?” He growled, his hand slapping against the wall, head pushing up against the hand that held him to look Jameson in the eye once more, disbelief briefly evident. “What is it you are after there, sketchy one? Little Jay, you are so sure you want a bad man? As for ***… I enjoy it too, it doesn’t phase me quite what it is attached to so long as it is a good one. “ His idle arm slipped up to press at the other side of Jameson’s head, straightening up to his full height so he could look down on the man. “What are you asking for?”

‹Jameson Dade› There was a groan, and the corners of Jameson's mouth tugged, though just barely. One had to be looking to really make it out. There was this common misconception that Allurists gained their power from inside. They projected an image onto the world, which somehow made them very good at getting what they wanted. They told the right lies and displayed the right illusions to appeal to the masses. Except that wasn't true. Lies could be detected and people could see through them. Nobody really liked fake things. Oh. Maybe they appreciated them, but they didn't love them, because one couldn't get close to a fake thing, or care about a fake thing. Jameson wasn't a very good vampire. He couldn't even feed on people right. In fact, every time he bit a human, they remembered they had been fed on. They remembered who he was and what he looked like, and boy could that be a ***** to deal with.

But he was a pretty decent Allurist, and that's because he was very real. And because Allurist power didn't come from the inside, it came from the metaphysical distance between people, from intimacy, from being flawed, and weak and human. He was good at it because he got wrapped up in people, the way that many Allurists tried to wrap people around their fingers. Subtle difference. Huge difference. He could feel the air getting heavier between them. The sun was trying to assert itself to the moon, and the moon just wanted to reflect a little bit of that brightness. "What I'm saying." He said slowly as a hand dropped from hair reluctantly. He liked hair. "Is that we have a party to get to, and if we don't leave now, I'm going to have to carry you off, all piggy back, down the street. Like. Some. Sort. Of. Weirdo." He replied evenly, trying not to let that same huskiness enter his own voice. But the interest was palpable. His hand dropped. For a second, he squeezed firmly against one of Hel's thighs. And then he ducked out from under an arm, escaping that cage to begin towards the slums.

To Be Continued...

[Jameson Dade]

Chapter 2: Saint Amy and the 27 Club

‹Kaspar› There was a party to go to apparently, but he didn’t really care to be surrounded by strangers, loud noises, bad music blaring at stupid levels so that you couldn’t even appreciate it. Not tonight, not feeling how he did. A hand pushed through his hair, the other reaching to subtly adjust the tightness of his jeans as he gave himself a moment to take it slow as if he could just walk it off. As the blood began to return to the correct places a thought struck him, one that made him suddenly and irrationally furious. His stuff. He couldn’t go running off with the man until he got his stuff. That jacket meant more to him than most people, and he was loathe to leave his guitars behind without a check in on his band mate. “Oi, you ARSCHLOCH… I’m getting my jacket, meet me around the front ok? Jesus, who are you?” He hissed into the night, shoving his way back inside.

Hel made quick work of retrieving the jacket, finding it being sidled up to by a few stragglers, the redhead amongst them, and the bartender hovering around it protectively as if he knew better than to take it out of view and yet wouldn’t dare let one of them lay hands on it. “Thanks, man.” Kaspar laughed, relieving some of his annoyance. “You’re a real bulldog, you know?” He grabbed a few crumpled $20’s out of a pocket, reaching over to tuck them into the man’s shirt front. “Stay handsome, I’ll see you next week.” He winked, turning to look for the notorious band mate who sat in a corner in deep conversation with a handful of what appeared to be Hellions. Hand signals were made across the room, confirmation that he would take care of the gear and Kaspar was off again, seeking the front exit like he couldn’t stand being in the pub a second longer. He had a certain painter to pin down. This Sun was about to get blinding.

‹Jameson Dade› His fingers flexed in the air, and then formed a fist at his side. Yeah. He had felt that. And there was this exhilaration that swept through his blood like a boiling tsunami. But the party. And drugs. Specifically some meth. He'd run out the day before, and needed it to get through his days. That was how he stayed alert, stayed focused on whatever task was at hand. He'd hoped there would be some discretely being sold at the pub, but he hadn't found any, and he wasn't about to give up on a chance to see a live band. So the only thing in his system was a little bit of heroin, just enough of a downer to keep his moods stable, and stop him from tweaking out. And then there was that word again. He swiveled where he had been walking fast enough that he nearly tripped on half of a shattered bottle of something. Thankfully, he didn't face-plant against a wall or fall on his ***, but only just barely. He could feel that haze he liked to live in beginning to thin out. There were pangs in his gut.

"Okay." He said lamely, as he made his way around the front of the building, where he pushed his hands into his hoodie pockets once more, forcing them downwards enough that it almost looked like he was going to end up with the thing stretched around his knees. But the last thing he needed was someone walking out of the pub and getting a good look and a chuckle because things had gotten a little hot and heavy out on the side of the building. His tongue dragged over his lips, and he realized they were chapped. Too dry. Nothing he could do about it just then, so he simply stood there, waiting for the other man to find him.

‹Kaspar› He pushed through the doorway, pausing in frame to look around for Jameson. He spotted him stretching out that already large hoodie, not missing another opportunity to look him over and try to figure out where that spark was coming from, that interest that had him caught in this silly game. “I am taking you shopping, sooner rather than later, ok? This is just…” He waved his hand up and down, shaking his head as if he didn’t know how to finish the sentence. “You could fit in with the strung out models, and rockers with a little tweaking. Not out, but I mean… Uh… Style adjustment? I don’t know, ****. Let’s go.” He growled the word go, as if it had offended him, stalking from the doorway and grabbing Jameson once more by that oversized hoodie.

Tugging the man to urge him to fall into step beside him Kaspar headed in the vague direction of the area they needed to be in for this party. “So, what is it? You really want to take me to some party in the slums? I hope it isn’t where you take all the guys who you grope in alleyways. Then again, you DID just grope me in an alleyway, seedy slums and back alley gropings seem like a fine pairing.” His arm swung out, reaching to tuck over Jameson’s shoulders, drawing the slighter man into his side as if to tell him he wasn’t mad, to give a little bit of that shine back into his interactions before he appeared too sour. “Who knows, I might find another nice wall to back you into.”

‹Jameson Dade› 'Okay, mom.' Some part of him wanted to say, but that was the defiant part of his personality that bucked whenever someone criticized him or his wardrobe, or his lifestyle. He had been pretty good at it when he was alive. A junkie had to develop a thick skin and always have a quick comeback whenever someone tried to throw shade. But he didn't say anything, because Kas was a friend. Kind of? They'd just met, but there was something there, and plus the guy was like. A star. Or at least he was as far as Jameson was concerned. So chances were that Hel actually knew what he was talking about, and Jay was more than happy to let someone dress him up so long as he didn't actually have to put a ton of effort into looking for clothes himself. He didn't put together outfits, they just happened. "Sure, I got some cash to burn." Because he actually did have money. Theft was profitable, after all, and he wasn't about to become indebted to yet another person. "I'll pay you back for the fashion advice with some slurpies or something." He waved vaguely, gesturing to say 'that's an issue for another day.'

And then he was being yanked right into the other man's side. He decided to let his own arm curl around Hel's middle loosely fingerstips tucking themselves against a waistband, not quite invading, but hinting at it. Of course, the blond guy was taller than Jameson by just enough that the vampire couldn't actually shuffle the way he normally did. His head turned just enough for him to inhale lightly, his cheek brushing just barely against a shoulder. "Look. It's not my fault if half of your leg is in groping range." He said with that same easy grin. And then a second later. "I'm sure where we're going has plenty of walls." He answered vaguely. They weren't that far from the slums themselves. In fact, the streets got shittier, and the buildings looked like they needed some love. Every step took them further into urban hell.

‹Kaspar› He glanced down at the man in an almost insulted manner, though decided it wasn’t worth the argument that might ensue so early into their meeting. Of course he had not been insinuating that he would force Jameson to buy new clothes, he intended to flash daddy’s cash instead, since the man instead on keeping him in a lifestyle even if he himself did work. A hand ruffled idly at Jay’s hair, smirking at his cheek and nerve, not entirely sure why it had caught him by surprise or why it was growing so endearing. “You’re cute.” He scoffed, he’d considered breaking their contact but Jameson had taken hold of his waistband and it was an easy sort of intimacy that seemed to suggest and yet both maintained their independence if they wished. Hel’s preference.

Kaspar imagined he felt a soft exhalation of air, though it could have been the breeze, as Jameson’s face turned towards him. His skin felt alive, aware of every little brush. This was his favourite part generally, the nervousness, the excitement of every little hint of a touch that said “Maybe”. Subtle reassurances that they were interested, finding ways to be close, to keep him keen. Though Jameson’s next statement was so far from subtle it actually made Kaspar falter a step, pausing briefly to give him an incredulous look. A sound of resignation parted Kaspar’s lips, the man dipping his head towards Jameson’s as if he might steal a kiss. “Oh, I’m sorry, were you not used to a “leg” of that size? I’ve seen bigger, frankly they are far too intimidating, but you know what? I’ve yet to see one prettier. Perhaps it’s my turn to look under the hood…ie…” He scoffed at his own lame joke, finally disentangling himself from Jay as they reached the seedy part of town. “Oh, you DO take me to the nicest places, Jay!”

‹Jameson Dade› Cute. Had he the ability to turn a withering scowl on or off at will, he would have. Not that he really cared. Cute was a better word to describe him than many used. He couldn't imagine what most people who knew him thought of him. Or the people who used to be important. Like Mora. She probably hated him. But that was life, with Jameson Dade. He was good at disappointing people, so he didn't really try to offer up anything else. If there were no expectations, then he couldn't break them. "And you're an asshole." There was no malice in the words. He was just restating what the other man had already said. "So together, we make a cute asshole." And that was why they couldn't have nice things.

He shot the other man a look a moment later as they continued down the street towards the party, which was fairly obvious from the outside, because it was the place with trash all over the 'yard', yard in this case meaning sidewalk in front of the walk up apartment building. There were tags all over it, and the place looked terrible. It was missing several windows, and the term 'death trap came to mind. But there was loud music coming from inside, and the smell of pot smoke filtering out into the street. "What it lacks in charm, wealth, aesthetic, stability, and sense, it makes up for in noise and flashing lights." He commented before he slid right past the other man so he could step up the cement blocks which qualified as a staircase. There was an electric buzzer out front but it was busted, so he just pulled the door open, holding it for Kas. "Your Majesty." He replied, fingers giving a wiggle.

‹Kaspar› As they approached the building Kaspar slowed, letting the other overtake. It wasn’t his first time to the slums, it was a place the rich kids went to be a part of the people, to do messed up **** with the messed up people who couldn’t give a damn. These kinds of parties were held in run down places where a little property damage went unnoticed and injuries were almost inevitable. He had on occasion found himself in one of these dens of depravity, amongst the elite, the defeated and the downright depleted. He watched Jameson dance ahead, once more bemoaning the hoodie that kept him from eyeing the tight jeans. “Oh, you DO take me to the nicest places, Jameson.” He put on a mock pout, dragging his feet as if they were sticking in mud until he reached the staircase, bounding up after his new acquaintance.

“If you are going to address me, do it properly…” Instead of entering the party Kaspar took the opportunity to press his advantage, backing Jameson into the rickety railing by slipping his body up against the man. His hands reached around to grip the railing, trapping him. “It’s Lucifer.” He whispered, leaning in so close the words could’ve almost been brushed to lips. His proud head bowed, dipping to bury a kiss against the man’s adam’s apple, lips parting to deliver him a series of teasing, hungry nips of teeth. “Remember, sympathy for the devil, you don’t want a good boy.” He let a pleased sigh escape as his hips pressed to Jay’s, reluctant to pull away. His mouth moved away, the rest of him eventually falling so that he could turn and stride into the building like he owned the damn place.

‹Jameson Dade› Lucifer. The Morning Star. Biblically, the Devil, and Father of Lies, but Jameson wasn't familiar with the good book. His Sunday school had involved lessons in how to roll a joint and how to cook shitty food for himself. The Lucifer he knew was the one he saw on the television. The TV show with the hot guy who had the power to make people say things they wouldn't normally. The devil on vacation. The show was based on a character created by Neil Gaiman, and Jameson was familiar with both the comics and the show. To him, Kaspar looked a hell (excuse the pun) of a lot better than the televised version, maybe because Jameson appreciated a pretty man more than attempts at rugged good looks. Or maybe the blond hair was more true to the original character. If you cared about that sort of thing. Whatever the case, Jameson had his preferences, and he was more than willing to call Kaspar Lucifer if that was his desire. Sort of. "Whatever you say, Lucy." He commented as Kas pulled away.

Which was unfortunate, because Jay liked the attention, the press of hips against his own, the way that lips touched against his throat. But he had been the first to pull away. Maybe it was some kind of game. Was he losing? He cleared his throat a little bit and then wandered in right after Hel. But he didn't stay behind. What had that been about giving Kas a piggy back ride? It seemed the tables had turned because after slipping in, plastered himself to the other man's back, arms curled around shoulders, his legs bent at the knee, tucked against sides so he could press close. Kas was taller than him. Better vantage point for seeing, he told himself. "Thata-way." He said, pointing. "We have to make a very important first stop." To a dealer.

‹Kaspar› “Oof”, the air he made a point of inhaling left him in a rush, the extra weight of Jameson on his back pushing the air from his lungs. “Bloody hell, what am I now, your ride? I like to think I’d be a better rider than you.” He snickered, arms moving to held the man up under his backside to keep him in place wrapped around Kaspar’s torso. He gave a little jump, skipping ahead a few paces as if he were in a trot. “I suppose it’s good practice for me, though you’re a bit big to put on my shoulders.” He mused, almost to himself rather than Jameson.

He steered them through the party, following the gestured direction, his nose wrinkling about the name he’d been called just recently. “Wait, did you call me Lucy? Oh, no, not that one. I think I’d rather Majesty to Lucy little Jay bud. So, where we heading? What delights do you plan to surround my senses with this fine evening?” He’d slowed his pace, taking loping steps so he could get a better look around the space, taking in the people around him and their activities. Mostly unsavoury, though some looked happy to just to sway to the heavy beat of the music that pounded in his ears, Kaspar wishing he’d brought earbuds as he did to concerts to filter out the excess noise, to make it clearer and easier to appreciate. He doubted that it would work in this instance. Hel tipped his head back to nudge his cheek against Jay’s, turning to bite at the man’s jaw playfully.

‹Jameson Dade› "I think you're saying I'm a horse." He replied as he huddled closer against a back. He felt hands supporting him. The other man was lean enough that it was pretty easy to hold onto him, leaving his chin tucked against a shoulder so that, from a distance, it looked almost like the pair of them were some sort of two headed monster. "I will accept that." He murmured, his breath cool against an ear. Even though he had recently fed, and he liked to wear as many layers as possible, he was still a vampire, still cool when he would rather have been warm. Jameson liked piggy pack rides. Well. He liked any excuse to get close to someone he liked. Frequently he would sprawl on his friends. He was that guy, when everyone was sitting on a couch, he would drape over them. His head tipped a little bit, which pressed his nose against that place where his chin had been shoved so he could give a lazy inhale. He wasn't sure exactly what it was, but it smelled nice. Woodsy maybe. With something else. And then the smells Jameson associated with home and rock.

"Very well, Majesty." He said, attempting to affect a cultured accent. It failed pretty badly. "We're going to get something for me to enjoy and then we can dance or drink, or just chill on a couch somewhere and stare at space." He shrugged. He liked atmosphere, and the party had that. He didn't have to actually get involved. He liked knowing that depravity was all around him. Meant he fit in. He felt teeth on his jaw then and sunk a little bit more into the other man's back, his own teeth snapping a little bit in an attempt to chase off his friend's, but it wasn't a mean thing, wasn't to really make them go away. More like a puppy playing. His hips shifted some, pressing a little more firmly against a lower back so that by the time they came to stop in front of a dealer, he was grinning to the man. "Whatcha got?" He asked. No need to be covert. Nobody there was at the party for any good reason.

[Kaspar]

‹Kaspar› “A horse of course.” Kaspar teased, giving a squeeze to the swell of Jameson’s thighs, fingertips brushing the man’s back pockets as he pressed himself ever closer. The firmness pressing against his lower back was further evidence that Jay was more than content with his place, and the teasing, he even nipped back playfully at Hel in a way that hid the man biting his lower lip. He sucked it between his teeth in some effort to keep in a gruff little sound, a sound that spoke of his reaction to the other’s actions. Hunger was stirring within the pit of his stomach, but he wasn’t quite convinced it was just for blood, he’d noticed the man was cool. Even with his apparent excitement he hadn’t warmed against him overly. Odd. It was probably just because he was so slender though, tended to have trouble keeping warm and it would explain his clothing layers. There he want, calling him royalty again and Kaspar had to admit it was sort of growing on him, he was after all fairly majestic at time. “For you to enjoy? He repeated, drink perhaps? He could also be after some of the masses of weed that caused the air to appear thick with smoke, it looked like it would be tangible were you to reach out and grab a handful.

Kaspar wouldn’t say no to dancing with the wild little creature, the air between them was already filled with tension, it was a test of wills how long they could keep up the little game. He wondered if Jameson even knew they were playing, Hel himself was, and he didn’t plan to lose to Mr. Sketchy anytime soon. Mutually assured destruction born of desire, the thought of it made his hunger stir painfully. He was glad for the distraction as they pulled up the man, Jameson asking him for… Oh. No, he should’ve figured this, the man had many of the signs that would normally lead Hel to realise he was in the presence of one who had his vices and wasn’t afraid to partake. He’d seen enough of his friends go down the rabbit hole in places like this, he’d taken a trip or two himself but it wasn’t a frequent thing, he usually came here in the mood to get wrecked, to get as torn up on the outside as he felt within. He rarely needed it to fuel inspiration, to wake the muse as it often sent him into a disturbingly dreamless sleep instead. Complete blackouts weren’t really his thing, but he wouldn’t tell Jameson what to do, he’d stick it out.

‹Jameson Dade› He chuckled softly. Had to. A horse of course. Maybe he was already getting a contact high with the haze of weed smoke, which seemed a great deal like someone had let a cotton candy machine go on the fritz, and it'd spewed burnt clouds into the air. He felt teeth sink into his bottom lip, and his arms tightened around those shoulders. He didn't pull away but instead pressed closer, head twisting enough for him to drag his tongue flat across ivories, staying there until the other man pulled away. At that point, he dragged his own features back slowly so he could peer briefly into Hel's eyes. He wanted to say something, but the words wouldn't come out. ****. He was turning into some kind of groupie stereotype. How many people responded like this to Kaspar's charm?

"Oxy." Came an answer from below, and Jameson's gaze dropped once more to the guy on the couch. The dealer's legs were spread, arms folded behind his head. He had a pair of girls on either side, both of whom were dressed in some kind of scene or goth get up. Not that they were sticking to any one genre. They mixed neon faux-fur with fishnets, and boots and really the only thing Jameson really got out of them was 'cheap', and 'easy'. "Sold out of everything else."

Jameson flattened a look. "Oxy?" He asked. "The **** you mean you just have Oxy?" He asked, a little bit of anger lacing its way into his words. "You're at a party, not a ******* funeral." He hissed.

"Look, asshole, Oxy's what I got. You can take it or leave it."

And Jameson was just pathetic enough to take it, even though Oxy would have him flat on his ***, sprawled somewhere. Seriously. Who even BROUGHT Oxy to a party? He was disappointed, but it was something . So he reached into a pocket, and pulled out some twenties, giving them a toss. "Hand over whatever that'll buy."

‹Kaspar› Kaspar let his trepidation fade as he stared back at the man, ignoring the dealer and the cheap looking woman that clung to his sides as he were worth the attention. Hardly. Jameson was certainly far more interesting tonight, causing a slow shudder to spread Kaspar, a slightly trembling in his extremities that had nothing to do with the temperature in the room and everything to do with his cool breath at Kaspar’s cheek. “Oxy.” His head swiveled lazily, his eyes the last thing to move in the direction of the man sprawled on the couch, Hel’s nose wrinkling in distaste both at the man and his offering. It clearly wasn’t what Jameson was after and frankly Kaspar couldn’t blame him, it was a poor choice but he figured he could get something else for the man from somewhere else. Oxy was only going to leave him a state, well, perhaps not but in his experience it wasn’t ideal. He wanted to protest, to argue the point as Jay threw bills at the man but he pressed his tongue against the roof of his mouth, clamping down on the words that threatened.

While the dealer sorted the cash, counted and rummaged to come up with the appropriate amount in return Kaspar’s hands dropped from Jay, working to gently disentangle the man and return him once more to the ground. Free of the extra weight Kaspar drifted over to a more crowded area of the room, slipping amongst the gyrating bodies. His eyes slipped closed, moving with them for a few minutes, waiting, waiting. It took a matter of seconds for someone to reach out towards him and he took her into the crook of his arm, letting her head fall down on his chest. This one would do nicely, Hel lowering his head to whisper against her ear. “Are you going down tonight? Or up?” She laughed in his arms, raising a hand to wave at the sky, “UP pretty, I’m up. What about you? Want to come up here with me?” He grinned down at her, leaning to press a quick kiss to her mouth. “Ja, mein liebes mädchen.” He reached back into his pocket, pulling out a $50 bill from his wallet, reaching around her to press it into the pocket of her little shorts, the kind that barely covered her backside.

“My friend is in desperate need, and maybe later we’ll come back down for you. That is ok?” She nodded in a daze, she was already feeling it and convincing her wasn’t hard, she fumbled in her pocket, pulling out a tiny plastic bag with two equally small pills. As he had done to her, she reached around to tuck them into his pocket. “Just come back for me, pretty man, I want to go home with you.” He didn’t say yes, or make promises, he just pressed his mouth to hers again. Hot, and hard, pulling her against him. As she sunk into him he released her, letting her flow back into the dancing crowd and she didn’t seem to even notice as he slipped away once more towards where he'd abandoned Jay.

‹Jameson Dade› The wad of twenties was being straightened and sorted out so the dealer could assess the wealth when Kas let Jameson slide down. Jay wasn't too pleased about that, because he had been comfortable, but he wasn't going to make a fuss when there were some chemicals ready for him. Everything was chemicals. The brain produced a bunch of them, or told the glands to, and the glands were what made everything with feelings happen. There were some people who claimed that every emotion came down to biological responses. Jameson didn't know or care about all that, he just knew he liked to take some pills or smoke something or inject something and feel a certain way. But it was true. Chemicals were in the blood and in the skin and all over the world. Maybe that was why some drugs could completely change the way a person perceived the world. Mind altering. Brain opening. Maybe nothing in the world was real and everything was just chemicals and how they made people think things existed or didn't exist.

The Oxy was passed to him in a baggie and he shuffled it into a back pocket as he turned to take a look at where Kas had gone, intent on marching after him. At first he thought the guy was dancing with some girl, and then he noticed the exchange. He honed in on those pills like a man in the middle of a desert would have honed in on water. Yes. Yessssss. He felt a little clammy in the palms and his chest felt like it was in his throat. Kaspar was returning to him and he pressed right against him, chest to chest, so he could let his hands slide down to retrieve the tiny baggy with the two pills in it. He swiped them, and behind Hel's back, he upended the contents into a palm. He shoved both of them into his mouth and then stood up on the balls of his feet, or as much as he could in his boots so he could hold one pill under his tongue. The other he forced right into Kaspar's mouth with his tongue. The kiss was brief, and when he was done, he crunched down on...whatever it was. He didn't even care.

The bitter taste was horrible, but he was used to it. Right to the bloodstream. **** that was good. And he felt like someone had taken a hammer to a gong right inside of his chest. He feld like he was reverberating. His hand drew down, gripping one of the other man's wrists, so he could yank him towards the throng of writhing bodies who were doing little more than bouncing and stomping and madly throwing their arms around to the sound of the music. "C'mon!" He said.

‹Kaspar› He felt like a lighthouse, shining out a beacon, letting some distant ship know the coast was clear the way that Jameson sought him out. His hands were on him, moving over to snatch away the pills before he’d even had the opportunity to speak. Well, I suppose that proved that the man wasn’t annoyed he’d ditched him and been all over some girl. Of course, he had to realise it was for him, he’d seen the pills go into his back pocket. They hadn’t stayed there long, he felt Jameson’s hand curl around the bag, pulling it free. He was in a great rush to lose himself, it almost made Kaspar sad but at least he’d been on a high with a softer fall, he wasn’t prepared to pick the many up from a heavy crash and something told him that he couldn’t just walk away. Couldn’t just leave him to go down alone. Why? Ah ****, it wasn’t the time to question it, not with the way Jay was looking at him.

His hands reached to trail down Jay’s sides, all the way to the hem of the large hoodie, pressing up beneath the material to caress the cool skin over his ribcage, watching him press both pills into his mouth. Again Hel just let it happen, he hadn’t expected to be taking one himself. Oh, but apparently he was. His hands aided in raising Jameson up when the man leaned towards him, his mouth on Kaspar’s was brief, too brief but it left behind one of the bitter little pills with a brush of his tongue. The man rolled it towards his cheek, clasping it between his teeth and crushing it sharply, swallowing the broken up pieces. He whined piteously as Jameson grabbed his arm, yanking it free him to pull Hel back into that throng of bodies. He didn’t let Jameson escape him this time, tucking his hand back inside the man’s shirt, roaming over his back, pressing his slighter frame so that it molded to his own. “You’re mine now, welcome to Hel.” And his lips fell to take Jay’s, tasting the remnants of the pills as it flooded his blood stream, pumping through his veins and bringing with it a slow building high that left him groaning into Jameson’s mouth.

‹Jameson Dade› He could feel hands on his skin. The touch was smooth, soft, and inviting in a way that made the vampire press a little bit closer. For a moment "Paris is Burning" flashed through his head. 'Touch this skin. Touch all of this skin.' But the one who had said that had died before the documentary even made it into theaters. That was how people were, ephemeral and bright. Jameson wasn't the solid earth; he was fire and starlight and everything that burned hard and fast, and then died out before its time. If he had been a musical prodigy as his new friend was, then he would have been part of the 27 club. What had Amy Winehouse said? They tried to make her go to rehab? Jameson had been there, done that, got the t-shirt and still wasn't fixed. Trying to fix yourself just fucked you up even more. Saint Amy proved that, and she had a special place in his heart because of it.

So then they were on the dance floor and they were moving. There were hands on him still, flesh to flesh. His own fingers slid towards Kaspar because it wasn't fair. He was trying to tug the man's shirt off before he even knew what was going on, because it seemed like a good idea at the time, especially with them shoved together, and a mouth so close to his, he could have accidentally swallowed some of Hel's spit. "Maybe you are the Morningstar." He said loudly, above the people and their bodies, and the movement. He was laughing then, and pulling at the zip of his hoodie when he took a step back, so that some more of that pale body came into sight. Skinny. Wirey. Alabaster. He was pale, and he looked like he didn't eat enough, and were they even still dancing?

‹Kaspar› His head swam with the drug that had invaded his body, hitting it hard with a euphoric feeling and the hands that reached for him. He pulled back from the kiss, letting his head tip back, eyes closed to the ceiling so he could imagine something better there, the sky open above them ready to let rain fall. He wished it was raining, he’d like to be outside in it alone with Jameson, shirtless with their hands all over bared torsos. Bared torso. His shirt was tugged at it but remained on his frame, tucked safely beneath the worn leather jacket he wore. It felt a part of him, like taking it off would mean he was too exposed to the room, though maybe he wanted to be? Wanted them to see it all, because who cared really. Most of these people wouldn’t notice, but he rarely got naked alone at a party. It was usually a prelude to some ridiculous activity pulling people into a pool, naked twister, some game or other designed to shed clothing and inhibitions.

His eyes opened once more to seek out Jay, watching with great interest as that hoodie was shed, Kaspar grabbing it away from him and tossing it at the ground. “I am dressing you up, doll, soon.” He laughed out, but his words were lost to the din. Jay called him the Morningstar and he loved it, it felt so right, yes he was that exactly. God’s fallen hand, his dark angel. Sinking to the Earth and bringing with him the tools to sow great unrest, to bring war and passion, to stir and strike out at that which dared to become an obstacle for him. His arms were around Jameson, tugging the man closer, lowering his mouth once more to capture his, to silence him with a deliberately teasing kiss. His nipped and sucked, only to draw back so that his mouth hovered so close, SO close but denying the man for moments only to crush him with a kiss once more. They were sort of swaying, Kaspar rocking him close, taking steps to press them further through the bodies until the toe of his boot knocked a wall, pressing Jay back against it, where they seemed destined to end up. He wanted to badly to sink his teeth into him, to feel his hot blood flow free, so much that his fangs began to ache and Kaspar was surprised they hadn’t pushed free and done his bidding of their own accord yet.

‹Jameson Dade› Before Kas could discard his hoodie, Jameson snapped up his MC cuts. He wasn't about to let those hit the ground. The hoodie was trash as far as he was concerned. That was how most clothes were. They could come or go. Head to a thrift store or Wally World and get some more. NBD. No big deal. No big loss. But the cuts were special because they meant something. They were the thing that said he belonged to a group. And he needed to feel like he belonged somewhere, after he'd been shut out of the Daradasi. They were supposed to have been his family, but none of them had cared. None of them had really given him that feeling of family. Brother. That was what Ven called him. Brother. Like he mattered in the grand scheme of things, or maybe just like Jameson mattered at all. Yeah. He was going to be careful with the leather. Treat it like it was sacred. He slid it on, and it partially obscured a tattoo on his shoulder. An eye. The all seeing eye. He'd designed it himself. Introspection. Seeing **** nobody else saw. Maybe it was a little spiritual. Maybe he had just been high when he did it.

They were moving, and his back was against a wall. There was a body close to his own. What had he said earlier. There would probably be walls where they were going. He was breathing a little funny, and his chest felt like it was on fire, and the heat from the flames was trying to cook his hair. He locked gazes with Kas, looking up into his eyes for a moment after those lips pulled away. He could taste the man there. His mind was racing, and he couldn't focus on any one thing for more than few seconds. There were snippets of other things, of other worlds going on around the tiny one he was in. Kas was in it with him. His lips parted to reveal fangs. "Lets go." He said. Maybe it was time to take the party away from all the other bodies and the pumping blood. Kas was a vampire. How hadn't he noticed before. "And lets nab some food on the way out."