AN: This was written for a prompt on the livejournal kink meme, and so that I might participate in a last-minute silly Conworth week on y-gallery. The prompt was "Worth decides to be really sweet and tender with Conrad for a day or so just to watch him freak out but he starts to forget that he's joking near the end. Bonus for super romantic sex. I apologize in advance if this prompt made anyone die inside." Worth stays a jerk in his own head, but this is probably pretty close to Conrad's idea of a perfect date. Hanna is Not a Boy's Name is the property of Tessa Stone, I am merely borrowing without permission and intend no offense to the lovely creator.
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PUSHING THE ENVELOPE
-by: Lira-
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Worth had gotten used to the evening text from Conrad. He knew it was morning for the vampire, sent just as soon as the sun had set and it was safe for the male to be moving about. Worth would have thought Conrad would get fed up by then, stop sending him cheerful-sounding requests to get coffee that had surely been typed with teeth clenched and jawline rigid. Worth only had a phone because the clients who paid him the big money, the ones who made his life possible, liked to be able to get a hold of him when they wanted their shit. If it meant Conrad could send him the other half of his messages, which all boiled down to "Hanna is trying to die again, please help!" then so be it.
Worth suspected that Conrad only kept going because he was starting to like Worth's cursory insult responses. Worth hadn't had to recycle his wit yet, so it was a new piece of assholery every morning, fresh for breakfast.
Come to think, Conrad couldn't even fucking drink coffee. Did he just go to the coffee house to smell the fumes?
No one was bleeding out in his clinic, so Worth sat back at his desk and thought about it. He was used to the snaggle-toothed vampire hanging around, had weaned him off of baggies and onto live product almost to Worth's satisfaction. Those days it was all fresh from Worth's own veins, neck or groin or wherever the fuck Conrad wanted to clamp his teeth when he was feeling peckish, about that Worth would not argue. There was only the slight supplementation of bagged blood, for when Worth couldn't bear to spare that many mouthfuls for his voracious pet leech.
For a relationship that was pretty much just biting and cutting and fucking whenever he made Conrad desperate enough to beg and pull Worth onto him with need for it, theirs was pretty cozy. Fuck, even Conrad's strained coffee invites and Worth's snark were becoming routine. They needed a little shake-up. They needed...
Well, coffee. Conrad was going to have the best damn day he never knew he wanted if Worth had to lie, cheat, and swindle all at once.
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Conrad's faggy coffee house was the only one still open at nine o'clock at night through the crack of dawn, which meant Worth always knew where the fuck to find him. Since Conrad rarely did anything else with his afterlife unless he was hungry, the prissy little texts asking for company were wholly unnecessary. Did Conrad really think Worth had so much brain damage by then that the wetware just did a hard reset every night at midnight and Worth started over fresh? No, no, he just wanted to be told he was a prissy bitch, would he like a tampon? first thing every morning.
Worth slouched through the tables to Conrad's token spot in the back, where he said the wi-fi was best. There was Conrad' aromatically useless cup of coffee on the table, so Worth didn't even have to buy anything. He pulled out the opposing chair, plopped his ass down, and took a quick drink out of Conrad's coffee cup. Still even most of the way hot. His little fuckpet knew how to take care of him.
"Worth!" Conrad yelped, glancing up from his computer screen to realize he was not alone. "Y-You're actually here. You came."
"Wha' tha fuck yeh send all those faggy messages fer if yeh didn' think I would ever come?" Worth asked, over the top of the macbook.
Conrad closed his computer with a snap, going from perfectly professional to frazzled mess in about half a second. Worth started to smile slow and easy until he remembered what he was doing. The name of the game was making Conrad a happy little cuddleslut until the sun came up, do whatever the fuck Conrad wanted. And it only counted if Worth sold it. He was playing against himself which meant he was playing to lose, but he was going to play mister sunshine and rainbows to the nines.
Probably should have worn something nicer, too.
"I figured as long as you kept replying it at least meant you weren't dead," Conrad told him flatly, except for the part where he looked down at the closed top of his computer and wouldn't meet Worth's eyes.
"Conrad," Worth said, remembering not to use "Connie" even though he knew Conrad liked it, and to talk gentle for a change.
Conrad's head snapped up like someone had kicked him in the balls.
"What?" he asked, that quiet tone of voice that only meant he was really peeved but hadn't gotten to hissing or screaming yet.
"I'm here now, ain't aye?" he asked. Worth couldn't know how far was too far.
"Drinking my coffee," Conrad commented, still peevish.
"Ah'll buy yeh another," Worth suggested, leaning in farther. "Wiv all them little hazelnut espresso shots that smell real nice."
It was effectively doubling the price of an already-ridiculous cup of coffee in one go, because enough of those little shots to make a difference to Conrad cost a bundle. Oh well; money well spent. Worth just sat there and tried to look genuine about it, and after a while Conrad seemed to run all the way through his mental list of ways Worth could be fucking with him.
"Put a chocolate one in?" Conrad asked him, the edge on his voice hovering somewhere between disbelieving and dreamy.
"Whatever yeh like," Worth told him, cutting off the "princess" with the first syllable there on his lips. Again – how far was too far? What was genuine and what seemed like shit?
He was too used to being the shit to really know.
The line was plenty ridiculous by nine thirty at night, simply by virtue of being the only coffee place staying open. Conrad popped his macbook back open while Worth stood around, making no effort to reward him for his hard work. Maybe he wasn't any good at this mushy shit, but Worth thought couples were supposed to like... Wait in line together and link arms and fucking talk about their future babies or something. Although if Conrad wanted to talk about babies Worth might have to call the whole thing off.
After Worth spent ten bucks on liquid Conrad would sniff for ten minutes and then discreetly toss in a wastebin, he returned to the secluded table with his prize. Worth hadn't been mister fetch and carry for anyone except himself since med school, and that alone was a bit of a jolt.
"Yer coffee," Worth said, pleasantly as he knew how.
Conrad looked over the rim of his macbook with a look that clearly stated shock and disbelief, clicking the computer closed a second time. Worth remained where he was, coffee offered, until Conrad snatched it away and held it under his nose, the stress starting to melt from his face at the scent alone.
If Worth had a passing thought about cooking up some hazelnut-chocolate cologne crap, he squashed it pretty well.
"So yer coffee house 's real nice 'n all, but yeh doan' wanna stay here all evenin' do yeh?" Worth asked, back in his chair.
"I have to work," Conrad said, the startled surprise proving he hadn't even thought about it before then. He'd probably set himself up for a slow evening on the internet.
"Ah'm sure yeh kin wrap up everythin' pressing right quick if somethin' else came up," Worth told him, leaning his elbows on the table so that he could smell the coffee.
Conrad cracked the teeniest little smile and then his face just froze, and Worth really thought he was going to giggle at him until his brain came back, like Mont did sometimes. But the little smile just kept twitching, and Worth couldn't figure out what the fuck he'd said wrong. Was that too fucking subtle for Conrad? Did he have to ask if he, Luce Worth, could take him, Conrad Achenleck, out on one of those froofy date things he heard people who weren't dead or doctors went on?
Fuck, it wasn't proposing marriage.
"Worth," Conrad said, and Worth could see the little falter where he thought about using Worth's first name. "Are you asking me... Out? On a date?"
Worth quashed the powerful urge to roll his eyes. Hard.
"Next time I'll bring yeh an embossed invitation with th' date an' time," Worth offered, as much of the sarcasm as he could manage drained from his voice.
Conrad seemed to consider this for a moment, and then discard it out of hand at the happy prospect that it was meant as stated. A moment after that, his face fell again.
"Did you lose a bet?" Conrad asked shrewdly.
"No, no bets were made in th' issuin' of this invitation," Worth told him.
That much wasn't a lie. The closest thing to a bet he made with himself.
"What are we going to do?" Conrad asked, that little bit of giddy excitement coming back.
"Well firs'," Worth began, surprised despite himself that he was /liking/ a Conrad who was happy and giddy around him instead of on edge. "Aye was thinkin' we'd have ter make a pit stop at my place. Gotta get dressed. Clean up."
Conrad's eyeballs boggled behind his glasses. "Clean up?" he spluttered. "Am I supposed to believe you have more than a passing acquaintance with the things known as 'soap' and 'water' let alone at the same time and in conjunction with one another?"
"Yes, Conrad," Worth said, slowly enough that it might not sound snappish. "I would like t'smell of sumfin other than sick up and dried blood."
The whole thought was that if Worth had his cards right, this whole date thing would probably include a lot of Conrad sniffing him, like at the beginning when Conrad was hungry all the time and couldn't ask, nicely or otherwise. He was thinking Conrad might like a heady odor of blood from him, but only if it was his own. If he was playing this right, he'd have to even smell appetizing.
"O-Okay Worth," Conrad said. Still disbelieving.
"Wanna head out?" Worth asked. "Ah'll carry yer coffee."
Conrad blinked again at the offer, and that time he just nodded real quick. Conrad packed up his computer and Worth grabbed their slowly cooling cup of useless, and they blew that popsicle stand.
.
Worth didn't usually care if someone saw inside his little pit of a room with its mattress on the floor and what was probably a roach infestation. It was genuinely worse than when he was at med school. Then he'd had standards, sort of. Now he didn't give a shit. The bathroom was really the nicest place despite all of the grime he neglected to clean, ever, and he wondered if Conrad was just going to hover in the doorway, expectantly, to see if any soap ever came in contact with his bare flesh.
"If yeh really like, yeh could do it yerself," Worth said, hands on the rim of the sink and fingers curling around tightly.
With anyone else that would have been rude, but with Worth it was the invitation he didn't really want to give. Worse than gritting it out that this was a date and shit, Worth didn't want to be all cleaned up like a little baby. In fact, if he actually managed to suffer through this self-torment, he would lay into Conrad for doing it for the rest of the vampire's foreseeable afterlife. The thought cheered him, and he let go of the porcelain.
"With soap and everything?" Conrad teased again, still getting used to the fact that Worth wasn't hitting him for any of it.
Worth had already pulled his shirt off and shucked the coat by the door, his long, narrow torso bared for any scrutiny or washing Conrad might wish to bestow. Most everything interesting was wrapped up tight, arms lined with clean white bandages. Those they weren't going to touch, because accidental snacktime did not fit into their times table. Worth craned around as Conrad edged into the bathroom, gingerly beginning to discard the detritus of medical supplies strewn about the counter in search of real soap.
Conrad opened his mouth to ask something, and then stopped. Fingering an old cake of soap that had been on a scummy tray under everything, he reconsidered. "Do you just want to do, uh, some waist up freshening, since maybe we don't have time for a real shower?"
If Worth was anyone else he'd propose hopping in the shower that instant and end the evening just there. They wouldn't leave the fucking bathroom for the rest of the night if Worth ended up fucking Conrad on the tiled floor. But that much water and that much bath products... No thanks. He had an agenda.
"Whatever yeh think would make us presentable," Worth conceded.
It was still hard for Conrad, and Worth liked that. He kept flinching every time he touched anything, like Worth was about to bite his head off even though he'd been nothing but civil for a solid hour. He kept trying to turn the water off every time it got hot enough, and they were only using the tap because Conrad seemed to intuit that Worth had no desire to go near that shower stall with him. The closest thing Worth had to a wash cloth was some medical gauze so they made do with Conrad's hand and the bar of soap.
When it came down to it, washing Worth up seemed to translate into Conrad making sure he rubbed both hands over every square inch of Worth's front and back. It reminded Worth of parents telling their kids to scrub the bathroom with a toothbrush or some shit, except the toothbrush was the pads of Conrad's fingertips, unharmed by anything more strenuous than far too much typing. It was easier not to bitch and yell at Conrad than he expected, even though he might have liked if Conrad scratched a bit or messed up. It was still far too entertaining to watch Conrad's set little frown as he ducked under Worth's armpits like he was repairing a monument.
Towards the end, Worth remembered that Conrad was a fucking artist, and of course this was how he was going to give someone a spongebath.
"It's okay if yeh can't see yer reflection in me," Worth said, snarky but also fond-sounding, disgustingly so, so it was probably okay. He though for a moment, and laughed. "'Cause yer not gonna be seein' yer reflection in anything anytime soon."
Conrad glanced up at him, snatching his hands back but cracking a little smile.
Worth really just wanted to ask if Conrad wanted to try shaving next, because he had a straight razor and at this point there was no way in hell Conrad's hands were moving steadily enough to pull that off. But no, the date, the important fucking thing was the stupid fucking date. If he didn't screw anything up, they'd get back here soon enough. Or Conrad's place.
Mostly they fucked in his office so it was a novel idea either way.
"Let's get me inter some clothes, so I doan' scare the few respectable folk out an' about," Worth suggested.
Conrad stopped, one hand moving to scratch the side of his face but nothing making it out of his mouth.
"D'yeh really wanna see me shaved up like a baby's butt?" Worth asked.
Conrad's hand moved to his mouth, for it seemed that time he didn't want to laugh at Worth, whether or not he was about to be smacked. "That just might be too scary," he muttered.
In his transformation, Worth didn't even question it.
The nicest thing in the corner of the room passing as a bedroom was the closet. That was because it was a tiny little cubbyhole and Worth honestly couldn't shove anything else in there besides the clothes. They were largely clones of what he had on, lots of black that would probably give Conrad a little squealing fit, and one nice outfit that was almost a suit. Worth imagined he had last worn it five years prior.
When Worth drew these things out and threw them on the bed, Conrad almost did have the squealing fit. No noise came out of him, but Worth was fairly certain he was trying to hyperventilate. He considered for a moment pushing Conrad down and grabbing him a xanax from the medicine cabinet, but he didn't really need Conrad strung out for the rest of the night. He settled on his best non-accusing look until the spasms died down naturally.
"Should I dress m'self, or is one of yer other fav'rites helping blokes into their skivvies?" Worth asked.
Conrad went embarrassed quick as ever, but he never quite made it to the mad part where he maybe tried to sock Worth in the gut. Worth didn't think he sounded any less jerkish than normal, but it seemed in lieu of other nice behavior, Conrad could assume that a joke about getting Worth out of his underwear was just a joke at Worth's expense and not, say, a snipe at Conrad's sexual prowess or something.
Since it was more meant as "and fuck you can get right into them" than anything else, Worth would take the compromise. Fuck. Trying to do gentleman wasn't supposed to be this much fun.
Worth couldn't afford to taunt Conrad, he really couldn't, but he figured a genuine nice guy could still strut about in his altogether in front of the guy he was fucking for about sixty seconds before putting on some clean pants. And Conrad had more self-control than he used to; he just stood there with his arms at his sides while Worth made a point of getting out of briefs facing fully front to Conrad. As he was sliding up the pair that really were genuinely clean, who would have thought, it occurred to him that he'd never before just stopped and stood somewhere where Conrad could gawk at him.
It hadn't occurred to him that Conrad would want to gawk that much, as he let the elastic snap back into place against his skin with a noticeable sting. The reason he'd first developed a fondness for underwear that kept his dick where he left it was because of an equal fondness for pills that would leave him not knowing where he left his ass three nights before. He liked the relative security provided by a gauge of just how balls deep he might have gone during the blacked-out periods. Now he just liked the fact that Conrad was staring at the outline of his cock while he grabbed his pants and continued on, and the fact that the elastic did kind of hurt if he did it right.
Worth couldn't even comment on all the staring or snark that Conrad might have a little bit of drool just /there/ and at what point had Conrad really stopped thinking he was a filthy sleezeball to only remember the parts where they fucked and he tasted like food?
Putting on the black slacks and the black button-up shirt went a lot faster when Worth decided he didn't need to be stared at any more. It was one thing when he could gloat but now it was just fucking weird.
"Thought we'd do sumfin yeh wanted t'do, since the alternative's always been a medical office," Worth told Conrad, actually straightening the cuffs on his shirt because he wasn't fucking used to having cuffs on his wrists like that.
"What? Really?" Conrad blurted out, only then seeming to realize the floor show was over.
"Can't take yeh fer a nice dinner 'cause, well." Worth shrugged, not saying that he /was/ dinner, or that he'd show Conrad a /nice dinner/ later if they just gave him a minute.
"Well, er, okay," Conrad mumbled. "There are some places I'd like to go."
"We kin even take yer car if yeh like," Worth conceded, because he saw it coming.
Worth could also see Conrad's eyes lighting up behind his glasses, an almost calculating sort of look Worth didn't think he'd seen from Conrad before. But then again, Conrad had never before had the opportunity to factor himself, plus Worth in respectable black clothing, plus Conrad's little penis entitlement black sportscar into the same equation before.
Worth realized, when Conrad actually reached up to fluff back Worth's hair a bit, that Conrad was proud to be going somewhere with him.
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The car was comfier than Worth was expecting, except for the complete and utter lack of leg room. He was sitting in the passenger side feeling like the world's most ungainly human-spider hybrid, and Conrad was nipping in and out of lanes of traffic like he was playing one of Hanna's videogames. So far the verdict was that Conrad did, in fact, know how to drive a sportscar, and if he wasn't dead already he would have been likely to cream himself into the pavement somewhere in the next five years. But his driving was like doing math – all the right angles and perfect execution, so that the little black car was always exactly where it needed to be.
Worth was trying really hard not to be impressed, because he always imagined Conrad would drive like his mother, except with more nattering about how fast all the other cars were going.
Even though it looked like all of Conrad's driving was being managed by shoving a joystick hard to one side at the last moment, it got them to the part of the city full of grungy old warehouses at record time. Worth looked at Conrad himself and saw that the face, at least, he'd gotten down perfect. Conrad looked like Worth had just pulled his cute little grandma off of life support unnecessarily, and that if he could just nail their turn while neatly cutting off the guy who had been trying and failing to tailgate them for the last five miles, it would all be better.
The warehouses were making Worth happier about whatever Conrad was making him do, because Conrad had been too busy joysticking to tell him jack shit. They pulled into an expansive parking lot behind a warehouse that should have been empty when it was pushing midnight, but which was in fact full of cars. Snazzy cars like Conrad's and cars done up weird colors and with lewd bumper stickers on the rear, and Worth swore he saw one with a freaking huge dildo suctioned on to the windshield.
If Conrad had taken him to a fucking sex party, Worth was going to cream him into some pavement himself when the adventure was through.
Conrad took them up to the warehouse, and Worth even let Conrad hold his hand and pull him along like he was maybe four years old. Conrad was decidedly not walking faster than necessary, a fast clip that while not a problem to Worth's legs did mean he was painfully aware of how stupid-eager Conrad was to be doing this. Presumably with Worth's most excellent company.
There was someone at the door with an awful lot of metal jammed in his face, and hair that must have been neon green in ordinary lighting, in between the art chic black. Worth was quickly revising his opinion of what the fuck he'd been dragged into. Conrad already had his wallet out and was fumbling some business cards for the gentleman with the face piercings, Worth thought Conrad's faggy little business card and another one Worth didn't recognize.
The man let them inside.
And then Worth knew for certain, because the massive room was just the exterior walls of the warehouse and quick wooden ones that had been erected all down its length, slicing the building into manageable little cubicles. The cubicles seemed to have been parceled out to any artist who had the cash to spare, from the ones Worth could see from the entrance. Sculpture and paintings and sketches and photographs, any sort of visual art someone might want to drool upon.
Conrad had taken Worth to some sort of faggy art fag underground art party.
"Just don't say anything," Conrad snapped quickly, tense as a bowstring.
He must have sensed Worth's instant assessment as soon as he knew what he was mired in. Worth had to literally stop, just stop a bit away from the door and refrain from telling Conrad that he wasn't going to schmooze with a bunch of arty hipsters for an ungodly number of hours because Conrad thought that qualified as a date. Worth had liked his evening better when he thought it was a sex party.
He then remembered that a lot of arty hipsters were also pretty hard into the drug scene, and if he went to chill in the bathroom for more than ten minutes someone would probably either try and sell him something or try to buy. Without his coat, he wondered if anyone could even tell he could have been pushing.
"Ain't I s'posed t'comment on th'art?" Worth asked, in his best impression of a sane person talking.
Worth presently wanted to find the first sculpture that looked halfway like a table and see how long they could fuck over it before someone escorted them from the fucking art bunker of a warehouse. He wasn't fucking going to say it but that would be better that slumming with the druggies somewhere. By rather a large margin.
"Well, yeah, sort of," Conrad said, at low volume presumably in case Worth embarrassed him.
"Yeh doan' think I kin do art?" Worth asked, infusing his tone with just the lightest of his disbelief.
"No," Conrad told him, point-blank. "Need I remind you of comments you've made in the past, probably numbering in the three digits by now?"
"Conrad," Worth said, using his name to disarm him. "Aye had sum art history throwaway course in college t'fulfill sum bullshit requirement fer sumfink. If yeh want me t'bullshit, aye kin bullshit."
Conrad seemed to consider this – the possibility of a cultured Worth, not just one who was dressed up fancy, accompanying him around some art show. Even if it was fake. The idea, fakeness and everything, seemed too much to pass up. Conrad took Worth's arm firmly and plunged them further into the cavernous room. Worth didn't even comment on how Conrad tucked his arm into Worth's like a girl would do.
Worth wasn't completely shitting. He had done something like an art history course once, and the professor was such a pompous windbag he'd needed all of his best bullshit to scrape by in the pretentious farce of a course. Lying about crap he didn't understand flat to a professor's face seemed plenty good practice to winging it under Conrad's somewhat dictatorial watch. Worth cared a bit more, because this time he had his whole elegant farce to maintain, and not just a C grade in a shit course.
But Conrad actually seemed to respond to some of the bullcrap he put forth, eyes widening visibly behind his glasses and the comments spawning return chatter that seemed more like Hanna's area of expertise than what Worth usually heard from Conrad. Conrad seemed half excited art fag child, half dazed drive by victim, at the sheer prospect that Worth "got" any of the artsy shit he put forth on a regular basis. How unbelievably easy it was to artifice was the marvelous part, to the point where Worth wondered why he hadn't given a stab at pretending knowledge long before then.
The best part was when complete strangers overheard their little faggy conversations, and cut in to discuss with them the merits of some painting or the vision of some sculpture. It was entertaining as fuck when Conrad recognized them by face alone, greeting them on first-name bases like he was somebody. It occurred to Worth that for all of his pretentious shit, in this twisted little world, Conrad really might be somebody. It might be a "in the land of the blind, the one eyed man is king" brand of somebody, but it was still more credit than Worth ever gave Conrad before. He was king of the faggy art fags.
"How come yeh doan' come t'this shit more often, if it's all at night an' crap?" Worth asked, at a considerate lower register so his vulgar, non-artsy comments wouldn't broadcast.
"I, um," Conrad said, immediately looking down and away.
It was the first time Conrad had broken contact in the whole hour and change they had been there. He was so fucking animated talking about color and the lines and the way people managed space, looking Worth right in the eye without shame. It was jarring for a second, to have the usual breakaway and stutter back.
"What?" Worth pushed, not even being subtle. "Tell me."
"I kindof... Made a scene, the last time I was at one of these," Conrad said, looking if anything more painfully embarrassed.
"Made a scene?" Worth echoed. "How'd yeh do that?"
Conrad slanted his gaze to the right, and Worth saw that he was checking the area for who was listening. "The girl I brought last time," Conrad said, so quiet now Worth was leaning in for it. "She kind of had a histrionic fit in the ladies' room and someone called the cops on her."
"Well that's her bein' a jackface, not yer fault," Worth insisted, not even needing the facade.
"Everyone knew I brought her," Conrad whispered. "No one would let me live that down, not even if I came by myself, not..."
Conrad didn't even have to finish it. A fit in the bathroom sounded like the sort of thing Conrad would pull, if he was pushed hard enough. Hell, Worth was sure he could give Conrad a fit in the bathroom right then if he wanted, except he would go and turn it into a screaming yowling fuck because his trousers had been tight pretty much since he put them on, and not because he hadn't worn them in five years. He wouldn't even care whose head got slammed into a toilet paper dispenser.
"Ever'one's talkin' t'yeh jus' fine t'night," Worth told Conrad, maybe because he had to say something nice while wondering if a warehouse restroom had one of those diaper changing stations in the ladies' and if the table would hold up under Conrad's weight.
"Well, yeah," Conrad said, still quiet, now kind of hurt sounding.
"Yeah what?" Worth pushed again, because Conrad just couldn't fucking spit shit out.
"Because I came with someone really chill this time who seems to know stuff about art and you're not even /noticing/ because I guess you're used to being a slimy fuck, but everybody /likes/ you!"
Worth stopped right fucking there because he had /not/ thought he could destroy his entire rep, at least with one segment of the population, in a piddly hour and a half at an art show. Art fags did not like Worth. Art fags hoped that Worth didn't use one of their paintings as a tissue or a napkin because it would be irreparably damaged if he touched it for more than ten consecutive seconds. Art fags hoped that he did not slip their girlfriends methamphetamines because the last time he'd done that a girl had almost OD'd in a bathroom during the campus art show.
Worth and art fags did not mix. That was just another reason he liked baiting Conrad at every turn, because Conrad was about fifty anxieties rolled into one and no matter which way you poked him he curled up like one of those pill bugs you found under rocks with the maggots.
"Conrad, it's great an' all tha' yer patching things up wiv folks, but aye got fuckin' art overload or sumfin," Worth told him. He didn't know if it sounded like dick or the new persona any more.
"Oh, it's okay," Conrad said, too quickly. Conrad was never supposed to agree to his shit that quickly. "We powered through so much of everything, there's probably not that much more to see."
Worth also couldn't believe that Conrad was just going to pass up seeing the rest of the show without argument, not even asking to peek down one or two more alleys, see if there was anything really good they were missing.
"Want to get a drink?" Conrad asked.
"There's a bar?" Worth asked. He hadn't even seen and usually he had a good eyeball for alcohol stations.
"Where the bathrooms are, kind of," Conrad told him. "There's food and stuff, too, things people make to sell here, but you probably just want a beer. Or uh, I guess maybe something stronger."
Worth was almost mad that his big irritation was Conrad being able to tell that he'd rather have a stiff drink than one cold beer.
They crossed the building to the little booze table, which had a little umbrella made out of what looked like hemp propped over top and little tropical lanterns hanging down around the edges. Worth wanted to know when they changed the fucking theme to the fucking fag party.
"Vodka," Worth told the peppy art chic girl manning the bar. It was high alcohol and would burn his throat a little on the way down. "Straight. Glass looks fine t'me."
Worth gave Conrad a dour look more reminiscent of his usual expression when Conrad even thought of trying to pay. Thumbing through the bills in his wallet with crisp efficiency, he gave Conrad another look, this one just taking askance. "And whatever th' fuck he wants."
And when Conrad's drink turned out to be green and lightly fizzy, Worth didn't even say anything. He just knocked his rather copious amount of vodka back in two long swallows and looked at Conrad like nothing happened.
Conrad had to stand around sipping his drink and waving like a fag to other people passing by, so Worth entertained himself considering other people who weren't Conrad who he would fuck. He'd spent entirely too much time thinking of what he'd part with at the moment to bribe Conrad to just bite him, right there, so it tore the flesh a little and he'd be a good week healing up, because Conrad was fucking horrid at getting it back in his pants once he got going and Worth wanted him going.
If Worth counted the times he probably could have gotten them arrested for public indecency he might have to give himself a fucking medal.
Problem was, too many of the art fags looked like Conrad or they kind of looked like Toni and lately that just killed things for Worth in about half a second. It was about as much fun as pushing Conrad into a carnival of mirrors and deciding which one he'd pick, except there would only be Conrad because oh yeah, mirrors, so Worth wouldn't even have to choose.
It occurred to him, in some small recess of his mind, that the plan had been to make Conrad dependent on him. Worth would have all the delicious blood and Connie wouldn't even think of going to somebody else, so whenever Worth wanted to get bitten he could just open a vein a little and have a party. He hadn't noticed when it had gone the other way, because finding another vampire who bit like Conrad and wouldn't kill him, but who would literally fuck him up when they fucked – that was hard. If Conrad actually grew a pair, he could find another blood donor real quick.
That wasn't even worth thinking about.
"Gonna call it a night fer th' art?" Worth asked, after they had both had another drink and he'd convinced himself he was finally approaching criminally insane.
The thought that his keeping Conrad around was a lot more important than the reverse just wouldn't quit, even when vodka was splashed on it and they made for the door.
"I was thinking," Conrad said, in that wandering way that meant he was getting a little bit tipsy. "I don't want to go home yet."
Considering that Worth's original plan had them in somebody's home on a real bed with some lube, he was seeing it both ways.
"What d'yeh wanna do?" Worth asked, feeling magnanimous.
"There's a lake around here, not too far," Conrad said, quickly now, like no matter which version of Worth he had, he wouldn't like it. "I haven't been able to see it since, well, you know, but I was thinking we could drive by there."
Worth didn't know why Conrad wanted to go down a swampy puddle of water in the middle of the night, but fuck all if he cared too much. Connie was getting all tipsy and Worth was thinking it might be fun to see Connie drive on alcohol, even if it might mean forcing him out of the driver's seat halfway there and taking over.
"Okay," he agreed, quick enough that he couldn't regret it. "We're fuckin' goin' t' th' lake."
.
Conrad still drove like some kind of psychopath, but it was somewhere after three in the morning and it wasn't like there was anyone on the road anyway. The drive was nothing for calming a fellow down but it did give Worth a new appreciation for physics.
Next Worth got to stumble down a low grade hill in the dark to a lake with Conrad, who was just drunk enough that all of his stumbles were real. Worth couldn't tell what he was supposed to be staring at that people might come there to see – the outdoors was not his specialty – but Conrad seemed to be really happy actually out in nature by his own choice.
They got down to the edge of the lake, which Worth knew because Conrad took two steps too far into it and then started cursing about messing up his shoes. Worth hauled him back when he'd had quite enough of that, and somehow they ended up on the ground along the bank and Worth didn't care about that because it was just dirt and grime and he knew a thing or two about dirt and grime.
It didn't matter at that point what anyone thought because it was just Worth and Conrad and who ever gave a fuck what Conrad thought, anyway. Or that was what Worth said. When he rolled Conrad over in the mud and leaned on him, Conrad yelped loudly about how his clothes were getting ruined and he was covered in mud and he wouldn't be able to bear to sit in them and his nice faux leather seats! And didn't Conrad know that these were Worth's only pair of nice pants and he didn't give two shits if they were covered in mud and pond scum?
"Stop squirmin'," Worth told Conrad, but it came off sounding almost fond so that Conrad actually stopped and looked up at him.
"What?" Conrad asked, still sounding quite irate about the mud.
"Fuck," Worth muttered, shifting a little so he had Conrad pretty much pinned. "Yeh know, aye was gonna git yeh back t' yer nice clean condo an' tumble yeh into bed so hard yer ears would spin."
Worth looked right at Conrad while he said it, and delivered it pretty much near perfect.
"But now we're at sum damn /lake/ an' I gotta get yer ass home anywise so yeh don't crisp up in the sun," Worth continued.
It wasn't even romantic. It was Worth saving Conrad's sorry ass, but somehow that earned him Conrad snuggling into him from underneath, like saying it meant that Worth was really going to do it, and Conrad wouldn't have to worry about any nasty third-degree burns that might be ending his afterlife in a few hours.
"Yeh think there's still gonna be tumblin' once I get yer ass home sometime after four, doancha?" Worth asked, this time trying not to sound fond and clearly failing.
"You won't leave me here," Conrad said, like it was a certainty.
Worth hated that Conrad was right. He wouldn't. On the one hand because it was hard to get a piece of ass if it was a little pile of ashes by the lakeshore, but also because he really just wouldn't at that point. Maybe he'd chew Conrad's ass up one side and down the other until he couldn't forget it even if he was sleeping, but Conrad would still be happily undead and Worth would still have his snaggletoothed vampire sex life.
"All right yeh fuckin' ass," Worth muttered, half hauling Conrad up from the dirt. "We're leaving."
Back up the hill was a lot harder than down, especially since Worth had Conrad's arm slung over his shoulder and was half carrying the stupid fucker up. When they got to the car Worth also had to manhandle the keys away from Conrad, and then lie the poor fucker out on the backseat of the car, which was a lot less spacious than even the front ones. For all of its maneuverability, Conrad's car was kind of a tin can.
Worth hopped in the hot seat and sped off down the road, knowing the way back to Conrad's condo perhaps from some buried Conrad-sense he would not tell fucking god or his own mother he possessed.
.
The outside of the condo was familiar even though Worth had never been inside. By that time Conrad was pretty much sober and just cranky about wasting his time at the lake with Worth being drunk and falling in the mud. It was still unnatural witnessing a Conrad who was displeased because of a lack of time spent with Worth, let alone at the idea of Conrad /ruining/ any such time. Worth ruined their encounters himself because he liked them to go that way. Conrad invited Worth inside, sounding so tired and happy to be home, like it was normal.
Worth didn't see almost any of the condo, because Conrad was pulling him past all of the art that Worth knew normally would be showcased until Worth wanted to punch Conrad in the mouth, or get himself punched so he could pretend to pass out. Even actually pass out. At that point he was precious happy not to have to look at any more faggy pretentious art, but it was kind of fucking cute that Conrad was dragging him past it like a wayward puppy.
The room, Conrad's bedroom, was a dark burgundy color that Worth could detect even in the low light and with the precautions Conrad had taken to keep out any sun. Worth had sort of been expecting more art faggy black everywhere, but the comforter on Conrad's bed was actually a rich shade of red that reminded Worth exactly of blood. It didn't matter if it was dark. He could tell.
"I had candles and stuff," Conrad told him, pulling him closer to the bed. "You know, when I was... When I was alive and I thought I was going to meet the perfect girl and it would be perfect."
If Worth was anyone else it would have been awkward, but from Conrad it was just kind of cute and idealistic and stupid, but Worth liked it and Conrad couldn't even tell he was being embarrassing.
"They're passionfruit," Conrad continued. "Because I wanted red ones but I didn't like cinnamon."
Worth realized then where this was going, and he didn't even stop it.
"I was just gonna... Light a couple, okay? Lighter's right here," Conrad said. "You can smoke if you like, I don't even care if you smoke in here any more. It'll just smell like you because you always smell like cigarettes and medical shit."
That time Conrad seemed to realize exactly what he was saying, and he swallowed quickly, visibly even then, but he pushed on anyway. Worth pulled out his pack of cigarettes and Conrad lit one for him with the lighter, before starting to line up his candles on the table by the bed and light them one by one. Worth took a drag from his cigarette and stared and the flames and realized he still wanted to fuck Conrad even if Conrad was being the hugest fucking fag yet, even if Conrad didn't bite him even once.
The candle line was serpentine, artfully staggered in a few quick seconds by the best fucking art fag around. Worth sat back harder on the bed and Conrad looked up, at which point Worth stubbed out his cigarette on his hand and beckoned for Conrad to come over. Conrad moved too fast but not a single candle fell, and something else was in Conrad's hands that he'd gotten a hold of when he was going through his things for all of the candles.
Conrad sat right on Worth, legs splayed with his knees out and just hovering there, both of them sitting, until Worth tipped back with a quiet grunt and Conrad found himself on top for a change. Worth didn't put Conrad on top often because he didn't always multitask well and then it was more fucking work than Worth actually needed when he was trying to get his rocks off.
Conrad kissed Worth once, messy and quick and without any of the usual biting that Worth liked so well.
"Here," Conrad said, pressing something into Worth's hand. "I, uh, don't want it to hurt this time, okay?"
Worth realized he was holding a small bottle of lube, from the look of it meant to match the candles. And he wondered for a moment if Conrad had bought it all back then, when he was thinking so idealistically of girls and his future life, or if maybe Conrad had bought this little bottle because he knew Worth liked to make him hurt, if only so Conrad would hurt him back harder.
Worth flipped Conrad over then, straddling his hips and going to work on his little tie belt and his actual pants. None of their usual business where things got torn to the side as necessary to facilitate grinding and groping and fucking, where sometimes articles came off and sometimes it was just as little as it took. Worth could strip corpses of all their shit; by comparison a cooperative body, however dead, was a relief. Worth got Conrad down to just nothing, saying goodbye to those muddy hipster shoes, the weird pants, that tie belt that Worth always wanted to tie Conrad's wrists with or maybe goad him into doing it to Worth. The shirt. All of it removed with something between love and manic, determined energy.
And then Worth straddled Conrad's hips calmly and sat there, rubbing down against him with all of Worth's clothes just on for a minute so he could watch Conrad's face contort while he tried to squirm. He knew Conrad didn't like it, but at the same time he knew Conrad kind of did, because this time Worth's stare was even and measured, no real malice there to stir Conrad up. He was just doing it because he wanted to watch Conrad bite his lip and screw up his face, wanted to see the one little gasp even though Conrad didn't need to breathe any more. Once he'd seen the whole display, cataloged the reactions like he could catalog medical texts if he tried, he eased back and was off with his things.
Conrad had already gotten the display putting them on, so it was buttons popping through eyelets as fast as Worth could push them out, feeling an urgency that wasn't fully present in the room. There was the soft red glow of the candles, reflecting off Conrad's naked body that Worth never saw, and even then it was usually cool marble but now it had warm flames reflected off the skin. Conrad was now just waiting patiently, watching Worth through his glasses as Worth disrobed. Conrad was holding the lube against his chest, familiar and so calm now.
Worth knew that they had fucked so many times that there shouldn't really be any mystery left, but this was entirely different from his usual. Fuck he never slowed down long enough to notice that the lube really was passionfruit scented and probably just tasted like oiled candy. He tried to speed up, throw things on the floor, even just rock the bed a little, but it was sort of like futile and he wasn't determined enough to fucking change it.
It was how Worth ended up with a palm full of fruity-smelling lube and two fingers inside of Conrad, crouched low enough that he could see what he was doing by candlelight even though he really didn't need that. He watched anyway, watching his fingers disappear into and out of Conrad's body, cool flesh that still felt things so dearly. He'd never seen that before, never done this, and he wanted a bit to feel all of Conrad's insides, like the most demented medical practitioner yet, because of course he would never take his time like this ever again.
Once Worth had proved that he could shove half of his hand, four fingers and the first knuckle of his thumb, inside of Conrad, and Conrad was gasping loudly and yelling at him in an incoherent and highly wanton manner, things about his stupid hair and his stupid fur coat and just dribble that was really not important, he slid his hand completely free. And he could have switched gears, given himself a good stroke because he was already hard as fuck after sporting wood in his pants for most the evening and doing that before plunging ahead, but he didn't.
Instead Worth grabbed Conrad's cock and hauled upwards, his other hand catching him to hover just over Conrad, his lanky naked body pressed close only a breath away, his face even closer.
"This time," Worth told Conrad, watching his face every second and letting Conrad keep his glasses. "This time yer not gonna stop until I tell yeh because I'm gonna make yeh come so hard yeh see /stars./"
Worth stroked for a moment, his hand on Conrad slick with the lube and perfumed like some imagined forest meadow, the entire room smelling exactly like sex and them not even doing anything just yet. Some part of him still just wanted to jerk Conrad until he begged and pleaded and only then slow down and hold Conrad down and maybe smoke a cigarette while he did it so that Conrad wouldn't want him dropping any ash on his face.
But this time Worth stopped, his hand going to his own dick and gripping tight like a vise, the manner he had with himself that he just couldn't lose no matter how far he moved past jerking off in his room by himself. Just a few quick pumps, and Worth was instead nudging his hips up against Conrad's to thrust in. Worth usually had a perfect poker face for that second, so Conrad never knew the exact moment it would happen until Worth shoved into him and they were off. This time Conrad knew exactly when, and arched his hips up into it like some wanton fucking virgin.
It was the most concerted fucking Worth had ever accomplished, with Conrad or anybody else. He was totally going along with the whole virgin thing until Conrad decided he had to bring his hips up every time Worth moved down, putting them in a perfect rhythm to feed off of each other, all of Worth's thrusts deep and sure and jolting Conrad into crying out, because maybe he didn't need to breathe any more but he could still scream at the top of his lungs like Worth was killing him all over again. Every time Worth hit that spot, a throaty yell from Conrad, as he watched Worth the entire time with those fuck-me eyes.
And Worth knew he'd told Conrad not to stop until he said, that they were going to thrust their bodies into each other until something broke or they both came so hard their teeth clacked against the inside of their skulls. That one time, because he wasn't busy being bitten or in pain or feeling anything other than the exact clench of Conrad's muscles around him, that one time he could actually tell when Conrad was going to come, just like he'd said.
"Not yet," he told Conrad, his mouth right close and taking a quick hard kiss, meshing hotly but still no biting, still nothing like their usual. "Wait jus' a bit Connie, wait."
And Worth went harder that last little stretch, thrusting hard with his body's persistent need, not as ready to come as Conrad but so close it fairly hurt. And Worth muttered "Now" to Conrad just as he spurted across their stomachs, the unexpected pain of being so fucking close and Conrad miraculously being so fucking tight meant that Worth was just that little bit after, narrow hips giving a few more small jerks as he spent himself.
Worth hovered there, for a moment, because he knew what had happened and he wasn't going to think about it just yet. He remembered, dimly, as he pulled out and helped them both clean off and had Conrad tell him that he was really sleepy now, Conrad was just going to take a nap for most of the day, and Worth could leave whenever Worth felt like it.
Once Conrad had been out for a good half hour and wasn't coming back up, and once Worth had extricated himself from the post-sex cuddles Conrad had half-consciously demanded and he had not yet bothered to deny, only then did Worth sit on the end of Conrad's bed and smoke a cigarette. And then he smoked another. And then he could feel himself coming back.
Maybe it was a simple idea at first, to force a few smiles at Connie and not call him any faggy nicknames and wait to see how long it took Conrad to catch on. But Conrad hadn't caught on. He actually took it hook line and sinker like it was all real, took it so hard that he actually traipsed out his little losing his virginity fantasy from when he'd still been alive, and Worth, oh fucking hell Worth had grabbed that.
Now that he had some nicotine in him the answer was easy. It was all part of the ruse, he just fell into his cover too hard. He knew when he played ball with himself he only played hardball, and he'd played so hard he'd knocked it all the way out of the park. There was no fucking world where Worth and Conrad went to faggy parties like boyfriends and talked to art fags and drank faggy green drinks. The real world was the one where they found themselves in the ladies' room and managed to break a changing station trying to fuck right through it.
The only question was whether he wanted to take it poking around Conrad's condo until he woke up, or if Worth wanted to hightail it. He decided he didn't need to see any more of Conrad's private faggy shit and he was just going to skip out.
.
Worth was in his clinic the next night because he knew Conrad would find him there. He knew he had to have this conversation before Conrad thought about shit too much and Worth had to push around a faggy vampire equipped with deranged art fag logic. Worth was sitting behind his desk literally pushing papers, namely a large stack of index cards that he had written lewd things on some of which he was guiding around the edge of his desk because no one was bleeding and Hanna wasn't dying.
Conrad banged open the front door and Worth stopped fucking with his index cards.
Worth was expecting Conrad to be angry, so he could yell at him and make fun of him for being that stupid. But when he saw Conrad's face, actually full of that stupid hope Worth had never fucking seen except for the night before, Worth realized Conrad hadn't gotten anything. He still thought it was all real.
"I figured you'd run off," Conrad began, a bit breathlessly, as he closed the rest of the small distance to the desk. "Since my condo is probably really boring for that many hours. But I wanted to find you as soon as it was dark out."
Worth gave Conrad a flat look, not revealing anything, because he didn't even know where to start. It was like fucking shooting fish in a fucking barrel. Clearly quick and to the point would do it.
"Aye doan' like yer fuckin' coffee, or yer fuckin' hands helpin' me get less disgustin', or yer faggy art parties with your drama queen girlfrien's, an' just 'cause I doan' let yeh toast up doan' mean yer idealistic wet dreams abou' losin' yer virginity mean anything."
Worth continued his flat stare, which quickly went sour and began turning into a leer. At first Conrad was staring back, a look of perfect shock spread across his face like clean white paint. Worth wondered if anyone had ever broken Conrad's little faggy heart before, and even more dimly if he'd really just done it. Conrad's expression began to crumble around the edges too, until he just shut down into a stone-faced grimace of utter distaste.
"I don't even... I won't ever..." Conrad began, muttering low and dangerous and with such perfect lack of emotion that Worth believed so fervently that Conrad would close that last tiny gap and strangle the life out of him, not bite him once to feed because Conrad knew Worth would like that too much.
Conrad didn't finish what he was trying to get out, but after the evening on the inside, Worth could finish the thought for him. Conrad was trying to say that he couldn't fucking believe he had ever actually let Worth close enough to stab him in the heart like that, and that it would never happen again. It wasn't even Worth being vain. He didn't even exactly feel proud about it. He just knew he'd finally gotten inside that little shell Connie had that no one could touch, and he'd ripped every last monument down while he was in there.
Conrad took one step back, but Worth could tell by the way his hands were held cleanly away from his body, not shaking at all, that it wasn't cowardice. It was Conrad, for the very first time, feeling that cold blind rage that was supposed to wash over vampires and drive them absolutely insane with fury. Considering that it was Conrad's very first time, he should have been ripping out Worth's jugular with his whole mouth – which Worth would admit would be a very fine way to go.
But instead Conrad took another step back, flashed a brief glimpse of absolute disgust across his features, and turned on his heel to stalk out. Worth waited another five minutes to make sure Conrad was really gone.
Then Worth went back to sliding his index card train around his desk, not wanting to touch any of the drugs for at least another week and waiting for some poor schmuck to stumble in. He still didn't feel guilty. He was actually starting to smile, wide and certain, thinking about the next evening when the hot fast anger would come over Conrad, because Worth had every faith that this time Conrad would boil over and come to settle the score.
He expected to be so badly fucked up that he wouldn't know his ass from his armpit five days down the road, and he was awaiting it with the start of a perpetual hard-on. He didn't care if there was any real sex involved whenever Conrad got it up to take the piss out of him. He was going to come so much harder than the night before, and it was worth every minute of it.