Oh, how this child glowed in the moonlight.
Last year, when the visitor had stood here over his bed, watching him sleep, he had indeed been merely a little boy. His skinny arms had been locked tightly around a stuffed white rabbit, his face burrowed into the fur as if the toy were a cherished lover.
On this night, a year later, the rabbit no longer warranted a place in the boy's bed, because at a few months shy of eleven, he was growing beyond such things. Not completely; it leaned against his wall, a little more battered, a bit more frayed. A bit closer to being locked away in the attic for donation to a second hand store, or perhaps a future rescue by this boy's own son or daughter.
Having no fear of waking the boy, for he made no sounds, the visitor leaned closer, studying his features carefully, smiling to himself.
The baby fat, like the rabbit, had been banished. The face in the pillow was lean and hollow now, the cheekbones well defined. The blankets were half on, half off, and the visitor was pleased to observe long, thin limbs, as he knew full well they would become. Never bulky, this child. Nor would he ever be so. The cute kitten look was rapidly fading into something more primal and far more hunting cat than house pet. For a few more years, he'd probably be content to bat at the strings dangled in front of him, but the claws he was growing could not, would not be sheathed forever.
He did not understand these feelings yet, these desires. They were vague within him, making him uneasy and restless. All of these things the visitor could tell merely by watching him sleep, and he was pleased. There had been no guarantee, after all, that the boy would be anything like he wanted him to become, other than in his physical appearance, which had never been in any doubt.
The visitor considered this merely an added bonus. This lovely child would become a beautiful man, but it was the spirit he desired. Raw and rough, but it could be shaped, honed, perfected.
He could be Saved.
Impatience was a flaw only in those who did not have time, and the visitor was in no hurry. The child would age in his own time, at his own pace, and when he was ripe, he could be safely plucked.
"Sleep, Little One. Sleep and grow. I've got plans for us. Exciting plans. Nothing you need to worry about right now."
He reached out and cupped the small chin, running his fingers down the lines formed by the moonlight. Still not waking up, the head turned in his touch, unconsciously taking comfort from it.
One more stop to make tonight, one more attempt... bah, why did he bother? The answer was always the same. Why was he wasting his time?
He laughed at that. He, who had no time to waste?
He looked down at the child again, and considered. Last year... last year he had not used the boy in his arguments, because last year he had not been sure his little project would turn out as he hoped. He had been reasonably certain, but not until tonight had he seen the roots firmly planted and taking root.
One day the boy would suit his needs.
But far better if the man he was going to see would suit them tonight.
********************************
He was awake, as the visitor knew he would be. Lying on the couch, a bottle in his hand, staring off into space. Each year, he sat like that, waiting, knowing what was going to happen. Knowing there was no way to avoid it. Both dreading it and desperate for it.
The visitor stood for a minute in the shadows, drinking in the sight of the man, for he only allowed himself this one visit each year, no more. And each conversation he forced to last himself throughout the next year, until he could return again.
"Happy birthday." He greeted the man, as he always did.
There came no reply. There never did. The man raised the bottle and took a long swig.
"Did you celebrate?" The visitor continued. "A party? I can't see you doing that. You nearly killed us all for celebrating your 30th birthday. Do you remember that? How we had the funeral for you? Or did you just spend the night here, trying to get drunk enough to forget that you're 40 now?"
Still no reply, but the man titled his head back, the bloodshot eyes giving his uninvited guest one long, emotionless look before staring away again.
"I saw your son tonight." The visitor said casually.
The bottle clanked to the floor and the man turned around fully, his face furious.
"I go to see him every year. Did I ever tell you that? I make sure he never wakes up and sees me."
"You stay away from him!"
"And what if I don't?" The visitor moved over and sat down on the floor, crossing his legs. "What are you going to do to stop me? Poor Brian, you never did have very much luck getting me to do anything I didn't want to." He reached to touch the man's face, and Brian jerked away, snarling.
"He's a baby."
"For now. But he's not that much younger than I was. And he's growing up quickly. He's going to be a heartbreaker, your son. He'll be beautiful, as beautiful as you were the first time I saw you." He leaned closer. "I can keep him that way, Brian. I can make sure he stays beautiful. Wouldn't you like that for him? Wouldn't any father?"
"No." Brian said savagely. "I'd rather see him dead than like you!"
"Would you rather see him old, like you?" Came the taunt. "You're still beautiful, Brian, but it's going... going, and soon it's going to be all gone. When was the last time you got laid?"
A flash of pain, quick and more quickly buried.
"I thought so. So many younger man to choose from, aren't there? So many other beauties available. Oh, you'll still find one or two every now and then, but it's not like it was, is it? When you could have had any of them?"
"Get out of my house."
A sigh. "Come here." The visitor stood and walked to a mirror, beckoning. "Come on, I'm not going to hurt you."
A slave. A slave to that look, that motion, those eyes. Every bit as much a damn slave as he had been ten years ago, although he had always called himself the master. He obeyed, watching those blue eyes gleam in delight, as they always had when he had bent to their will.
"Look at us." The visitor urged, pointing. "The myths are so silly, don't you think? I cast as much of a reflection as anyone else. Look at us together. You are getting old, and I still look exactly like I did..." He lowered his voice. "The last time you held me here against this mirror and took me."
Brian jerked away from the look, the memories, rubbing his eyes. "You may look the same." He hissed. "But you aren't!"
"I'm still me, Brian. You know that I am. You always saw me this way, no matter what anyone else thought."
Brian wanted nothing more than to dispute the words, but he couldn't, because they were true and he knew they were true. Perhaps this creature was different; he'd spent the last ten years indulging every whim, denying himself nothing, savoring every experience, but how would he have been different if he hadn't... he'd probably be exactly as he was right now.
Still, he had to try and fight, because it wasn't only his life at stake here.
"The Justin I knew would never have threatened a child!"
"And I still won't. Threatening him? I'm not threatening him, I'm offering to Save him. Save him from sore bones, save him from lonely nights. From being as sad and miserable as you are now."
"Your idea of salvation and mine are a little different."
"He won't be ready for a few years yet. But you will be. When 40 becomes 50, you'll be ready for my gift. But by then, it'll be far kinder not to give it to you. Who wants to spend eternity old? By that time, he'll be just right for me to reintroduce myself to. He'll be madly in love with his youth, his strength, his power." Justin laughed. "And he'll be madly in love with me. I'm going to have one of you; you or him. I'd rather have you; you know that. But like I told you in the old days, if you won't give me what I want, I'll just have to go and find someone else who will."
"Then FIND someone else. Anyone else. But not him. Not Gus..."
No answer, just a calm look.
He did look exactly the same.
The same as he had that night, standing proudly beside his first car, showing it off. It wasn't much to show off; Brian had offered to loan him money for a better one, but he had refused. "I want it to be mine." He had laughed. "Completely mine. I'm going to be in debt to you forever anyway."
He had looked like a small, excited child, nearly patting the car in excitement. "I'm going to go show my mom. I'll be home soon."
"You better be."
"I promise." A kiss, a grope and a grin, and then he slid into his car and started the engine, and vanished in a haze of smoke and red taillights. A blond James Dean...
"Thinking about that night, aren't you?" Justin asked gently.
"I wish you had died. I wish they'd never found you, those things!"
"At first, I did too. Especially when I found out what I had become... but I was wrong! It was the most incredible thing that ever happened to me. I was Saved that night. Everything has been better since then. I can draw again; my hand doesn't shake. No worries about money, no worries about fitting in. And the sex... the sex is impossible to describe."
"Is it worth what you gave up? Your friends, your family?" He paused. "Me?"
"You gave me up, Brian, not the other way around. I came back for you."
He walked toward the other man and gently put his arms around him, and Brian did not resist. "Each year I come back for you, and each year you push me away. I love you. Don't you understand that by now? I have almost everything I need to be completely happy, except for you. And very soon, I'll have that happiness again. I'll have Gus."
Brian pulled back, but the arms around him were much too strong. "I will, you know I will."
Brian bowed his head, shuddering. "No. I'll... I'll give you what you want. I'll let you... do what you need to do to me. But I won't let you have him."
"If I have you, I won't need him." Justin's smile was as bright and real as it had been with the car. "But you'll have to lose him for yourself. You can't stay here once it's done. You'll have to vanish."
"I know. And I'll never forgive you for this. For forcing me into this. You can have me for your eternity, but I'll hate you for every single second of it."
"I can live with that. You'll be with me; that's all that matters."
He took Brian's hand and led him up the few stairs into the bedroom and sat down on the bed. "Ironic, isn't it?"
His long fingers slid under Brian's white tee-shirt. "You made me a man in this room. And now, I'll return the favor. I'm going to make you a better one."
Cool lips pressed against his, and Brian was lost. Not just in body but in spirit as well. Because he could lie; he could say that this was all for Gus, but in this embrace, he began to weep. It was right, it was familiar, it had been stolen from him. And he wanted it back. He wanted Justin back, and if this was as close as he could come, then he no longer had the power to resist.
Gus would be secure. He would grieve for his father, but he was young; he would heal. He would live a long life, and he might have children of his own, and he would grow old and die.
Mikey would grieve for him, but he had Adam to comfort him. As much as he had scoffed at their relationship, he had always been thankfully his best friend wasn't alone these days, and never would be again.
The lips were against his neck, and he arched upward as the skin was broken. It was both pain and pleasure, and before he lost himself to both, he heard Justin whisper again. "Happy Birthday."
Last year, when the visitor had stood here over his bed, watching him sleep, he had indeed been merely a little boy. His skinny arms had been locked tightly around a stuffed white rabbit, his face burrowed into the fur as if the toy were a cherished lover.
On this night, a year later, the rabbit no longer warranted a place in the boy's bed, because at a few months shy of eleven, he was growing beyond such things. Not completely; it leaned against his wall, a little more battered, a bit more frayed. A bit closer to being locked away in the attic for donation to a second hand store, or perhaps a future rescue by this boy's own son or daughter.
Having no fear of waking the boy, for he made no sounds, the visitor leaned closer, studying his features carefully, smiling to himself.
The baby fat, like the rabbit, had been banished. The face in the pillow was lean and hollow now, the cheekbones well defined. The blankets were half on, half off, and the visitor was pleased to observe long, thin limbs, as he knew full well they would become. Never bulky, this child. Nor would he ever be so. The cute kitten look was rapidly fading into something more primal and far more hunting cat than house pet. For a few more years, he'd probably be content to bat at the strings dangled in front of him, but the claws he was growing could not, would not be sheathed forever.
He did not understand these feelings yet, these desires. They were vague within him, making him uneasy and restless. All of these things the visitor could tell merely by watching him sleep, and he was pleased. There had been no guarantee, after all, that the boy would be anything like he wanted him to become, other than in his physical appearance, which had never been in any doubt.
The visitor considered this merely an added bonus. This lovely child would become a beautiful man, but it was the spirit he desired. Raw and rough, but it could be shaped, honed, perfected.
He could be Saved.
Impatience was a flaw only in those who did not have time, and the visitor was in no hurry. The child would age in his own time, at his own pace, and when he was ripe, he could be safely plucked.
"Sleep, Little One. Sleep and grow. I've got plans for us. Exciting plans. Nothing you need to worry about right now."
He reached out and cupped the small chin, running his fingers down the lines formed by the moonlight. Still not waking up, the head turned in his touch, unconsciously taking comfort from it.
One more stop to make tonight, one more attempt... bah, why did he bother? The answer was always the same. Why was he wasting his time?
He laughed at that. He, who had no time to waste?
He looked down at the child again, and considered. Last year... last year he had not used the boy in his arguments, because last year he had not been sure his little project would turn out as he hoped. He had been reasonably certain, but not until tonight had he seen the roots firmly planted and taking root.
One day the boy would suit his needs.
But far better if the man he was going to see would suit them tonight.
********************************
He was awake, as the visitor knew he would be. Lying on the couch, a bottle in his hand, staring off into space. Each year, he sat like that, waiting, knowing what was going to happen. Knowing there was no way to avoid it. Both dreading it and desperate for it.
The visitor stood for a minute in the shadows, drinking in the sight of the man, for he only allowed himself this one visit each year, no more. And each conversation he forced to last himself throughout the next year, until he could return again.
"Happy birthday." He greeted the man, as he always did.
There came no reply. There never did. The man raised the bottle and took a long swig.
"Did you celebrate?" The visitor continued. "A party? I can't see you doing that. You nearly killed us all for celebrating your 30th birthday. Do you remember that? How we had the funeral for you? Or did you just spend the night here, trying to get drunk enough to forget that you're 40 now?"
Still no reply, but the man titled his head back, the bloodshot eyes giving his uninvited guest one long, emotionless look before staring away again.
"I saw your son tonight." The visitor said casually.
The bottle clanked to the floor and the man turned around fully, his face furious.
"I go to see him every year. Did I ever tell you that? I make sure he never wakes up and sees me."
"You stay away from him!"
"And what if I don't?" The visitor moved over and sat down on the floor, crossing his legs. "What are you going to do to stop me? Poor Brian, you never did have very much luck getting me to do anything I didn't want to." He reached to touch the man's face, and Brian jerked away, snarling.
"He's a baby."
"For now. But he's not that much younger than I was. And he's growing up quickly. He's going to be a heartbreaker, your son. He'll be beautiful, as beautiful as you were the first time I saw you." He leaned closer. "I can keep him that way, Brian. I can make sure he stays beautiful. Wouldn't you like that for him? Wouldn't any father?"
"No." Brian said savagely. "I'd rather see him dead than like you!"
"Would you rather see him old, like you?" Came the taunt. "You're still beautiful, Brian, but it's going... going, and soon it's going to be all gone. When was the last time you got laid?"
A flash of pain, quick and more quickly buried.
"I thought so. So many younger man to choose from, aren't there? So many other beauties available. Oh, you'll still find one or two every now and then, but it's not like it was, is it? When you could have had any of them?"
"Get out of my house."
A sigh. "Come here." The visitor stood and walked to a mirror, beckoning. "Come on, I'm not going to hurt you."
A slave. A slave to that look, that motion, those eyes. Every bit as much a damn slave as he had been ten years ago, although he had always called himself the master. He obeyed, watching those blue eyes gleam in delight, as they always had when he had bent to their will.
"Look at us." The visitor urged, pointing. "The myths are so silly, don't you think? I cast as much of a reflection as anyone else. Look at us together. You are getting old, and I still look exactly like I did..." He lowered his voice. "The last time you held me here against this mirror and took me."
Brian jerked away from the look, the memories, rubbing his eyes. "You may look the same." He hissed. "But you aren't!"
"I'm still me, Brian. You know that I am. You always saw me this way, no matter what anyone else thought."
Brian wanted nothing more than to dispute the words, but he couldn't, because they were true and he knew they were true. Perhaps this creature was different; he'd spent the last ten years indulging every whim, denying himself nothing, savoring every experience, but how would he have been different if he hadn't... he'd probably be exactly as he was right now.
Still, he had to try and fight, because it wasn't only his life at stake here.
"The Justin I knew would never have threatened a child!"
"And I still won't. Threatening him? I'm not threatening him, I'm offering to Save him. Save him from sore bones, save him from lonely nights. From being as sad and miserable as you are now."
"Your idea of salvation and mine are a little different."
"He won't be ready for a few years yet. But you will be. When 40 becomes 50, you'll be ready for my gift. But by then, it'll be far kinder not to give it to you. Who wants to spend eternity old? By that time, he'll be just right for me to reintroduce myself to. He'll be madly in love with his youth, his strength, his power." Justin laughed. "And he'll be madly in love with me. I'm going to have one of you; you or him. I'd rather have you; you know that. But like I told you in the old days, if you won't give me what I want, I'll just have to go and find someone else who will."
"Then FIND someone else. Anyone else. But not him. Not Gus..."
No answer, just a calm look.
He did look exactly the same.
The same as he had that night, standing proudly beside his first car, showing it off. It wasn't much to show off; Brian had offered to loan him money for a better one, but he had refused. "I want it to be mine." He had laughed. "Completely mine. I'm going to be in debt to you forever anyway."
He had looked like a small, excited child, nearly patting the car in excitement. "I'm going to go show my mom. I'll be home soon."
"You better be."
"I promise." A kiss, a grope and a grin, and then he slid into his car and started the engine, and vanished in a haze of smoke and red taillights. A blond James Dean...
"Thinking about that night, aren't you?" Justin asked gently.
"I wish you had died. I wish they'd never found you, those things!"
"At first, I did too. Especially when I found out what I had become... but I was wrong! It was the most incredible thing that ever happened to me. I was Saved that night. Everything has been better since then. I can draw again; my hand doesn't shake. No worries about money, no worries about fitting in. And the sex... the sex is impossible to describe."
"Is it worth what you gave up? Your friends, your family?" He paused. "Me?"
"You gave me up, Brian, not the other way around. I came back for you."
He walked toward the other man and gently put his arms around him, and Brian did not resist. "Each year I come back for you, and each year you push me away. I love you. Don't you understand that by now? I have almost everything I need to be completely happy, except for you. And very soon, I'll have that happiness again. I'll have Gus."
Brian pulled back, but the arms around him were much too strong. "I will, you know I will."
Brian bowed his head, shuddering. "No. I'll... I'll give you what you want. I'll let you... do what you need to do to me. But I won't let you have him."
"If I have you, I won't need him." Justin's smile was as bright and real as it had been with the car. "But you'll have to lose him for yourself. You can't stay here once it's done. You'll have to vanish."
"I know. And I'll never forgive you for this. For forcing me into this. You can have me for your eternity, but I'll hate you for every single second of it."
"I can live with that. You'll be with me; that's all that matters."
He took Brian's hand and led him up the few stairs into the bedroom and sat down on the bed. "Ironic, isn't it?"
His long fingers slid under Brian's white tee-shirt. "You made me a man in this room. And now, I'll return the favor. I'm going to make you a better one."
Cool lips pressed against his, and Brian was lost. Not just in body but in spirit as well. Because he could lie; he could say that this was all for Gus, but in this embrace, he began to weep. It was right, it was familiar, it had been stolen from him. And he wanted it back. He wanted Justin back, and if this was as close as he could come, then he no longer had the power to resist.
Gus would be secure. He would grieve for his father, but he was young; he would heal. He would live a long life, and he might have children of his own, and he would grow old and die.
Mikey would grieve for him, but he had Adam to comfort him. As much as he had scoffed at their relationship, he had always been thankfully his best friend wasn't alone these days, and never would be again.
The lips were against his neck, and he arched upward as the skin was broken. It was both pain and pleasure, and before he lost himself to both, he heard Justin whisper again. "Happy Birthday."