Playing Normal
Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Yana Toboso and Square Enix, Co. Ltd. I don't own them; I just examine all their possibilities.
Author's Note: This is based on my headcanon of Grell in the 1970s. It is an AU concept and not based at all in canon, so I will not defend anything in canon. This is my own idea alone. If you like it, great: if not, there's the back button.
This story does include some dialogue with problematic phrasings and elements of homophobia and transphobia. This is done only to illustrate character perspectives and does not reflect the opinions of the author.
Part 1: The main story
It is November of 1976, a little past midnight. Two lovers were along the edges of Piccadilly Circus on another lovely night on the town. Just a few hours ago they were sitting in the plush velvet seats of a West End playhouse watching a stellar production of "Jesus Christ Superstar."
In the dark of the theater they were discreetly holding hands, now they walk a few feet from each other as they cross the street and dodge a few speeding cars. Alas, society would not react well to these two showing affections; both these lovers are men. Society has moved forward, such love is no longer illegal. Alas it is still a simple time where these two have to hide their love from the rest of the world.
Now they just look like two blokes in their smart jackets keeping out the fall wind. Talk turns to dinner; shall we have Indian or try out that new sushi place? Amidst the chitchat a few words sneak out of what they want to do to each other in bed later.
Their path changes to a less populated area, one of those dimly lit spaces everyone's mother tells them are pits of danger. They're not worried; the taller, burly man with the balding brown hair is in fact a Metro Police inspector. His companion is a much smaller man with shaggy ginger hair, a neat mustache, and thick-framed specs. He looks a little less hearty but he can certainly take care of himself too.
They continued chatting amidst the quiet of this side street, a shortcut to the car park where the bigger man's chariot (or more specifically his blue Ford Granada) awaits. All is peaceful, everything feels normal, but this evening is about to take a tragic turn.
Near the end of the street the surroundings grew a bit darker. A few streetlights out? That was the easy explanation though something felt a little more off. That was when the figures came out of the shadows: one iron-tough body slamming into the cop, hands ensnaring the slight ginger.
Taunts and sneers went all around. Hooligans, they thought: a bunch of rowdies going after some cash. Or more likely a group of bounders who knew full well the nature of the lovers' relationship and wanted to voice their opinion of such a union with their fists and a cricket bat.
Your average hooligan, however, does not have razor sharp fangs. Your average hooligan does not blur from vision as he moves. The ginger looked up and was now facing two sets of exposed fangs. He whimpered, then looked to his dashing lover. His brave companion has his arms pinned behind his back and is shouting. Any other story would end with the monsters being slain, the cop emerging the hero and saving his damsel in distress.
This isn't one of those stories…well, in a way it is but a bit different. This whole story is a mess, though it is a tragically entertaining mess.
I believe the best way to describe this is one way: a cautionary tale. It's a story of you never really know someone.
Overall this is a cautionary tale of what happens when humans and those creatures of other natures get into bed with each other, literally and figuratively. And this is what happens when a couple men of a certain age go through an identity crisis.
When you're in a state of questioning everything, reexamining your very nature and the very course of the universe, you do some things out of the ordinary. Sometimes it's a simple change of fashion or lifestyle. It can open up your perspective to possibilities you never thought on before. Or it can lead to getting involved with a creature of a species other than your own. Sometimes this can be rewarding, other times can have disastrous results.
This is a story about how both came to pass. This is a story I know quite well and one for which I will try to play the impartial narrator at least for a little while.
Before we learn the fate of our heroes, let's get to know them a little.
Mike and Nick had been indeed been a normal couple in a time when they could have some semblance of normality. They could court in certain circles; they could consummate their affections without fear of prosecution. The rest of society still frowned on them but neither of them cared.
They met in a club six months back: one of the quieter ones. The boys who flirted around here dressed nicely and the music was a bit less loud. Nick was sitting down having a pint; Mike approached him half soused with this goofy smirk.
"You there," Mike said. "Tell me, who was the monarch when you were born?"
Nick cocked an amused eyebrow at the handsome plunker.
"George," Nick replied, raising his glass in reverence.
Mike raised his glass high with a hand to his heart.
"God bless him," he replied.
He then sat right down at the table next to the stranger.
"Ya know I've been meeting so many kids in these places, I'm looking for someone a bit more mature," Mike continued.
Nick put a hand to his chest of mock offense.
"Oh dear me you're not calling me old are you?" Nick sputtered, his tone giving so much away about him.
"I'm calling you an adult," Mike continued. "Bout bloody time I met one round here."
"Well pardon me for a clichéd phrase but I can't help myself: come here often?"
Mike guffawed, splashing around the beer in his glass.
"Yeah a bit," he replied. "I'm…well…"
He paused looking for the right words, fidgeting nervously. Nick leaned in, wanting to hear him say it. Mike leaned in like he was telling a deep secret.
"I'm not used to this whole scene," he finally said.
Nick gave a shrill giggle.
"You haven't been out for long have you?" he replied.
Mike looked around nervously.
"Bloody hell, man, you're surrounded by prancing fairies and you're afraid to admit you're a queer too?" Nick chided.
Mike looked down at his glass, his cheeks turning bright red.
"That shade of red suits you, darling," Nick said, one finger stroking Mike's cheek.
Mike remained a bit stiff, but he relaxed right away.
Nick bought him another pint. They chatted and finally got names out of each other. The closet case was Mike; the flaming ginger called himself Nick. They talked they got tipsy, they playfully ran hands through hair and fingers over arms. They promised to meet some other place the next night. Both would go to their respective homes with grins and a few light steps.
They met the next night and shot billiards. The night after Nick invited him to see a gig by a surprisingly loud group of kids he highly recommended. Nick mentioned having a few hands in the music scene. Allegedly knew his way around a studio and namedropped a few famous friends. Mike seemed impressed, not everyday one meets someone who has tea with Bowie and calls up John and Yoko whenever he visits New York. Mike never called bollocks on it; perhaps he was just being polite.
Within a week they were in the men's room of another establishment; Nick's hands gripping the top edge of the metal stall, his spectacles scraping the wall where his breaths fogged up the shiny surface with every agile move Mike made. Mike would stop for a moment if he heard the door open, Nick's position would hide his eye roll but patience was in order for a green one. Nick didn't care if anyone heard his screaming but he had to calm Mike later.
"Darling what did I say about being surrounded by fairies?" Nick said between drags on a cigarette outside later. "You're just lucky we didn't have a whole chorus going in there."
Eventually Mike did calm down a bit more, this whole thing became a bit more common. After a few more weeks of regular meetings an a few other dalliances in men's rooms, closets, and side lounges they were indeed a couple.
They seemed so different on appearances; this man's man talking football and tools beside this flamer picking apart people's outfits and greeting friends with kisses on the cheek. Nick liked his scotch and his shots of vodka. Nick preferred the lighter fare. Yes he had lager but he was more of a wine guy, occasionally getting a fruity thing with an umbrella.
Deep down they had a bit more in common. Both of them were headstrong as hell, both rather loud and social in their own ways. Neither were ashamed of calling someone out or getting two steps away from trading blows with someone who got in their way.
It took a while but finally they learned more about each other.
Nick learned Mike was a policeman, an inspector in the Metros to be exact. For some reason Nick grinned wide and giggled like mad.
"Yeah I know, I'm a cop doing illegal things like public sodomy," Mike said.
He elaborated a bit: he's a member of the Flying Squad, going against robberies though he has some special expertise in organized crime. He's high enough to have his own cubicle in New Scotland Yard, a fact that made Nick giggle a little harder to Mike's bemusement.
Of course Mike emphasized it's far from glamorous and hardly what they show on "The Sweeney." He's a grunt in a department that is crawling with corruption. Of course he's one of those honest angels who doesn't take kickbacks to mess with evidence or look the other way. So nice to have a knight in shining armor.
Mike didn't ask too many questions himself, until Nick mentioned having to be home earlier because he had an early shift at his day job.
"Office? I thought you were a full time jetsetter?" Mike asked.
"Oh no no, I'm an office prat myself," Nick replied.
"So what is it you do, if you don't mind me asking?" Mike said.
"Oh I don't mind. I have to say you are rather considerate."
"Every man has his own business I don't make it a habit of sticking my nose into someone else's."
"How gracious of you."
There was a slight pause, slight enough to be noticeable.
"I'm an accountant," Nick replied. "A private but a pretty big firm. I do a lot of field work, it's actually rather fun."
"A fun accounting job?"
Nick snickered a little.
"I meet a lot of interesting people in a lot of different positions in life. I so love meeting people."
Mike seemed satisfied with that and didn't ask any other questions. That was until they met up with a few of Nick's rocker friends in a lounge. When they got back to the street Mike did ask one follow-up question.
"I could have sworn I heard one of your friends, I think it was Johnny, anyway I swore I heard him call you something," Mike said. "What did he call you? Grall or something?"
Nick stopped in his tracks and laughed nervously. Mike laughed along, probably waiting to hear an amusing story. Nick paused for a moment in contemplation, then sighed hard.
"He called me Grell," Nick replied.
"Grell? What's the significance of that?" Mike asked.
"Well, it's actually my real name."
Mike's eyes widened and his jaw dropped, but he chuckled.
"So we're at the level of finally knowing your real name," Mike tensely snickered. "I feel special. So Nick Sutcliff is actually…"
"Grell Sutcliff, yes, but I do refer to go by Nick. I have since I was a kid actually. Look, my family history's a long story, but let's just say I got saddled with an odd German name; me an English kid who went to a school that had just been rebuilt after the Blitz."
"Christ," Mike winced. "Say no more, mate."
"Yeah, you get called a 'filthy Kraut' enough in your primary grades so when you get to change schools you make another little change. Nick is a part of my middle name, it was a natural change."
Mike nodded in understanding.
"So do you prefer I call you Nick?" Mike asked.
"Please, I'd nearly forgotten that other one," the confirmed Nick replied.
From that point on the name Grell was essentially forgotten and Nick continued to be Nick.
They started meeting at Mike's tiny flat. It was tidy but not well dusted, naturally there were football banners all over the walls with the occasional tourist photo of London, though it was the personal photos that intrigued Nick more.
It took some prodding and some liquor one night but Mike finally let it all out.
Mike came from a working class family in Surrey. He did the usual things a common boy does; go to school, play sports, hang with his chums. In secondary school he met his sweetheart Ariana. He spoke of her matter-of-factly, like just part of his autobiography.
Right after graduating he enlisted in the Royal Army to give himself some job prospects. Mike did dig out a photo album showing his brawny self in a smart uniform or camo, others hanging out with some of his buddies. He served for five years; then came home, married his sweetheart, and found a job as a police officer.
"I swear, Nick, I had the perfect life," he said wistfully. "Just a few years ago I was in my early thirties and I got a wife, two kids, I'm a brave officer of the law, the community loves me. I shoulda been happy, but no I really wasn't.
Then he met Paul at a pub. Mike was even more relaxed when he started this story; a little less guarded though perhaps a little angrier.
Paul was an investment banker, but he was just a regular chum. They became best mates in one sense, then it got complicated. It started with meetings at the pub then it became meetings at Paul's flat.
"It was kind of like how we are," Mike said.
Over time they were sitting closer on the couch, then Paul held his hand. Of course there were the usual denials "I am not a poofter" and all that but the excuses ended in Paul's four-poster bed.
Mike stopped denying what was going on; in fact he embraced it. He would play the devoted husband during the day, at night he was exploring all of Paul's parts and realizing what he had always been missing. This went on for a year and Mike was growing more and more sure that the domestic life was not for him.
"I was a gay man," Mike declared, raising his glass. "Everything just made sense. Paul just opened up my world, he opened my eyes, he made me feel things I never thought."
Mike would calmly confess to his wife he was having an affair and he no longer had the same feelings. Of course he didn't say with whom he was cheating.
"Christ if I woulda told her that that would have been it for me; my job would be gone, my kids would be gone, everything would have been bollocksed."
"So she never found out about you and dearest Paul" Nick asked.
Mike shook his head. No, she didn't; but that didn't prevent her from raking him over the coals in court.
"She took everything, she got the house, she got the kids, our accounts, I'm paying her out the arse every month. Now my credit is shit, I barely got this place. My coworkers went and vouched for me."
"What about your kids?"
Mike grimaced and shook his head.
"I have visitation, but I rarely hear from them now," he said. "They were old enough to hear all the shit she was saying about me. They think I'm a cheating bastard; I betrayed mummy with a whore. After a while I stopped bothering and none of them have been asking."
Nick pulled Mike a little closer, some sort of sympathy.
"I was happy with Paul, that was the salve. Now things could be just as they were meant to be, I could be the man I was."
That was until Paul went on a business trip to Asia, then he was never heard from. Calls were not returned, letters were sent back unanswered.
"Then one day I'm watching the news and whose face is plastered all over it," Mike continued. "Who's being dragged through Heathrow in handcuffs? Dear, dear Paul."
Nick's jaw dropped.
"Oh dear me what happened?" he gasped.
"Offshore money laundering," Mike replied, pouring himself another glass. "Had a pretty good operation going. The crown found out, found out about his teenage harem boys in Thailand too."
"Oh my God," Nick sighed, patting Mike's arm. "What a louse."
Mike just nodded.
"It was all over the papers, I had to read about him every fucking day. Thank the Lord they never found out about me; his other office boyfriends were a bit noticeable as they sold him out. He went to jail; I got to stay where I was unscathed. Well my name was unscathed anyway."
"But not your heart. Here you are fresh out in the open, sacrificing everything for an ungrateful love. I am so sorry, my dear."
Mike just knocked back another beer and shrugged.
"I'm living," he replied though Nick just saw more.
He changed the subject from there; the tough guy just couldn't be seen crying. There was a little more chatter, eventually some snogging, and a nice lay on Mike's creaky bed.
Nick would understand much more when Mike talked about murderously long shifts or nights in a tiny flat watching football on the telly and getting soused. He would hear how Mike would venture into a few gay bars; all he found were college kids in tight pants sipping colorful drinks.
Mike told Nick all about it at a restaurant; he told him how he found a bunch of young prats with no shirts on and leather pants or creepy men with handlebar mustaches and leather vests. Nick was keeping his gaze on his drink this whole time Mike was describing this. Mike didn't notice the way his jaw was clenching with every description about "fun boys" and "after my arse."
"Then you get the drag queens, like I want to see a bunch of men pretend to be women," he said.
He snickered between sips, then the pointed toe of an Italian shoe connected square with his kneecap. Mike yelped and looked to see the pointed glare of his companion. Nick sipped his beer, then cleared a few suds from his mustache with a few dainty blots of a napkin.
"Please don't be rude," Nick said calmly though with enough of an edge that Mike stared at him for a few seconds with a concerned look.
"Sorry," he said. "Look I'm an old fashioned guy, like I told you this whole thing is new to me. I'm an alien here, and I guess what I need is a good guide."
"No you're a compatriot who doesn't yet understand all the nuances, and you can start by not being a tit. You sound no better than the twats you're hiding from."
Nick expected a lot more petty excuses; instead Mike bowed his head
"I really am sorry, old rubbish impressions are hard to overcome," he replied. "I am a tit, but I want to learn how not to be one."
Nick looked at him and lightly squeezed his hand with a hallways smile.
"I'll help you as long as you work at it," Nick replied.
And Mike did. He caught himself if he spoke disparagingly of culture about which he had no knowledge. Nick introduced him to some of these party boys, invited him to private teas with artists. He even brought him to parties with interesting mixes of all sorts.
Nick would introduce Mike to some beautiful ladies with surprisingly deep voices. Occasionally they talked of estrogen injections and how nice it felt to get called "Ma'am" at the store. Nick watched as Mike went from shifting uncomfortably and stayed meters away from these ladies to singing and embracing them by the end of the night.
During all this "training," Mike asked him the question on the couch.
"When did you…you know…know?" Mike asked.
Nick snickered at the question; he knew exactly what this was about. He paused for a moment in contemplation.
"I was sixteen, I just entered that lovely new school," he started with a little smirk. "I had so many friends; friends with perfect muscles and lovely hair. I sometimes sat in their laps and touched their hair, playfully I thought but it was so much more. Then I would dream of them at night, they were all naked and doing ghastly things to me. I woke up and had to change my knickers. I guess I knew instantly."
"Really? You just accepted it?" Mike asked almost incredulously.
"I did indeed, shockingly enough. Now this was a much different time, that sort of thing was just not talked about. It was a hellworthy sin, it was against everything decent, but that's what I was. It felt exciting to be a sinner."
Mike was doubling over in laughter.
Nick opened up a bit more after this. He had been a bit guarded, but Mike never asked a man his business.
Nick mentioned his friend Ron, a former coworker who has been working in Berlin for a long time. Ronnie, as he called him, might be coming back to London.
"Oh you'd love him, he's a man's man like you," Nick said. "He's straight as straight can be, but he's certainly accepting."
Nick also started telling Mike stories about his ex William, speaking so wistfully at times.
"I truly loved him once," Nick said with a heavy sigh. "I wanted nothing more for us to belong to each other. But I was a romantic fool then; all I wanted was that perfect soulmate."
William is still his co-worker, "but there's no need to be jealous. We're just friends, I swear. It took a while to finally get to that."
William was apparently a complete uptight corporate type who could be scary when crossed. Mike was a little surprised with the way Nick giggled at this. Will apparently did have his redeeming qualities.
They were but young ones when they entered the company together, Nick said. They had a brief affair, then they separated, then they kept a toxic friendship, then Nick admitted he "fucked up some things really awful" and made it worse. But then there was a twist of fate; one Nick was really not comfortable talking about. What mattered was William softened up a little and they finally connected again.
Will was also highly insecure about his sexual leanings.
"So how many closet cases have you taken under your wing?" Mike asked.
"I stopped counting," Nick snickered. "I consider what I do a public service. William was a bit more special though. I saw a man from another strict upbringing who thought such desires were shameful. He shoved his feelings down too low; he choked all his emotions away. Alas he learned the hard way you have to let it out, but that's not a story for now. I just knew I was obsessed with him, I knew he wanted me and I was going to do everything to make him realize that."
"Did it work?"
"Well yes and no. We started treating each other with a lot more respect; he stopped seeing me as a walking insult, I stopped seeing him as a piece of meat. We met halfway, understood each other, then we could date like adults."
Apparently it didn't work out that well, both of them had their respective crosses to bear. They were still friends and co-workers; he even set Will up with a few other guys.
"Does Will know about me?" Mike asked with a little smirk.
"No, I don't think he's ready for that yet," Nick replied.
Mike would occasionally joke about how he really wanted to meet this lovely accountant. There may have been a few "show him what he's missing" comments that Nick laughed off.
Then the day came when their paths actually crossed. It was a brief moment, they were in a park when Nick happened to see a familiar face approaching. The way he grinned and waved a little made Mike shift uncomfortably. Nick introduced the passer-by as William; they shook hands politely but gave each other unsettled looks. William was a tall, well-built fellow in khakis and a black polo shirt, black hair in a mod cut with neat yet prominent sideburns.
He pulled Nick aside for some "business talk" Mike couldn't hear, though some sideways glances in his direction were a bit telling. Nick would return to Mike, William left with a stiff "Pleasure to meet you, Inspector Frawley," before walking away.
"Sorry, he seems like a wanker," Mike said later.
Nick chortled in response.
"Well yes he is," Nick replied with a nod. "He's actually relaxed a lot. You should have seen what he was like before; you'd be lucky to get a hello out of him."
Mike brought up another issue on the couch one night.
"If you're still shagging him, you know you're darling Will there, or if you want to still shag him I wouldn't be offended."
Nick looked at him like he had grown a second head.
"Now where is this coming from?" Nick asked.
"I don't know, its just I noticed how you were around him," Mike responded. "You just lit up the second you saw him. I know you're a sociable chap, but maybe I just saw something. Look I'm not a jealous guy, I'd rather share you than lose you I guess."
Nick smiled brightly at this and put his arm around Mike. There were ample reassurances that whatever he had with William was done.
"I do get affectionate with him, old habits die hard, but that's all it is," Nick said. "I'll admit something to you; I kind of like not hopping around. I've had a very eventful life, you have too. For once I suppose I'm enjoying some comfort, the kind of comfort I guess I need."
His words trailed off and a sad look came across his face. Mike just looked at him, but Nick got back his usual cheer. The door had just opened a creak on something but Nick was keeping his mouth shut and Mike didn't want to pry.
Then the door opened another night as they lay in Mike's bed, talk turned to the latest alimony check and went a little further.
"You're told from the time you're a kid the plan is always find a wife, have kids. That's always the way it is," Mike went on. "The bride and the groom, mummy and daddy, that's how life works. God help you if you can't do that."
Nick nodded with enthusiasm, then he decided to go a little further.
"I never wanted that when I was a kid, I wanted to just sleep around, get drunk, rinse, repeat," he said, putting his hands behind his head and settling into the pillow. "Then there was a time in my life I did want that perfect family; I wanted the husband and the kids. In truth, Mike, I thought for a while I should have been a wife and a mother."
Mike gazed at him, brow furrowed a little and mouth drooping open a little. Nick looked at him and nodded.
"You mean you thought you were like Linda and Tricia and those other girls, you thought you wanted to be a…"
Nick's little look corrected him.
"I mean you thought you were a…just in the wrong body," Mike reversed.
"Yes actually," Nick sighed. "I had always played with the thought, even as strapping young buck I wore dresses. It was like playing pretend at first, only it was so natural to me. I wanted to be beautiful; I hated being the proper boy. As I got to a certain age, my reckless youth gone, I felt I was missing something. I wanted to know what it was like to carry a baby, to give birth, to be a proud mother. I wanted a husband, a lovely house, a horde of kids. I thought for so long maybe God made a mistake with me."
"What changed that?"
"I think time did, experience," Nick replied with a hard sigh. "Things happened in my life that put my focus on the now and not the what should be. I had to take better care of myself and those around me. Then a lot changed; society changed. Women are going to work now, I know a few fairies like us who are raising kids, though medicine adapted so girls could find their true bodies."
Nick sighed wistfully and lay back a bit.
"I watched as Linda went through her evolution," he continued. "She used to be this skinny little kid, I first saw a boy scared of his own shadow. Then she blossomed into such a beautiful woman. I envied her, I asked so many questions, I thought this was finally my chance to reverse this mistake. Then I started wondering if there was any mistake, how much did I really want that? Did I really want to go through all that or was I fine how I was? Maybe it was a dramatic realization, maybe I just chickened out; still something turned around. That's when I stopped wearing dresses, I put on suits, cut all my hair off, and my hair was really long too. Then grew this lovely thing."
He rubbed his mustache with his index finger.
"I figured why not try being a boy for a change, see how much I like it," he continued.
"And how are you liking it?" Mike asked.
"Just fine for now," Nick replied. "I've been comfortable with it, it's been interesting exploring this side of myself."
"Do you ever think you might change your mind?"
Nick shrugged.
"It's quite possible, but I can't predict ahead. Perhaps I'll come to loathe what I'm doing with myself now or maybe keep at it. Maybe I'll change everything, maybe I won't. Perhaps it's all a big process of figuring myself out."
Mike nodded with a smirk: that made too much sense. Nick turned over on his side and faced his lover.
"If I decided to go that other way, would you still love me?" he asked. "If I shaved this off, grew my hair out, wore dresses and makeup. If I took hormones and got a lovely set of breasts, if I had my outer bits turned into inner bits would you still want to be with me?"
Mike looked at him thoughtfully and ran a hand through his red hair.
"I would," he replied. "You'd still be you."
Nick smiled, leaned, over, and kissed him. It was a good answer, Nick didn't know how sincere it was but it was a start.
The door creaked open a bit more. They were having dinner at Mike's flat one night, Mike accidentally opened a bottle of scotch instead of wine. He realized his mistake before glasses were poured.
"Sorry about that, I know you can't stand the stuff," Mike snickered.
Over dinner Nick told him there was a reason.
"To be honest I do like the stuff, but too much," he said.
"Oh so the truth comes out," Mike snickered. "You refraining?"
"You could say that, though I've heard the term 'recovering' a bit more," Nick replied.
Mike's smile relaxed.
"You have a problem?" he asked.
"One I've put behind me," Nick said.
"But you still drink."
"Only the light stuff and even then I have to make sure it's only a little. It's complicated."
Mike nodded. It was clear he had been allowed in a little more; a position he made sure to respect.
A month later Mike managed to get a much nicer flat in Southwark. He got a bonus and his credit rating boosted up a little, as he told Nick. Nick didn't bother questioning it. He helped him move in, he even helped with some of the maintenance. Mike initially cocked an eyebrow at the offer help build some new shelving, but he was curious if he actually did something.
He wasn't surprised but scared to hear a yelp behind the whirr of the jigsaw. He rushed across the house and sprinted into the kitchen, suddenly seeing a splash of blood and getting ready to run to the phone. Nick just stood with his fingers wrapped in a handkerchief, but still flexing them.
"No I don't need a bloody hospital," Nick sputtered, unwrapping the handkerchief from around his knuckles. "Look at that, just a scratch."
Sure enough the skin was nicked but it wasn't too deep.
"You're a lucky plunker, we should be picking your fingers off the floor," Mike replied.
Nick got right back to work. In the end Mike had a gorgeous set of cabinets, better than the ones it came with.
"Bloody hell, you a carpenter or something?" Mike gasped.
"I'm just handy," Nick replied with a grin. "I know my way around more tools than one."
This spacious flat was becoming more a place for two than one. There were no formal invitations or declarations, Nick just started staying over more regularly and Mike wasn't complaining. Both of their schedules were daft; lots of late nights and early mornings. Many nights Nick stayed at his own place closer to work, though he was dropping by Mike's place more and more. One afternoon Mike gave him a key and told him he was free to come to his house whenever.
"Gracious, Michael," Nick answered, looking at the key. "This is a rather large show of trust. I'm tickled."
"Well I do trust you," Mike replied, kissing him on the cheek. "Just don't hold any wild parties or deal dope out of the place."
"Yes dad."
Regardless of how formal or informal their living situation was, it was starting to resemble domesticity. One would make breakfast; another would make dinner. Nick would tidy up from time to time; Mike was such a typical man. Nick made the occasional comment of "This place needs a woman's touch," maybe just to watch Mike's reaction. Mike would snicker a little, though Nick swore he saw a little nervous neck rubbing.
They had reached a point where everything was comfortable. They were doing less pub hopping and spending more quiet nights in or pleasant nights out. This could have continued for so much longer, this life of domestic normality. Alas that would not be the case.
The last moment they would have as cozy partners was that one fateful night. They were supposed to have dinner, then go back to Mike's place, have a few glasses of wine, and shag each other's brains out. They talked about all the things they would do to each other as they idly passed through a back way. They were chatting so much they didn't pay attention to their surroundings. They didn't notice the figures all around them until they were grabbed and pinned.
Now we are back at the scene from our opening act. Two fanged creatures are now clutching Mike; their sheer strength renders a hearty man like Michael frozen and shaking. Two more have a hold on Nick, he can feel their breath against his neck.
The ringleader standing off to the side. He looks like a typical punk with spiky blue hair and a big safety pun through his nose.
Now back to the part where the burly hero should be fighting back heroically. Instead…
"Jesus Christ, Danny, what the fuck are you doing!" he yells
Now here comes the twist.
"Sorry copper, the old man ain't gonna be keepin' you safe," Danny spits in Mike's face. "He's gonna die and there's nothin' you can do to stop it."
Mike looked at Nick, seeing the tears well up in his eyes and watches him tremble. His look is enraged, but there is a hint of apology.
"Consider this a declaration of independence, dog," says one of the others clutching Nick, a hood with long, greasy brown hair. "You're nothin' but meat now. We're gonna drain you dry, not before we get a taste of your little poof."
His tongue slides across Nick's neck, making him whimper. Mike bucked jerked forward but the hands kept him in place.
"You're an idiot, you all are," Mike snarled. "You're gonna go toe to toe with Ferdinand? You're gonna get ripped up and beg for death."
Ferdinand? Now who's Ferdinand?
"Sorry, Mikey, too bad for Ferdy we got you and your precious boy first," Danny sneers.
Nick is now sobbing hard.
"Mike, Mike what the hell are these!" he pleads.
Mike just looks at him, lip trembling and eyes red. He mouths, "I'm sorry."
Nick stares at him in horror.
"Oh God you know these things?" Nick shouts.
This earns him a smack across the head from one of the creatures, he yelps in response.
"Nick, oh God Nick I am so sorry," Mike whimpers, tears streaming down his face. "I never…I never wanted you to get caught up in this."
Nick's eyes lock on his Judas lover, their eyes meet and both know this is the end of everything. Everything he knows about Mike is a lie. Their happy, cozy life was just a happy tale behind a gruesome truth.
"Let him go, kill me! He doesn't deserve this," Mike shouts. "I'm Ferdinand's lapdog, you said it yourself. Just fucking kill me and let him go!"
The pleas fall on deaf ears, the creatures lean in closer. Both sets of fangs sink into Nick's neck; Nick gives a bloodcurdling shriek, Mike screams. The creatures greedily drink down Nick's warm, red life essence. Nick screams louder, Mike is now sobbing, the creatures cackle and taunt.
The two sets of fangs in Nick's neck suddenly unclench; the happy slurping is now watery choking. Nick's screams reach a crescendo and morph into shrill cackles. The things stumble back, puking up green foam, and collapse to the ground; their bodies locked in spasms.
Nick opens his eyes to take a glance at those around him. Mike's mouth has dropped open, Danny is now staring at him in angry confusion.
Nick makes eye contact with him and grins. Danny's mouth gapes open and his eyes are wide. He flaps his lips but Nick knows exactly what word will be coming out. At last he screams it:
"REAPER!"
A cry of warning that is already too late.
The fangers surrounding Nick get less than a second before their torsos explode with viscera and blood. Then their bodies burst into flames; all that is left is ash. Their remains fall beside the two other piles of ash laying on the ground
Mike's captors have one second to drop him and run. They make it a yard before their heads and limbs fly off, one more swipe hits through their waists and the air explodes in fireworks of blood, organs, and fiery ashes. It is a beautiful symphony of death to the orchestra of a roaring engine and a whining blade.
Danny manages to get away; in a second he is a blur several blocks down. He isn't lost through, his pursuer has his position locked. There is a bigger matter to deal with: a matter than is now cowering on his knees.
Michael is staring up at Nick a look of sheer horror. Nick does look a bit frightful right now; clothing soaked in blood, a chainsaw in his hand.
Actually, I suppose now is the best time for the shift in narrative. As of now the fairy tale has ended, this story of two regular chaps has taken a dark turn. From here on it's time to get to the true details. My role as impartial storyteller ends here. I cannot properly relay what happened next in this story without a little further perspective.
The character of Nick in this sordid tale is I.
I was the lover who learned of his sweetie's connection with vampires. But then Michael was the one who learned his own squeeze wasn't human either. The question is who's the bigger prat.
Author's Note: I know a lot in this story has been repeated in my other 70s Reaper fics. I have been having a lot of false starts with the other stories so I decided to just do individual stories for this concept. This means "Age of Death" might not get updated but this is one of what could be several individual stories.