AN- Hello there. This is just a minor thing to help break my writer's block with these two. Written to the Queen of the Damned soundtrack, youtube it if you must. And you must...specifically "Slept so Long". Hope you enjoy it!

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I don't know when he walked in, but the crowd parted like water before him when he reached the dance floor. I've always been rather shy about dancing with strangers, and I've never known why. I'm not overly confident, and even though I come here simply to make a fool of myself and drink, it still bothers me a bit to be in the center of the crowd. I was at the edge and looking in…comfortable to co-exist with the other underage people in the room and dislike my life with fellow company for a night.

He was the eye of the storm. I came out of a turn to find myself staring a straight line at the back of his head. I'd heard of him, I'd talked about him, I'd never seen him…always flitting remarks, whispered questions. I suppose I didn't think he really existed. People made room for him, and even there in the center of the dance floor, centered in green and blue lights, he was untouched by the usual haphazard hands and hips. He stood alone in a sea of loneliness, and it scared the hell out of me. I knew who he was, I knew what he was like, and even looking at the back of that crisp haircut, I knew what he wanted. He rarely showed up here, but from the rumors he left, I gathered his visits were memorable experiences. They said that sometimes he merely came to drink, and others, he came to dance. They say that sometimes he cleared out the VIP table with a single glance and just watched the masses…and then the crowd would shrink away from that corner of the room, because he wanted his space and his eyes demanded it. They said that sometimes, he came into the storm with them, content to dance with random partners and even then, he was a scary motherfucker, and most couldn't stay with him for long. He was intense, he was powerful, he was strong, he was intelligent, he was a predator…I'd heard so damn much I felt like I'd met him in person.

But there, on the floor, in a sea of black clothing, stripes, and bared skin, I never wanted to look at him again. He hadn't even turned around, but no matter how much I thought I knew about Mello, I swear to God, if he'd looked in my direction, I'd have bolted for the door.

The blue glow hit his hair at an angle, giving him a halo that I couldn't believe was necessary. A sadistic joke on Christ's part, perhaps, but the silvery blond picked up every hue it could in the dim lighting, and he looked surreal. The light glinted dully off of his vest, and it looked to be leather…they said it was leather. I didn't know. A stripe of skin showed just above his hips, where the supposed-leather left off, and that was pale too. His belt was heavy, and that was leather…that couldn't be anything else. His pants shone too, and Christ, hadn't they told me it was all leather? The few that had touched him, the few that had known…. He stood by himself, a bottle of vodka in one hand, black gloves strapped to his wrists like tourniquets. The bottle pulsed with color, glinting in the flashing lights and cigarette smoke, but he was blue…he was just blue.

His boots came to his knees, gothic atrocities of black and silver, straps and buckles, and he still hadn't turned around, but I was staring. I was staring. I was scared. I wanted him.

Out of habit, I pulled my goggles on, and felt better, because in the wash of orange, he seemed a little more human. A little less scary, and-

Jesus Christ, he was gone.

One lithe movement, so subtle, so…quiet and he just disappeared into the crowd. I needed a cigarette. My hands were shaking from the gin and I wasn't allowed to smoke on the floor. So I backed through the five feet of people between me and the wall and stepped down from the platform. I kept my eyes on the ground because I while I wasn't new here, I didn't know if he paid attention to that kind of thing or not. The cigarettes were a little crushed from the dancing I'd done, but that was fine. My lighter hated me for a few minutes, but soon the tobacco caught and the blessed taste of nicotine rolled over my tongue. It wasn't sweet, more…cold, if cold had a taste. It was soothing, and I didn't turn around as I smoked, because I knew he was out there, and I didn't want him to ruin my smoke. It was a twisted line of thought really, because I was more uncomfortable not knowing where he was, but I braced an arm on the wall and kept my back to the crowd. It felt dangerous now, to be in here. I suppose that was just the aura he carried with him. God knew, everyone talked about it, but I didn't think a single person could so completely shift the mood of a room until Mello walked in the door. I know better now.

It was exciting, to ignore the crowd, and in truth, ignore him, because I knew he was there. It was scary, because I was hiding from him too, whether he was actually looking for someone tonight or not. I wondered to myself if he'd claimed the VIP table again, but I didn't dare look. I'd already caught myself staring once, and I hadn't even looked him in the eye yet. I felt alive. I felt good. He was somewhere in the club and I was in my element tonight anyway, so I was as good as stoned. I'd seen him, and he was real…he was so fucking real that I could taste vodka on my tongue and I'd only seen him once.

Christ, they don't make 'em like that anymore.

The music shifted into something different, something sexual and harsh, sadistic. I wondered if the DJ had seen him come in. It didn't matter, the song was infectious, and I couldn't sit still any more. I took a deep pull and put the cigarette out with my sneaker, tucking the partial back into the pack because God knew I was too broke to waste them. I held the smoke for a moment, the taste of cold and the heat in my lungs…then I pulled my goggles off, tilted my head back and let it go, trailing from my lips and nose like a lazy dragon's yawn. It amused me. A private ritual, to relish that last drag. It left my lungs, replaced with fresh air, cool and almost clean, and that was good too. The chorus came on, and the beat was in my blood.

I did come here to dance after all. I turned around, and I felt rather dangerous myself, even with my heart in my throat with that first tentative sweep to see if he was there…if he was waiting. Nothing. All clear.

A minor disappointment, really.

Still, the crowd was moving and I could see the difference. They danced with a purpose tonight, likely under the eyes of the man in leather. I wanted a piece of that too, and I felt myself smirking as I headed back to the floor. Why not? Why the fuck not? Let him see me, I feel like-

Oh fuck.

Where the hell had he come from? The crowd parted, shifted without effort, more graceful than I'd ever thought drunken teenagers capable of, and there…coming down the stairs that I'd intended to go up, was Mello. In all his fucking glory…His eyes were on the floor, but he was still blue, still volatile, and still scary as hell. I could hear the dull thud of those monstrous boots coming down the platform, and maybe if I'd kept going, I could brush past him, and get away. I would have been safer in the crowd. Only the whores and my fellow smokers were left on the table floor now, the former hoping to catch his eye by standing out and the other choking smoke down as fast as they could to return to the pack and get out of eyeshot. I knew the feeling, because Jesus Christ, they don't make 'em like this anymore.

I wanted to keep my eyes on the floor but that wasn't possible…it really wasn't. I was staring, and how could I not fucking stare. The vest had a silver zipper, and a crucifix hung in the center of his chest. The belt's buckle was also a cross, and Jesus, those leather pants laced up the front. The vodka swung from one hand and I could see another rosary around his wrist, a saint medallion clinking against the glass. I couldn't hear it under the music, and I couldn't breathe. The music was in my ears, in my heart and my breath was a little rougher, I won't lie…I felt alive. I was terrified.

Mello's a scary motherfucker.

And then he looked at me…it was lazy, almost idle, the way he lifted his head, and then his eyes from the floor, as though deep in thought about something. He reached the floor and paused, staring me down. He stood between me and escape, something dark and dangerous in that expression, and a writhing wall of flesh behind him, blessed freedom and anonymity. They didn't see me, in the crowd, I didn't exist there…but I was real here…just as real as he was, and it was heady rush of adrenaline. He was real. He was watching me. I wanted to reach for my goggles, I wanted to run.

I wanted another cigarette, and I fucking wanted him.

I didn't get it; I didn't go there for that, for any of it. I just wanted to dance and not feel so lonely for a night, no strings attached, nothing to worry about in the morning. I wanted to forget about life outside the club.

…But when he looked at me, I forgot about the club too.

They'd told me. I didn't believe them.

There was a quiet moment, just a second that lasted an eternity, and then he slowly looked me over. I didn't move, and I couldn't squirm if I'd wanted to. That look was a touch, a fucking molestation, and fuck me if I didn't let him. He met my eyes again and set his bottle down on the table to his left, holding me there. Daring me to move.

Well, fuck him. I felt alive. I moved.

I walked towards him, intending to pass him and waltz right on up those fucking stairs and disappear…just another nameless, inconsequential face in his night. I shoved the pack and my lighter into my pocket and dropped my eyes. Perhaps that was too submissive, because it caught his attention. I was pulling up alongside him, almost there, one foot on the stairs, when his arm slipped out and around my waist. It was impersonal, just a block but he might as well have punched me, he scared me so badly. His hand rested lightly on my hip, his arm pressed along my stomach as he held me still. His voice was quiet, low enough to carry under the driving rhythm.

"What's your name?"

"Matt." I didn't stutter, to my credit, but I was staring straight ahead, still desperately trying to ignore him. There were eyes on us, I could feel them, and it didn't help me calm down any.

Oh god, Let me go.

"Want to dance with me, Matt?"

Oh god, they said he never spoke, they'd told me he was always silent. What the hell was going on? I licked my lips, still staring at the dance floor, and he was warm. I could feel his skin through my shirt. I wanted another cigarette.

"Not really."

It was honest, and it was a lie. I wanted him, wanted him bad, but I was so fucking scared of him that it didn't matter. At least I had the pleasure of knowing that I wasn't the only one in the room with such reservations. His hand, where it had rested before, tightened slowly into something almost possessive. My pulse shot through the roof, and I took my foot off the stairs because that grip said he wasn't letting go. It wasn't painful, just closer, and more intimate than the initial touch and fuck if I wasn't responding to it.

"But I want to dance with you, Matt. Just for a minute?"

"It's not a good idea."

He shifted towards me, just leaned an inch, and Jesus, I was going to die. "I think it is."

Oh fuck. I licked my lips again, a nervous habit, because I wanted a cigarette there to roll around. "Do you?"

"Yes." He smirked at me. "Come on."

I would have protested further, but then he turned around and slipped a hand up my back to rest at the nape of my neck. Possessive. I was fighting a losing battle, Jesus Christ…his voice shifted to just behind my ear as those gloved fingers tugged at my hair, guiding me, leading me,taking me. "I want to dance with you, Matt…just for a bit."

The grip tugged again, and I gasped, feeling my stomach twist exquisitely at the touch. My head tilted back and I could feel him behind me, his heat along my back, and who the hell was I to tell him no? I wanted him.

I wanted him.

"Okay." A chuckle that was more of a growl sounded just behind me again…I could feel his chest vibrate with it.

"I like how you argue with me. Let's go."

Oh god….oh god oh god oh god, Mello. They said…they always said, and that was never good enough. They never understood. They couldn't capture him with words and rumors, oh no…not this…not what it feels like to re-enter those lights and that music with Mello leading you in. He didn't stop at the rim, where I was comfortable. I was lead by cool leather to the center of the floor, his fingers rubbing small circles on my skin as he trotted out his newest pet. That's what I felt like, snared by the man in leather. He led me out and stopped me, and I knew without looking that people were staring, backing away to give us….give him, room. He circled me, and that hand trailed lazily from the back of my throat to the front of it, tracing fine lines of fire across my skin. My eyes flickered away, met those of a random person, and his grip closed on my throat, light, gentle,possessive.

"Don't worry about them…you'll enjoy this."

"That doesn't mean it's going to be fun."

A flash of teeth, of white, white teeth, in a perfect grin. "No…no it doesn't."

His hand slipped down my chest, to my belt, and I was pulled off balance, crashing against his solid frame with all the grace of a rag doll. And I felt like one…with his gloved fingers between the hem of my jeans and myskin, I couldn't think, because Jesus Christ he wastouching me. He caught me easily, and how did he manage to mold me so quickly to him? Tuck himself against my every curve until I nearly breathed him. Close, so close, and this was my fault, I should have known better.

His lips brushed my ear. "You're not even hard yet."

I wasn't? Really?

Christ that was news to me.

"I like this…having to work for what I want. It's a nice change of pace." I couldn't breathe, I couldn't fucking breathe, and his hair was soft against my cheek, but his knee was hard between my legs. "Thank you, Matt."

The music changed, into something even worse, if that were possible. Something slower, exotic, sadistically sensual, and I was going to suffocate I knew it. Helpless, I felt my hips twitch forward against him, and if I wasn't hard, I was going to be soon. He was going to kill me. He must have felt me, because my mind shattered a second later when he began to rock against me, feeding me in small doses. I should have known better.

His voice was low, quiet, and as I stared over his shoulder at the bewildered expression of some random girl, I wondered to myself how this happened. He kept talking against my ear. "Do you want a cigarette?"

My hand snaked around his hips, and I couldn't help that. My nails drug across that bared skin and it was something dangerous, because he bit my earlobe sharply, a nip of teeth…it did wicked things to me, though. I shivered violently, resting my head on his shoulder. We weren't dancing…not really, and he might as well have been fucking me there on the floor, with the way he was fucking with my head. It was heady, exciting, rough, and oh god, it was Mello.

His hands slipped down my back in a light scrape of gloved nails and then, without warning, into my back pocket. He gripped my ass, pulled me hard against him, and the contact was devastatingly real for three seconds, five, and ten…and then he pulled out with my cigarettes and lighter in hand. Pulling back, he watched me for a minute and I crossed my arms, defensively, and straightened, defiantly. I was lying.

Mello just smiled at me. An insane little smirk, a flash of canine, and then there was a cigarette in his lips, the flash of lighter on his features. I reached for it and he turned his head, pulling it out to blow smoke at me. People were watching, the wall of bodies still moving, and I wanted that cigarette. He watched, because he knew, and I waited…because he wanted something.

I wasn't expecting what it was.

"Give me your shirt, Matt."

Time stood still for a moment after those words left his lips, because was I really that brave? Was I really that…stupid? I couldn't hear a thing as I asked myself these questions, and then the one that mattered. Was he worth it?

He raked his eyes over my chest, and I glimpsed a flash of tongue behind the smoke as he licked his teeth, the white smoke curling up over his lips like…my dragon. A perfect imitation, and fuck if he didn't know it. My hands came to my shirt's hem and as smoothly as possible I pulled it off…because that expression was worth it, the way his eyes darkened visibly at the sight of skin. I should have been thrown out of the club for this. He took the shirt from me, and I watched in near shock as he idly handed it off to a stranger.

"Put it with my bottle."

And fuck if she didn't go. I watched her leave, but then Mello was back, and it was a mistake to turn my head, because it left my throat…oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck. One arm snaked around my hips again; skin on skin, and that almost sent me to my knees, but his mouth…his fucking mouth…. He bit, he kissed, he licked, sucked, he attacked me. Feathers of pleasure spread from the lips at my throat and shoulder, and as I arched into him, choking on a moan, I realized that his other hand hung limply at his side…flicking ash to floor.

Like he was doing nothing at all.

Scary motherfucker….

Shivers raced my spine, and I dimly realized that the floor was slowly but surely ceasing to move. In a ripple, shock swept from us…from me, to the people around us, and while his lips were on me, their eyes were on us. I was panting, nervous, fucking terrified, because what did I do? What the hell had-?

His hand slipped to my ass and pulled me hard against him again.

"Shit!"

"Pay attention to me, Matt."

I almost apologized. Maybe he just didn't see what was happening, what they were looking at, and oh fuck, he was grazing his teeth just beneath my ear. I couldn't breathe…could not breathe, and there was nothing but Mello. Maybe that's what he wanted all along. Maybe he did intend to fuck me right there on the floor…I didn't know.

But I'd stopped caring.

I was as high-strung as a harp, his every move, his every touch the driving force behind my breathing, because if he didn't touch me, I didn't gasp, and there wasn't any oxygen. I felt alive. I felt real.

I wanted him.

He pulled back, trailing his fingers over my chest and stomach, and if he like what he saw, he gave no other indication.

"…I want my cigarette, Mello." That didn't sound like my voice, and the surprised look on his face shifted into amusement so quickly, I thought he was angry with me. He took another drag and left it hanging there.

"You're rather demanding, Matt."

I had nothing to say to that. I really didn't. My mind had stopped working half an hour ago when this man, this demon, looked at me. He tilted his head to the side, and I was still feeling his mouth, arousal a thick cloud in my mind. He was good. He was very good.

"Matt…I think I want you."

"Fine." It was out of my mouth before I thought about the implications of that statement, and I could have shot myself. I could have kissed the fucking pistol over that, because his smirk grew into a wide grin again. His hand came up gripping my chin, and I almost didn't realize that I was being led to the floor, his eyes held me so captive. There was an edge to them, a serious undertone that belied his outward amusement. The sincerity there scared me more than the idea of sucking him off in the middle of his crowd did. A lot more.

What was he doing?

I watched him as he allowed me to kneel, unsure of where this was going, and excited as hell. He unwound the saint medallion from his wrist, glancing for the first time at the crowd around us. Wide eyed, confused and jealous looks all around, but Jesus, no matter what they thought…they didn't want this. This man possessed his playmates, just reached into their souls with little more than a glance and benign voice. I didn't dare look away, a fine sheen of sweat cooling on my skin, my breath still slightly labored, and aching….

The fine chain slipped around my throat and the medallion was cold against my skin. On my knees, like some bastardized knighting ceremony, he put that thing around my neck, his eyes once again on me. The sincerity overrode the rest of it, and he crouched before me, pressing his lips to my forehead.

"St. Antony…" He smirked. "Patron Saint of Pets."

That startled a laugh of me. Pet? A pet then.

He took a long pull off my cigarette and pulled my mouth open, pressing his lips to mine. The smoke tasted good, like vodka and chocolate and Mello, the taste of coldness, and the heat it imparted had little to do with the fire. It spread liquid warmth through my stomach, lighting a fire in my chest. The shotgun kiss ended long enough for the last of the smoke to escape and then he really was kissing me.

His tongue slipped into my mouth, hot and slick, and fuck if he didn't taste like sex. Raw sex, and chocolate, and vodka, and maybe that was just me…I didn't care. I kissed him back, the metal warming against my bare skin as I grew used to the idea of being this man's pet. I didn't seem to have an option at that point. I felt alive. I wanted him.

He released me, and my body screamed in frustration. His eyebrow rose in silent laughter at my expression, but as he pulled me to my feet, I was still dizzy and drunk on him. He turned me slowly, nipping at my shoulder. For one electrifying second, his hips pressed into mine, and then he nudged me forward. "Go to the table and wait for me there. We'll…talk."

Talk. His tone said something else entirely.

And maybe I was drunk on something, because I slipped a hand back to cup him through the leather. He froze, surprised. I just turned my head to the side and smirked back at him. "Don't make me wait."

His laughter was low and raw, a sensual sound that I wanted to hear again, and again. He shoved me forward, and I went.

St Antony…patron saint of Pets.

Fine.