Vampires Prefer Blondes
Part 2
Quatre twirled his straw in semi-circles around the chipped glass, and once again took a look around the establishment, assessing the situation. The bar was beginning to empty of the murmurs of the crowd, and he could sense (and see by the hands on the clock reading an indicative 1:30AM) that soon he would have to leave.
In an act of desperation, Quatre fidgeted in his chair while he tried to put together a logical plan. He had nowhere to go. The shame he felt would never allow him to return, like a pseudo-realistic wall barring all those with such an "affliction" to enter its hollowed walls.
"Pervert!"
"Fag!"
"Cock sucker!"
And finally he left. In blinding strides, Quatre had packed his things as quickly as possible, leaving not a note, a word, or a prayer. He thought a letter full of sad goodbyes and regret wouldn't exactly be fitting to the people that had willed him away, or maybe that term wasn't appropriate either for there not-so-gentle treatment.
Yet he was gone, and he had lived under the false hope that the school would shield him like a bivouac. Unfortunately the realization that his safeguard was the opposite was more harmful than the reasons why he had gone there in the first place.
It wasn't like he didn't know that they found find out someday. He wasn't oblivious to the fact that it would blow up; it was a fact of life. He just wasn't quite in the right mindset that day for his entire life to be flipped upside down.
And then he was. On a bar stool, in May, ready to be yet another tragic figure lodged in the computer database of a morgue.
"It was a real shame you know.But I heard that he was.you know."
He could imagine the snickers while the preacher spoke at some type of mock funeral. How tragedy would be as overused as a plot in a Eudora Welty short story. It was morbid, but the sordid daydream that had suddenly overcome wouldn't relent.
He pictured tulips (a few days old, can't waste money) and the smell of drying rain, and tears, and pity, yet it would all be gone. Once the fragrance of the blooming flowers dimmed and the mourners left, he would be nothing. And that was what he was experiencing at this very moment.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Trowa stalked the streets, lamenting the passed situation. Zechs had left him, a kind of mentor who was teaching his apt pupil a lesson. But did he have to be so fucking crude about it?
Trowa hated it. He hated how he could never get quite what he wanted. Zechs seemed content to inure Trowa into some form of a K-9 relationship where he wagged his tail, and he came drooling, and begging for more.
So maybe it was a good thing for Trowa to learn how to do this on his own. He probed the flashing lights of the city, and walked the traversing thugs as they laughed, and drank, and morosely spoke about the latest movies or TV shows.
Nothing seemed suitable enough for him. But it wasn't vanity; it was simply necessity. He just couldn't put up with the aftermath of what he wanted. If he moved off, and the thing beneath him wanted more, he could always just kill them, it meant nothing. It was just the thought of taking twice that sickened him.
No, once again, it wasn't pity. It was the feeling of seeing that lifeless thing; staring at him after he had just experienced to bouts of arousal. The feeling that he couldn't make up his mind as to what he wanted from his lover, or his victim (or even both), was the most cumbersome aspect.
With Zechs, there was just relief, and they both left each other panting without a single thought of regret and the repercussions that could come after. It was like food without the calories.
But it seemed that Trowa was going to be forced to be hungry tonight.
As he continued his walk, he found a bar that seemed to fit his needs. He wasn't looking for his usual type. He wanted something else. After thinking so, Trowa thought that this almost seemed like shopping for something, or someone.
The thought of taking home a young boy in a baby-blue bag suddenly seemed both delightful and refulgent in its simplicity.
He pulled open the brown oak doors and looked around. He saw men of all types. A tall red-haired man caught his eyes, but his mantra kept urging him to go for something a little less congruent to his usual tastes.
He weaved his way through the crowd of people until he reached the bar. He ordered a drink and sat down, deciding to stake things out and let things happen naturally.
Swinging on his stool, he turned to face a young blonde next to him.
Exactly what he wanted.
He was slim and was still quite soaked from the looks of it. His hair was matted down and his body was held tightly together like it was ready to collapse. His drink seemed to be empty except for a few small ice cubes. What seemed to be most interesting was the fact that he seemed to be young.very young.
"What's a kid like you doing in here?"
Quatre turned to see the body that belonged to the voice that seemed to echo in his ear. His brows rose slightly, and then came crashing down as he visually inspected the man in front of him. It seemed like a cruel joke actually, that someone like him, talk, dark, and handsome would choose to speak to him on the day of his expulsion from normality.
"Excuse me?" Quatre was actually quite taken aback at this man's comment. He wasn't used to being spoken to so-straightforwardly.
Trowa smirked and put down his drink. He turned back to the young man and leaned on the bar. "I was just wondering why a teenager was in a bar, it seems to me like this isn't the kind of place for someone like you."
Quatre instinctively moved back at the comment. "Maybe I should go then." He began to stand up from the stool when he felt a callused hand grab his, squeezing a little too strongly.
"I think you misunderstood me, if I wanted you to go I would have said so. I just was curious as to what you're doing here."
"Then may I ask why are you so interested in me?"
Trowa stood up and grabbed onto Quatre's free hand. He then physically seated Quatre back in his seat, then returned to his own. "It isn't polite to answer a question with a question."
This was becoming more interesting.
"Then why are you so quick to dodge them?"
Trowa frowned, and quickly swiped his know unused hands through his damp hair. "Bartender, could you get me another tequila, double."
Quatre was even more interested now. He turned his head away and leaned on the bar, just as this man had done only a few seconds earlier.
When the glass full of the golden liquor surfaced, Trowa threw his head back, easily drinking half of the glass. He then slid the glass over to Quatre, who seemed almost clueless at the sight of it.
"I'm Trowa."
Quatre blinked and motioned the glass back, recalcitrant to try something that might impair his better judgment. "I don't drink."
Trowa left the glass on the backlit plastic dividing them. The glow only seemed to lighten Quatre's features, and darken those of Trowa's. "Let's be honest here. Do you not drink, or have you just not tried it yet?"
Quatre fidgeted again in his chair and didn't answer.
Trowa shrugged, and picked up the glass again, emptying the remnants into his mouth.
Quatre turned away, not really wanting to see what he was going to do next. He still didn't have the slightest idea why he was talking to him. But the fact became painfully clear when the man stood briskly, and slammed his lips to Quatre's forcefully.
The young blonde bucked slightly until he felt the deep golden tequila empty its way down his throat. Trowa then moved in slightly, forcing Quatre's legs open to make room for him to deepen the kiss.
Quatre felt his lips being squeezed open not just by the burning sensation of the liquor, but by a smooth, hot tongue prying them open calmly. Quatre unknowingly made a small whimpering noise as he felt the probing flesh force down every ounce.
Once the contact ended, Trowa sat back down, and motioned to the bartender for another glass full.
Quatre only coughed violently, feeling he was going to be sick.
"So, going to tell me your name?"
The recovering boy turned with a look of bewilderment covering his features. "Quatre, and isn't it customary to ask someone before you cram your tongue down their throat?" He emptied his own glass, hoping the cool ice would help relieve the sickening feeling in his stomach.
"Hm, Quatre, want to join me at a table so I may next time ask you before, as you put it, 'jam my tongue down your throat?'"
Not waiting for a reply, the taller man stood up and walked not so politely threw a few groups of people.
And to his relief, the younger blonde was following obediently behind him. Trowa sat down roughly at a two-person table close to a window, and Quatre took the seat across from him, slightly relieved that this position would most-likely prevent a future assault.
"So Quatre, you still haven't answered me." Trowa took his third drink from the bartender, who quickly returned to his station. Again, Trowa emptied it almost immediately.
Trowa sat back comfortably in his chair as he waited for a response. "I guess I had no place better to go." Quatre rested his arm on the windowsill, watching for a reaction from Trowa in his peripheral vision.
"Well that's not very creative now is it? I thought a blonde like you would be out with some pathetic closeted football player, blowing him in the backseat." Trowa laughed lightly and leaned forward, eagerly awaiting a reply.
Quatre showed a repulsed look on his face and he quickly responded. "I don't know what you think about me, but it's obvious that you're making some really quick judgments about me. If it doesn't seem impolite to ask, why do you ask?"
"Well it just seems that a pretty guy like you, soaked to bone, probably was just fucked and left high and dry, or maybe wet if you look at it literally." Trowa didn't hold back this time, and laughed loudly with a rich, deep voice.
Quatre decided that his reactions seemed to be the things fueling this kind of treatment, so he bent over, and decided that he would make things more interesting. "Oh yes, you're right," Quatre chimed. "I'm a runaway orphan boy who was dumped by the cruel priest when he found someone prettier, that would entertain your fantasies wouldn't it? And would you please tell me why you're so interested in seeing me squirm?"
"Hmm, come on, you can think of something more interesting than that. And to answer your other question, I'm interested because I think a new you would be a little more interesting."
"Meaning?" Quatre perked his ears, almost dreading the response as much as he anticipated it.
"Meaning," Trowa emptied another drink that Quatre hadn't noticed him order, "you should try drying off a bit, then come do something with me."
Quatre didn't like where this was going, and he pushed his chair back. "I really think I should just go." and he stood, determined to leave this time. He wasn't sure that the tequila was sitting well with him.
Trowa stood to meet him, and moved closer, imposing his size advantage on the younger man. "Will you come with me if I'm right about one thing?"
Quatre simply blinked at the taller man, and Trowa took this as an affirmation to continue.
"You look like a smart kid. My hunch is that some assholes kicked your ass for being a fag, then you ran away, convinced that would fix your problems right? And then you run into an older man at a bar you stumbled into who just wants to get in your pants. Well you can either leave and probably end up at some shelter, or you can come with this strange older man to his apartment and see what happens there, your choice." Trowa once again walked away, leaving Quatre alone.
Trowa moved towards the door and pushed them open.
Quatre stood still for a few seconds, and watched Trowa walk away through the glass window.
"Hey!" Quatre ran quickly, and followed him outside, turning him around, surprised at how much forced that required. "You just can't pull that shit on me! You may be right about what you just said, but I'm not going to just play along." Quatre grabbed Trowa's collar, shaking with rage from both the alcohol, and his entire day. "Some cheap leather, booze, and someone's tongue aren't just going to cheapen me like some little slut! So just fuck off!" Quatre released Trowa's clothing roughly and turned around with a little less grace than he had wanted to. How could anyone drink four of those things?
Trowa just stepped slowly after him, up a small hill, and to his dismay, it began to rain forcefully again. The pellets of water began to soak him, and Quatre more completely than they had before. "Oh don't give me this little innocence routine."
Quatre kept walking, though increasing his pace.
When he received no reply from the younger man, he took more drastic action. Trowa grabbed Quatre firmly by his coat collar and pulled him into an alley that he had been in just an hour earlier. "If you were really so noble, then why did you follow me to that table after I practically assaulted you? It's obvious. Even if you try to hide it, there's still a little whore that's begging to spread his legs, deep down."
Quatre was only able to look up at the imposing man in front of him, who was now caging him from both sides with his large arms. This man, whoever he was, was so intent on getting attention. The insults didn't seem to mean so much as the fact that they were directed at him.
Quatre wiped some water from his hair, and gave the man a wet kiss on the cheek, eliciting a smirk from Trowa, as he motioned for Quatre to follow him out of the alley.
"Well if we're going to go back to your place, could you at least lend me your jacket?"
Part 2
Quatre twirled his straw in semi-circles around the chipped glass, and once again took a look around the establishment, assessing the situation. The bar was beginning to empty of the murmurs of the crowd, and he could sense (and see by the hands on the clock reading an indicative 1:30AM) that soon he would have to leave.
In an act of desperation, Quatre fidgeted in his chair while he tried to put together a logical plan. He had nowhere to go. The shame he felt would never allow him to return, like a pseudo-realistic wall barring all those with such an "affliction" to enter its hollowed walls.
"Pervert!"
"Fag!"
"Cock sucker!"
And finally he left. In blinding strides, Quatre had packed his things as quickly as possible, leaving not a note, a word, or a prayer. He thought a letter full of sad goodbyes and regret wouldn't exactly be fitting to the people that had willed him away, or maybe that term wasn't appropriate either for there not-so-gentle treatment.
Yet he was gone, and he had lived under the false hope that the school would shield him like a bivouac. Unfortunately the realization that his safeguard was the opposite was more harmful than the reasons why he had gone there in the first place.
It wasn't like he didn't know that they found find out someday. He wasn't oblivious to the fact that it would blow up; it was a fact of life. He just wasn't quite in the right mindset that day for his entire life to be flipped upside down.
And then he was. On a bar stool, in May, ready to be yet another tragic figure lodged in the computer database of a morgue.
"It was a real shame you know.But I heard that he was.you know."
He could imagine the snickers while the preacher spoke at some type of mock funeral. How tragedy would be as overused as a plot in a Eudora Welty short story. It was morbid, but the sordid daydream that had suddenly overcome wouldn't relent.
He pictured tulips (a few days old, can't waste money) and the smell of drying rain, and tears, and pity, yet it would all be gone. Once the fragrance of the blooming flowers dimmed and the mourners left, he would be nothing. And that was what he was experiencing at this very moment.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Trowa stalked the streets, lamenting the passed situation. Zechs had left him, a kind of mentor who was teaching his apt pupil a lesson. But did he have to be so fucking crude about it?
Trowa hated it. He hated how he could never get quite what he wanted. Zechs seemed content to inure Trowa into some form of a K-9 relationship where he wagged his tail, and he came drooling, and begging for more.
So maybe it was a good thing for Trowa to learn how to do this on his own. He probed the flashing lights of the city, and walked the traversing thugs as they laughed, and drank, and morosely spoke about the latest movies or TV shows.
Nothing seemed suitable enough for him. But it wasn't vanity; it was simply necessity. He just couldn't put up with the aftermath of what he wanted. If he moved off, and the thing beneath him wanted more, he could always just kill them, it meant nothing. It was just the thought of taking twice that sickened him.
No, once again, it wasn't pity. It was the feeling of seeing that lifeless thing; staring at him after he had just experienced to bouts of arousal. The feeling that he couldn't make up his mind as to what he wanted from his lover, or his victim (or even both), was the most cumbersome aspect.
With Zechs, there was just relief, and they both left each other panting without a single thought of regret and the repercussions that could come after. It was like food without the calories.
But it seemed that Trowa was going to be forced to be hungry tonight.
As he continued his walk, he found a bar that seemed to fit his needs. He wasn't looking for his usual type. He wanted something else. After thinking so, Trowa thought that this almost seemed like shopping for something, or someone.
The thought of taking home a young boy in a baby-blue bag suddenly seemed both delightful and refulgent in its simplicity.
He pulled open the brown oak doors and looked around. He saw men of all types. A tall red-haired man caught his eyes, but his mantra kept urging him to go for something a little less congruent to his usual tastes.
He weaved his way through the crowd of people until he reached the bar. He ordered a drink and sat down, deciding to stake things out and let things happen naturally.
Swinging on his stool, he turned to face a young blonde next to him.
Exactly what he wanted.
He was slim and was still quite soaked from the looks of it. His hair was matted down and his body was held tightly together like it was ready to collapse. His drink seemed to be empty except for a few small ice cubes. What seemed to be most interesting was the fact that he seemed to be young.very young.
"What's a kid like you doing in here?"
Quatre turned to see the body that belonged to the voice that seemed to echo in his ear. His brows rose slightly, and then came crashing down as he visually inspected the man in front of him. It seemed like a cruel joke actually, that someone like him, talk, dark, and handsome would choose to speak to him on the day of his expulsion from normality.
"Excuse me?" Quatre was actually quite taken aback at this man's comment. He wasn't used to being spoken to so-straightforwardly.
Trowa smirked and put down his drink. He turned back to the young man and leaned on the bar. "I was just wondering why a teenager was in a bar, it seems to me like this isn't the kind of place for someone like you."
Quatre instinctively moved back at the comment. "Maybe I should go then." He began to stand up from the stool when he felt a callused hand grab his, squeezing a little too strongly.
"I think you misunderstood me, if I wanted you to go I would have said so. I just was curious as to what you're doing here."
"Then may I ask why are you so interested in me?"
Trowa stood up and grabbed onto Quatre's free hand. He then physically seated Quatre back in his seat, then returned to his own. "It isn't polite to answer a question with a question."
This was becoming more interesting.
"Then why are you so quick to dodge them?"
Trowa frowned, and quickly swiped his know unused hands through his damp hair. "Bartender, could you get me another tequila, double."
Quatre was even more interested now. He turned his head away and leaned on the bar, just as this man had done only a few seconds earlier.
When the glass full of the golden liquor surfaced, Trowa threw his head back, easily drinking half of the glass. He then slid the glass over to Quatre, who seemed almost clueless at the sight of it.
"I'm Trowa."
Quatre blinked and motioned the glass back, recalcitrant to try something that might impair his better judgment. "I don't drink."
Trowa left the glass on the backlit plastic dividing them. The glow only seemed to lighten Quatre's features, and darken those of Trowa's. "Let's be honest here. Do you not drink, or have you just not tried it yet?"
Quatre fidgeted again in his chair and didn't answer.
Trowa shrugged, and picked up the glass again, emptying the remnants into his mouth.
Quatre turned away, not really wanting to see what he was going to do next. He still didn't have the slightest idea why he was talking to him. But the fact became painfully clear when the man stood briskly, and slammed his lips to Quatre's forcefully.
The young blonde bucked slightly until he felt the deep golden tequila empty its way down his throat. Trowa then moved in slightly, forcing Quatre's legs open to make room for him to deepen the kiss.
Quatre felt his lips being squeezed open not just by the burning sensation of the liquor, but by a smooth, hot tongue prying them open calmly. Quatre unknowingly made a small whimpering noise as he felt the probing flesh force down every ounce.
Once the contact ended, Trowa sat back down, and motioned to the bartender for another glass full.
Quatre only coughed violently, feeling he was going to be sick.
"So, going to tell me your name?"
The recovering boy turned with a look of bewilderment covering his features. "Quatre, and isn't it customary to ask someone before you cram your tongue down their throat?" He emptied his own glass, hoping the cool ice would help relieve the sickening feeling in his stomach.
"Hm, Quatre, want to join me at a table so I may next time ask you before, as you put it, 'jam my tongue down your throat?'"
Not waiting for a reply, the taller man stood up and walked not so politely threw a few groups of people.
And to his relief, the younger blonde was following obediently behind him. Trowa sat down roughly at a two-person table close to a window, and Quatre took the seat across from him, slightly relieved that this position would most-likely prevent a future assault.
"So Quatre, you still haven't answered me." Trowa took his third drink from the bartender, who quickly returned to his station. Again, Trowa emptied it almost immediately.
Trowa sat back comfortably in his chair as he waited for a response. "I guess I had no place better to go." Quatre rested his arm on the windowsill, watching for a reaction from Trowa in his peripheral vision.
"Well that's not very creative now is it? I thought a blonde like you would be out with some pathetic closeted football player, blowing him in the backseat." Trowa laughed lightly and leaned forward, eagerly awaiting a reply.
Quatre showed a repulsed look on his face and he quickly responded. "I don't know what you think about me, but it's obvious that you're making some really quick judgments about me. If it doesn't seem impolite to ask, why do you ask?"
"Well it just seems that a pretty guy like you, soaked to bone, probably was just fucked and left high and dry, or maybe wet if you look at it literally." Trowa didn't hold back this time, and laughed loudly with a rich, deep voice.
Quatre decided that his reactions seemed to be the things fueling this kind of treatment, so he bent over, and decided that he would make things more interesting. "Oh yes, you're right," Quatre chimed. "I'm a runaway orphan boy who was dumped by the cruel priest when he found someone prettier, that would entertain your fantasies wouldn't it? And would you please tell me why you're so interested in seeing me squirm?"
"Hmm, come on, you can think of something more interesting than that. And to answer your other question, I'm interested because I think a new you would be a little more interesting."
"Meaning?" Quatre perked his ears, almost dreading the response as much as he anticipated it.
"Meaning," Trowa emptied another drink that Quatre hadn't noticed him order, "you should try drying off a bit, then come do something with me."
Quatre didn't like where this was going, and he pushed his chair back. "I really think I should just go." and he stood, determined to leave this time. He wasn't sure that the tequila was sitting well with him.
Trowa stood to meet him, and moved closer, imposing his size advantage on the younger man. "Will you come with me if I'm right about one thing?"
Quatre simply blinked at the taller man, and Trowa took this as an affirmation to continue.
"You look like a smart kid. My hunch is that some assholes kicked your ass for being a fag, then you ran away, convinced that would fix your problems right? And then you run into an older man at a bar you stumbled into who just wants to get in your pants. Well you can either leave and probably end up at some shelter, or you can come with this strange older man to his apartment and see what happens there, your choice." Trowa once again walked away, leaving Quatre alone.
Trowa moved towards the door and pushed them open.
Quatre stood still for a few seconds, and watched Trowa walk away through the glass window.
"Hey!" Quatre ran quickly, and followed him outside, turning him around, surprised at how much forced that required. "You just can't pull that shit on me! You may be right about what you just said, but I'm not going to just play along." Quatre grabbed Trowa's collar, shaking with rage from both the alcohol, and his entire day. "Some cheap leather, booze, and someone's tongue aren't just going to cheapen me like some little slut! So just fuck off!" Quatre released Trowa's clothing roughly and turned around with a little less grace than he had wanted to. How could anyone drink four of those things?
Trowa just stepped slowly after him, up a small hill, and to his dismay, it began to rain forcefully again. The pellets of water began to soak him, and Quatre more completely than they had before. "Oh don't give me this little innocence routine."
Quatre kept walking, though increasing his pace.
When he received no reply from the younger man, he took more drastic action. Trowa grabbed Quatre firmly by his coat collar and pulled him into an alley that he had been in just an hour earlier. "If you were really so noble, then why did you follow me to that table after I practically assaulted you? It's obvious. Even if you try to hide it, there's still a little whore that's begging to spread his legs, deep down."
Quatre was only able to look up at the imposing man in front of him, who was now caging him from both sides with his large arms. This man, whoever he was, was so intent on getting attention. The insults didn't seem to mean so much as the fact that they were directed at him.
Quatre wiped some water from his hair, and gave the man a wet kiss on the cheek, eliciting a smirk from Trowa, as he motioned for Quatre to follow him out of the alley.
"Well if we're going to go back to your place, could you at least lend me your jacket?"
