Gankutsuou belongs to Mahiro Maeda and Gonzo Animation.
Dedicated to Monica Starling and edited by kelles and Dreadnot. Set after episode 23 and before 24. Criticism welcome.
Exclusive
"Again, tell me how you talked me into this?" Beauchamp mumbled, glancing towards the luminous bar when Lucien parked his car.
The building had neon pink lights in the columns of the entrance and the walls were made of a new brand of shaded glass thick as iron. Multicoloured holograms of two men kissing were displayed on the roof to fade into the place name: Le Queen. There was a long line from the entrance that ended two blocks away. He lifted a brow, it seemed most of the male population of Paris was closet gay.
"Because you wanted an exclusive about Mr. Lowe's extra curricular activities," Lucien replied, adjusting the mirror in order to tidy his hair better. Beauchamp rolled his eyes when his friend dedicated him a winning smile. Lucien gave himself too much credit. "And I, as your faithful friend, will aid you to collect information."
"And the fact he's a competitor for your charge of Chief Secretary doesn't have to do anything with your generous help?"
Lucien looked hurt, shocked even. He did not buy his act for a second and was aware Lucien was smart enough to know that.
"I just want the citizens to know what kind of amoral man would be in the Ministry," Lucien stated, polishing his teeth with his tongue. If he continued, they were going to sparkle like his purple suit. "And you will have a juicy new article to publish in your third rate tabloid regarding the paedophilic activities of a famous club."
"L'Impartial is not a third rate tabloid anymore," Beauchamp pointed out, narrowing his eyes. He had been promoted after his exclusive regarding the Janina scandal was published, building a positive image for L'Impartial's content. "That was why you contacted me."
Beauchamp hid his mini-camera inside his pocket along with the pens that would record the information he needed. It was a relief that he had gotten a raise with his promotion, otherwise he would not been able to purchase a miniature model of his machine.
"I know it's not," Lucien grinned and patted his shoulder. "Shall we go now?"
Beauchamp sighed and descended from the car, waiting for Lucien to lead the way. "Why do you have to come? I could have done this alone." And I would be faster…
"You tell me how they would allow a famous journalist without a record of homosexuality to enter the club alone?" Lucien asked, arching an eyebrow, sounding reasonable for the first time that night.
"No," Beauchamp frowned, searching for a cigarette in his chest pocket. He needed to smoke and wanted to unbutton the damned collar, he was dying inside the glowing yellow suit Lucien got for him. He preferred something less... shiny.
"Exactly, now with an old friend who has been here before, it would make sense, eh?" Lucien explained smugly, skipping the line and going directly to the entrance. "Besides I have contacts inside, you don't."
"Before? Lucien!" Beauchamp hurried to catch him. "What did you mean with before?" he grasped his forearm. Lucien grinned and twisted his arm to lock them together.
"Lucien Debray," Lucien introduced himself to the guard. The man, or at least Beauchamp assumed it was male, was one of those exotic aliens that possessed an inflated body, no facial expressions and more arms than brain cells. The creature seemed to stare at him; it was hard to tell with his unfocused eyes. "This is an old childhood friend of mine," Lucien emphasized, offering his hand to shake one of the being's - there was something golden between his fingers, a bribe. The oaf removed itself of the path and allowed them in, turning deaf ears to the protests of the lined up men.
Beauchamp took a while to adjust his sight to the initial darkness, then to the flashing lights that came from everywhere. He surveyed the aisle he was walking through – the walls changed colours, a kaleidoscope of forms, sensually shaped to entice the viewers. There was a faint aroma of vanilla in the atmosphere and the beat of the music awoke his senses.
"They employ that perfume to hide any peculiar smells," Lucien stated, dragging him away from the dance floor, towards the VIP area.
"Drugs?"
"Among other things."
Beauchamp chuckled loudly, "I see. Is this experience speaking again?"
"You aren't here to collect information about me," Lucien flashed him with a grin and then placed a finger on his mouth. "We are close."
They walked through the restricted area, once again Lucien's prestige and money bought their entrance. Beauchamp kept his gaze steady on the path, the corridor was barely illuminated and the rooms to the side seemed to be almost full. Or so he heard it.
How are we going to do this? Beauchamp wondered. They could not just enter, greet and ask: 'Oh by the way, Mr. Lowe, are you buggering little boys?' 'Can I take your picture while in the act? Just tell me which is your good angle.' That lacked finesse. He spared a glance for Lucien, the man did not seem worried about that. But he was, he was a professional and this lack of preparation got under his skin.
"Nervous?" Lucien asked.
"It feels like the first time," Beauchamp answered and, to the quizzical glance of his friend, added. "The first time I got a big news story cooking."
"Right. The guards are going to let us in," Lucien stated, "They are simple minded slaves. The big ones were enticed by the money they don't gain here and those hermaphrodite servants inside were convinced… by other means. They think we truly want to… enjoy the small pleasures. We need to wait our turn."
Oh boy, Beauchamp thought as the bubble shaped aliens guarding the curtains for them. He slid his hand in his pocket, preparing his camera and turning on the sound. It would transmit to the equipment in his office and his editor's eager ears, recording the testimonies for him.
"My stop and your go," Lucien murmured, leaning to speak in his ear. He should not make him shiver, but the bastard was good in his area. He smacked his back soundly and pushed him inside, Beauchamp caught his game at once, feigning to fall inside the room rather roughly. One of the pink skinned aliens came to his aid. The being was slender, with half of the body clearly female shaped and the other half male, another feature was the hair, it reached the creature's talons.
"Thanks. I am sorry to be so clumsy," Beauchamp smiled at him or her, placing an arm around its shoulder and sliding his small pen inside the creature's wild mane. After making sure it was fixed, he made the alien trip on the carpeted floor. In that moment, he had ample view of Mr. Lowe (more than he had wanted to see), pants down and being 'assisted' by a dark skinned boy no older than ten. The politician was oblivious of the situation, engrossed in his pleasure. "Say candies, little boy!" Beauchamp exclaimed, snapping several pictures – eyes shut and eyes wide of the old man before he rushed out.
"Back so soon?" Lucien asked.
"Let's say I am scarred for life," Beauchamp stated, grabbing him by the sleeve. They had to get out while they could. The things I do for the truth.
Lucien smirked, pulling golden coins out of his pocket and tossing them to the opposite side of the aisle. The guards at the entrance rushed in pick to pick them up instead of chasing them, giving both a chance to escape.
And they did.
"Where did you get so much money!"
"They aren't real. But those bubbling idiots won't note the difference."
Beauchamp did not look back; he was relieved no one was shooting at them. Their customers are here and that would disturb them, he guessed, glancing at the rooms.
"They must be blocking the entrance," Lucien pointed out, stopping his tracks. "We need to hide until your editor calls the police."
Beauchamp nodded and sent the pictures he had taken to his computer. He loved the Internet. "Done. It's matter of time now…" he trailed before Lucien tucked him into one of the private chambers. "Lucien!"
"Ssh," he urged, glancing around and bringing him inside, shutting the door behind them. "This corridor has no cameras, there's a contract of privacy between the customers and the club. They won't know we are here."
Beauchamp scratched his head and sat on the bed. He was glad that the room was too dark to distinguish the colours or the dreadful taste in furniture. "This is the last time I follow your advice, Debray," he promised, smiling slyly. Suddenly, he felt another weight on the mattress, close to him. "Lucien?" He felt his hand covering his mouth.
"They are checking the rooms…" Lucien whispered. "If they don't hear the expected we will be discovered."
Beauchamp was old enough to not blush; however, he was young enough to be uncertain. He uttered a muffled 'What' through Lucien's hand.
"How does Chief Secretary and Associate Editor sound?" he asked, enticingly. Beauchamp admitted that it was rather good. "If we don't do this, maybe we don't live to see our promotions. So what do you say, Associate Editor?" he asked, taunting and releasing his grip.
"Less talk and more action, Milord Chief Secretary," Beauchamp replied with a chuckle, making up his mind. He pulled Lucien to him and kissed him roughly, he tasted like fresh toothpaste. No wonder his teeth were always pearly white. His hands roamed his hair as Lucien started undoing his shirt. Soon, all clothes were discarded and, blessing the concealing darkness once more, Beauchamp proceeded to save their skins by covering both with sweat. Thankfully, Lucien carried lube and condoms inside his jacket, God only knew how many diseases the playboy was carrying - Beauchamp would be taking his chances with the aliens otherwise.
By the time they reached their room, the guards were chased by the grunts, groans and other pleasure noises that were expected to be heard. They had to keep up their façade until they heard the sirens outside. Beauchamp quickly rolled off of the bed and cleaned himself with the sheets. Standing, he tried to find his clothes in the blind darkness.
"Leaving so soon?" Lucien asked sluggishly from the bed. "You are in better shape than I expected you to be."
"The police are here. I can take the first picture of how they are arresting people without waiting for them to exit," he replied, zipping his pants and ignoring the taunt. Where was his shirt? He searched for a handful of moments until he found it; he could distinguish the shape of his camera inside. "By the way," he inquired as he buttoned his attire, "How did you know about Lowe's dirty secret?"
"Is this off record?"
"Yes."
"A member of his family was sharp enough to notice his hobby and she was talkative in bed."
He knew it. Lucien's charms would woo almost any woman or man… or hermaphrodite. "You slept with his wife?"
Lucien snorted, "Of course not," he replied, almost offended. "I had sex with their daughter… She's not underage, in the case you were wondering."
"I am sorry, I didn't want to accuse you of breaking your strict moral code," Beauchamp said, finishing with his shirt and tracking his shoes next. He frowned, suddenly remembering her profile, "She's quite of age and married."
"I know, she heard this from her husband, another customer of Le Queen. It's not a moral code, just standards, my friend. Have you seen his wife? She's old enough to be my grandmother and in need of giving up the pasta. "
"Whatever you say," Beauchamp dismissed the conversation and turned the knob, assuring there was no one outside. "I suppose you should leave, Milord Chief Secretary," he turned to gaze at him. The dim light that came from outside illuminated Lucien's bare body sprawled on the bed.
"Yes, and all those conversations we have regarding my sources will remain secret, unless you want me to speak of this one," Lucien gestured to himself.
Beauchamp shook his head. "Neither of us needs a scandal before our promotions," he replied and exited the chambers, craving a smoke. He pulled out a cigarette and realized he had lost his lighter. Shrugging, he chewed the stick and walked towards the source of the stern voices and screams. The police must be reading the prisoners their rights by then, he had enough time for a good photo. He left the restricted zone and the moans behind, whistling and anticipating the ruin of the despicable owners of the club and the righteous anger of the citizens as they pretended to be innocent lambs unrelated to Le Queen.
The things I do for an exclusive.