The costume party where they had ended up was in full swing. Mirko didn't know whose house this was- he had simply followed Martín here from the club, from the street parties, through the dew-slick black alleys that shone in the moonlight like something from a dream. The details didn't matter, all Mirko needed was for those warm fingers to intertwine with his, for that sweet-cruel voice to whisper in his ear, and he would be off. He would probably follow Martín anywhere.
And tonight, oh, tonight Martín was especially beautiful- especially feral. Like some kind of fairy-spirit from the children's horror stories Mirko's grandmother had told him as a child, Martín seduced him with only a glance, dragging him away into another world of sparkling glass and mind-addling drinks, of flickering lights and strangely-coloured shadows, a world where all was night and music and screams and time had no practical meaning anymore.
Mirko's own costume was very simple, he was dressed as a bandit in the old cartoon sense, with black-and-white stripes and a mask that was not but a scarf with two holes cut in it for his eyes. Martín had laughed outrageously when he saw it, told him it was perfect, and in a way it was- somehow, Mirko didn't entirely recognize himself whenever he caught a glimpse of his own distorted reflection in some shop window or puddle in the street. What a strange shock. It was a greater shock still whenever he came across a masked Dalí intent on their own festivities, with their red jumpsuits and fists held high, laughing- an even eerier mirror. Not one of them recognized him. But of course, how could they?
Martín was dressed as a vampire, and it suited him obscenely well. He had painted his skin white, and so at a distance his face became a miniature moon in the darkness, just as stark and cold and gleaming as the real (and full) one in the sky. His lips were stained red, he had coloured them sloppily on purpose with that fake blood that came in a squeeze bottle, but in the night it didn't look fake in the slightest. To his eyes he had done nothing, yet still they glowed, and he looked both stuffed to the brim and desperately hungry. Starving. He was a night-creature, a tempter, both irresistible and dangerous beyond measure- Mirko was entirely enthralled.
(And of course, all of these things were true.)
For some time- only a few minutes, yet it felt much longer- Mirko lost Martín in the throngs of people and thick clouds of smoke in the room, and he found himself haphazardly pushed into an armchair in one corner, the seat of which was stained with something wet (not that it mattered, not on a night like tonight). Ghoulish faces flickered before him, with wide grins and smudged makeup; limbs seemed to blend together, no one figure was distinct, and no clear voice could be heard over the animal pounding of the music that had burrowed its way deep into Mirko's skull, transfixing him, placing him under a spell.
Then, Martín appeared from amidst the arms of the many-headed beast, it parted before him like water, and in an instant Mirko was being straddled by his lover the demon, who pushed him back against the chair and licked a hot stripe up his cheek. The blood on Martín's lips had smeared across his cheek, almost like he had been kissing someone else- or even more likely, splitting the throat of a fresh victim. Martín bit his ear, and his teeth felt impossibly sharp, even though he hadn't put on fake ones as part of his costume- but no, he didn't need fake teeth, not on such a night, when the borders between dreams and reality were so blurry. Mirko found he could easily believe that Martín had sprouted fangs entirely on his own.
Martín was whispering something, and Mirko could tell it was filthy for how he rocked against his body, how hot his breath was against his neck, but he couldn't hear a single word. In response he grabbed Martín's ass- bold and brutish, he was a simple robber again, a thug, and this was his bounty. Martín laughed silently under the music, throwing his head back, revealing bloodstained teeth- and then he kissed Mirko fiercely, his fingernails scraping down the back of Mirko's neck, sending lightning across the skin of his entire body.
The whole world had gone wild, made drunk and altered by the full moon. Somehow, everyone in the room- in the streets, in the city- had become exactly what they appeared to be, and nothing more.
The bandit dragged his treasure into another room of the house, one with a semblance of privacy- a safe to store his loot- and the vampire sank his teeth in deep, drinking the man down until he was drained of all vitality, and had no choice but to fall asleep.
