I know it's been awhile, but I wrote that 16,000-word epic about two weeks ago and it kind of drained all my energy. It's a Balcifer fanfiction and part one of a three-part series called "Blood and Ink." Part two is Destiel and part three is Sabriel.

For Mems, who gripped me tight and raised me from Perdition, and who helped me brainstorm for Chapter 7 of "The Reckoning" (that fucker's next on my list). Everything obviously belongs to Kripke.

Word about the new Blue Archangel singer must have spread. More specifically, a good word, because there were about twice as many people as usual crammed into The Garrison and the dull roar escalated into full-throated shouting as Blue Archangel took the stage. The cacophony only intensified as the night wore on and it became increasingly clear that, no matter what offense Lu may have taken to Balthazar's presence, he was already quite popular with their small but insane fan base. It was actually rather intimidating to realize that one relatively minor change could have such an extraordinary effect on those who called themselves their fans. Still, Lu felt his mood lightening as they performed, beginning to understand that these people appreciated them, appreciated him. Oak Ridge definitely wasn't where he belonged, and now that he didn't have to go back, he felt himself smiling.

Forty-five minutes later, they took their bows and went backstage. It was then that Lu remembered that he'd accepted Balthazar's offer of a place to live. Now he actually had to deal with that, and the actual moving in. Balthazar was sure to make the process a living Hell and Lu started rolling around ways to shorten the ordeal as much as possible. He'd just decided to tell Balthazar that he was exhausted and just wanted to go to sleep—he prayed both bedroom doors locked—when he realized that Gabriel wasn't bounding around like he normally was after a show. In fact, all four of his bandmates seemed rooted to the spot and staring in the same direction.

Oh, shit. Crowley was standing there, his arms crossed over his chest. He looked decidedly neutral, as if the person standing directly to his right wasn't actually there, wasn't between him and Bobby Singer. Bobby, for his part, didn't appear so much neutral as angry, although he managed to keep a pretty tight lid on it. He cleared his throat and, indicating the man next to him, said, "Well, boys, this is Richard Roman. He's from Leviathan Records," he added after a moment.

Roman wore a plain black suit and an evil smile. On most days, this wouldn't bother Lu at all, but he felt distinctly discomfited by that smirk right now. It wasn't like Crowley's self-righteous but otherwise benign grin. There was something genuinely monstrous about that smile. He was forcibly reminded of Patrick Bateman in American Psycho. "Call me Dick," Roman said, holding out his hand to the closest band member, who happened to be Ray.

"Raphael. Raphael Burbank. I go by Ray." He shook Roman's hand and Lu didn't miss the momentary uneasiness that flitted across his features. One by one, they all shook Roman's hand and introduced themselves, trying not to let their discomfort show. They all seemed to sense that something was off with this guy.

"Gabriel Speight. Call me Gabe."

"Castiel Collins." Lu knew what he was thinking—Only my friends can call me Cas.

"Balthazar Roché."

"Lu Pellegrino."

Roman kept grinning at them, sending another wave of unsettlement through the group. "Guys, I have to say, I came here with… well, not necessarily low expectations, but… let's just say the bar wasn't very high. But watching you guys perform and seeing how much your audience clearly loves you? Man, I'm blown away. You guys definitely deliver." He'd taken two steps closer to the band, leaving Bobby and Crowley out of his peripherals. Bobby crossed his arms and exchanged a brief, slightly concerned glance with Crowley. "So I'm here to offer you guys a three-album contract. I'll give you some time to talk it over with each other and Mr. Crowley here, but…" He simply grinned at them for a moment. "Well, I'll have my people get the contract drawn up. You gentlemen have a nice night now." He turned back to Bobby and Crowley. "Mr. Singer, Mr. Crowley. I'll be in touch." With a curt nod toward Bobby, he brushed past them and disappeared further backstage.

For a few moments, it was quiet. Suddenly, Balthazar said, "Arrogant little cock, isn't he?"

Crowley gave a brief snort of laughter. "Indeed. I see now why you don't like him, Bobby." He uncrossed his arms and buried his hands in his pockets. "Well, it looks like we need to talk. You've been trying to get signed with Leviathan for awhile now, so this is obviously the news we've all been waiting for. A three-album contract… this is pretty much it for you, isn't it?" He peered around at each of them for a moment. "Thoughts? Lu?"

Lu knew why Crowley had appointed him the unofficial spokesperson. He was the reason they were there in the first place. He knew Ray from high school, Gabe and Castiel from college. He'd known Michael from Oak Ridge, before Mikey got fired for "attitude problems." The songs they performed were his. The name had been his idea. He'd been the driving force behind the band from day one, and even though they were all just as invested as he was by now, it all came back to him.

Naturally, Lu's brain chose that second to stop functioning. He swallowed hard, struggling to gather his thoughts. It had been a strange day, that was sure. What with his firing, his surprise relocation, and then this, he wasn't quite sure how he felt about it. "Well," he started carefully, "you're right—we've been trying to make this happen for awhile now. Assuming they cut us a good deal, I think the choice is pretty obvious, right? I mean… Can anyone think of a good reason not to take a deal?"

The other four just shook their heads. Lu expected Gabriel to make some smartass comment, but he remained silent. Castiel was the first one to speak up. "I believe that it's a good decision. We can tell them we're interested but not make any firm commitment. I personally would like to be able to look over the contract before we agree to anything. Based on those parameters, we can make a more informed choice." He glanced at Lu, as if seeking his approval. "However, based on what we currently know, there's no way to make such a definite decision. And obviously, until we sign anything, we're not bound to them."

Sometimes, Lu forgot how eloquent Castiel was. It wasn't often that he voiced his opinions, but when he did, they paid attention. Gabriel snorted with laughter. "Pretty much what I was gonna say. Wouldn't have sounded nearly as good coming out of me, though."

"Anything else?" Bobby asked. When no one else said anything, he nodded. "Okay, then. I'll tell Dick—" here, Gabriel let out a giggle "—that you're interested in seeing a contract. I'm sure you'll be hearing his offer by this time next week. Keep your phones on."

"Well, you boys have had a very exciting night. Go get drunk, but don't do anything stupid. And Lu?" The band had started to drift toward the exit, but Lu turned back to face Crowley. "Take it easy, okay? You'll get another job. You just got offered a contract. There's no reason to get pissed off tonight."

Three hours later found the bassist sitting against the wall of his new bedroom, staring into a now-half-empty bottle of Wild Turkey. After Ray and Balthazar had helped him drag his possessions into the spare room—the latter brushing his fingers against his skin every chance he got—Lu had claimed to be too exhausted to go out with the rest of the band for drinks. Instead, he retreated into his new bedroom and flopped onto the futon, feigning sleep until he heard Ray and Balthazar leave. He was relieved—he hadn't wanted the other four to feel obligated to have him along. Maybe he would go out with them tomorrow night or next weekend, but right now, he just couldn't do it.

That hadn't stopped him from locating Balthazar's liquor cabinet, grabbing the first bottle he could lay his hands on, and bringing it back to his room. The bottle had one, maybe two shots missing when he started on it. By now, the room was spinning pleasantly and everything faded into the background. He lifted the bottle to his lips again and discovered he couldn't taste the bourbon anymore. He wasn't sure if he was happy about that or not, but he did know he liked the bourbon itself. Bourbon, whiskey, and tequila made him a happy drunk. Vodka made him an angry drunk. Everything else just made him drunk.

In the half-light from a streetlamp outside, something white caught his eye. It looked suspiciously like the shirt he was wearing, until he looked down and realized he wasn't wearing his shirt anymore. When did that happen? He didn't remember taking his shirt off. He shrugged in apathy and took another swig of bourbon. He wiggled his toes and it slowly dawned on him that he'd taken off his shoes and socks as well. I must be drunker than I thought. He fumbled for the cap as it occurred to him that he'd probably reached his limit for the night.

Lu chuckled to himself as he slowly climbed to his feet and reached for the bottle again. He'd only been to Balthazar's house one time before this, so he had to strain to remember where the liquor cabinet was. He braced his free hand against the wall to guide himself out of his room and down the hall to the living room. Once he located the cabinet in the corner, he sank into a cross-legged sitting position. He'd just pushed the bottle of Wild Turkey back to where he figured it belonged when he heard the front door open. He twisted around—too fast, because he felt himself get a bit nauseous for a moment—and waved at Balthazar. "Hey!" he slurred happily, managing to stand back up.

"What the fuck?" Balthazar demanded. It was hard to tell from the dim light, but he looked irritated. Lu chose to ignore it and stumbled over to the blonde, shoving the door closed and throwing his arms around the singer. "You gettin' into my booze?"

"Yeah, maybe a little." Lu flashed Balthazar a cheesy grin, too drunk to care that his Southern twang was out in full force. "You got the good stuff. How can I resist?"

Balthazar closed his eyes for a few moments, exhaling slowly. "I thought you were too tired to get drunk tonight," he said, finally opening his eyes again. His sounded less annoyed and more resigned. "What happened to that? Was that a lie?"

Lu shook his head with more emphasis than was probably necessary. "No, no! I'm exhausted, I promise. I just wanted to be drunk by myself for awhile." He pressed his lips to the side of Balthazar's neck. "That being said," he murmured, "I'm really glad you're back."

The slightly-shorter blonde was silent and motionless for a solid five seconds. Abruptly, he reached up and grabbed Lu's wrists, pulling his arms away. "You're trashed," he muttered. "How much did you have?" He gave Lu a small shake, enough of one to cause the taller man to lean back.

Lu shrugged. What the fuck does it matter? "Like… half? Half of a fifth. Somethin' like that."

Balthazar closed his eyes again, as if he was struggling to hold onto his patience. "A fifth of what? Vodka? Scotch?"

"Mm, no. Fifth of Wild Turkey. Like I said, you got the good stuff."

The singer sighed. "Alright, mate. Let's get you to bed." He wrapped his arm around Lu's waist and led him back to his door, allowing the strawberry blonde to fist his shirt to keep himself upright. Balthazar nudged open Lu's door. "I trust you can make it from here?"

"Wait," Lu breathed, turning Balthazar's face to meet his. Before he could talk himself out of it, he pressed his lips to the singer's, who slid his hand to Lu's hip and gently returned the kiss. For a few leisurely, almost sweet moments, they kissed. All Lu could think of was how soft Balthazar's mouth felt against his, how fucking nice this whole thing felt. "There's no one else here now." He cradled the other side of Balthazar's face with his free hand, running his fingers up into the blonde's hair. "Fuck me? I've been waitin' for you to get back all night." His hand drifted down to the front of Balthazar's jeans and he was able to drag the heel of his hand over the bulge in his pants before the singer grabbed his wrist tightly.

"Don't," he hissed suddenly. As Lu pulled back slightly in surprise, giving him a perplexed look, Balthazar pushed him away, into his room. Lu managed to catch himself before he fell over, but he sank onto the futon anyway, looking affronted.

"I thought that's what you wanted. Wasn't that the point of all this?" he snapped, glaring up at him as Balthazar went to the closet in a corner of the room that Lu hadn't gotten around to exploring yet. "You gettin' into my pants?"

"No, you arse, it wasn't. You need a bloody place to live, and that's what this is. I'm not having my bandmate living on the bloody street, understand? And I don't fuck drunk people," he added, turning and throwing a blanket at Lu. "You puke, you clean it up. Don't talk to me 'til you're sober." He shot another glare at the bassist who didn't even have the decency or sobriety to look sheepish. With a muscle in his jaw twitching in anger, he stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

Lu threw the blanket over his head, mentally vowing to slug him in the face the next morning. With that happy thought firmly in his mind, he fell back onto the mattress, turned onto his side, and fell asleep.

In the original outline for this story (by "original," I mean the very first draft from about four months ago), they actually ended up having sex. Several things happened to change my mind about this chapter, not the least of which was that I didn't want Balthazar to be a rapist. *shrug* He's plenty hot enough without having to fuck guys who are almost too drunk to stand. So, yeah.