COURTSHIP RITUALS

by Soledad

A "Pathways in the Dark" story

Part 08 of "The Toreador Chronicles". Follows "Dark Desires".

For disclaimer and background information see the Introduction.

Rating: Adults only, please.

Summary: Brian and Emmett finally got their permanent contracts signed. Brian moves into his new apartment and has a disturbing phone call from Michael. Also, he finally submits to Alain for the first time, and – to his mild shock – finds it extremely liberating.

The reconstruction workers finally left, and Brian looked around in his new home with extreme satisfaction. At first he hadn't been very excited by the idea of moving into Alain's house, as he was still a little uncomfortable with the artist's possessive nature, but after some consideration he accepted the offer anyway.

Oliver Simon and his long-time partner, Pierre Chatelot (a successful landscape architect) had left the apartment in a fairly good shape. They'd only lived here for six or seven months, while their own house was under reconstruction. Well, that was the official reason. Brian suspected that there had to be an unofficial one as well – the true one – but he'd learned not to ask when his associates didn't offer voluntary information.

In any case, the apartment was very nice – more suited for a bachelor than for a couple, in fact – with a large living room, of which the study area was divided by a decorative book-case that reached into one-third of the room's breadth, two bedrooms, and a kitchen area, separated by a counter from the living room, opposite the study. The bathroom had, aside from the obligatory shower cabin, a semi-circular tub, large enough for two or three people, and a walk-in closet that also could be entered from the bedrooms.

With one word, the apartment had class, and the clean, elegant lines revealed Alain's refined taste in the planning. The window glasses darkened gradually, matching the current brightness of the sunlight, but that didn't bother Brian too much. He could always open the windows if he wanted to feel the sun on his face.

Furnishing the apartment had been great fun. He'd enlisted the help of the prop expert of the Vignes Studios, who knew small, exclusive shops largely unknown for anyone but a small circle of friends, and the result was worth the effort – and the price – indeed. Brian had chosen the larger bedroom for personal use; the one that had a mural on the walls: a copy of some ancient Greek thing, most likely, showing a merry feast with beautiful younglings and handsome, bearded men having a good time.

Like all of Alain's works, it had nothing pornographic in it. The scenes were pretty tame, at least at first sight. The true eroticism came from the sheer beauty of the half-covered bodies and from the emotions shown so vividly on the faces. There could be no doubt about the love and desire these imaginary people felt for each other, even though they weren't doing anything else than lying on their couches, feasting and watching the dancers.

More than anything else he'd seen so far made this mural Brian understand the gift of his host – and Alain's love for male beauty. But it also made him realize the difference between porn and eroticism. Not that he hadn't known that difference before. He couldn't have created his highly successful complains without that understanding. But living surrounded by this extraordinary piece of artwork also made him understand the difference between the desire of his casual partners for his body and Alain's fascination with him as a person. Alain didn't simply want to fuck him – well, that obviously too, of course – he wanted to possess him, body and soul, as a collector wants a rare piece of art.

Such a single-minded obsession could be frightening sometimes, which was the reason why Brian still hesitated to give in to Alain's seduction completely. Sure, they'd had oral sex a few times, with him being on the receiving end, and it had been great, Alain having a skill in deep throating worth to become the stuff for legends. (The fact that vampires didn't need to breathe was an advantage he would understand later.) Sure, Alain had made it clear that he wasn't expecting an exclusive relationship; in fact, Brian knew that he regularly slept with Sarina, and occasionally with other people, too. Not to mention his visits in Lady Heather's establishment. He just wanted Brian more than all the others, and was eminently certain that he'd get what he wanted, eventually.

And that was exactly what made Brian nervous. Despite the sessions with Lady Heather, he still preferred to be the one in control, and he knew without any doubt that with Alain, he'd never be that. Nor would Alain ever let him go again, once they'd done the deed. The artist's desire for him was complex and multi-levelled, and once he gave in, it would take years to explore the relationship; or perhaps decades. Brian wasn't sure he was ready for that. Whether he'd ever be ready for something like that. So he was still hesitating, trying to keep things between them on a casual level, although he knew that in truth they were already way beyond the casual thing.

Alain let him struggle with his hidden fears, waiting with the patience of a sphinx for his time to come. It was eerie sometimes, how the artist disregarded the merciless flow of time. As if it hadn't affected him at all. Of course, after five hundred years that could become someone's second nature. But Brian couldn't know that.

Brian, on the other hand, was all too aware of it. Time always seemed too short, flowing away at an alarming speed. If he could afford it, he wouldn't keep any clocks in his apartment. But he couldn't do that. There were appointments and dates and deadlines to consider – he couldn't avoid being reminded of his mortality and the fleeting nature of his youth all the time. It was beyond frustrating sometimes.

He glanced at the beautiful clock on the wall – a unique piece of abstract artwork that he's found in one of Madame D'Excavalier's galleries – and smiled. There was one appointment he didn't mind being reminded of. It was time to call Mikey again.

"Red Cape comics," the voice answering the phone in Pittsburgh wasn't Michael's. Bran became tense and worried at once.

"Can I speak with Michael Novotny?" he asked.

"Sorry, he's not in right now," the young voice, most likely Hunter's, replied. "Do you want to leave a message?"

"No, dammit, I don't want to leave a message," Brian snapped. "Where in hell is he? He knows I'd call him at this time."

"Oh… you must be Brian Kinney, then," the boy on the other end of the connection said. Not Hunter, after all. Hunter would have recognized him. "Michael told me you'd call… and to tell you he's sorry and will call you back, if you leave your new phone number."

That didn't sound good at all. In fact, it could only mean one thing.

"What's wrong?" Brian asked. "It's Ben, isn't it? What has he done? Tried to run out to Tibet again, or picked up one of his besotted students?"

"Erm… no," the boy, probably one of said besotted students himself, replied glumly. "He's in hospital, and Michael wanted to be with him."

"Fuck," Brian hissed, knowing how hard that must have hit his Mikey. "Are things going to the end already?"

"Of course not!" the kid protested, shocked by the brutally direct question. "He's switching to new medication, that's all."

"I see," Brian knew the kid was lying to himself; if a HIV positive patient suddenly needed new medication that was always bad news. It meant that the old ones didn't help anymore. Ben had had the virus for how long by now? More than seven years. I guess it was inevitable, Brian thought, after leaving his new phone number and hanging up. Poor Mikey. It'll be a hard time for him. It's not fair. If anyone, Mikey deserves to be happy. Why must he always pick the wrong guy?

"Bad news?" Alain asked, and as Brian jerked in surprise, he raised an apologetic hand. "I'm sorry. The door was left wide open. I thought you wouldn't mind if I stopped by and took a look at the results."

"I don't," Brian shrugged. "Just try to knock next time."

"I will, I promise," Alain crossed the room and hugged him spontaneously. "You look upset. What's wrong?"

"I'm not sure," Brian rested in the older man's embrace for a moment. Sometimes Alain's protectiveness wasn't such a bad thing. "I tried to call Mikey, but he wasn't there. Had to take hubby to the hospital."

Alain nodded, having cajoled some of the details about Brian's past out of him some time ago. Especially the details concerning one Michael Novotny. He knew from the beginning that he'd never be able to compete with Michael's role in Brian's life. So he chose to integrate those memories into their slowly growing bond as well as he could.

"That was to be expected," he murmured, kissing Brian's throat. "No matter what the doctors try, no matter how much headway the pharmatical industry has made, from a certain phase on, they're simply helpless. How wrong is it?"

Brian tilted his head invitingly, and Alain thanked all dark powers that he'd just fed; the temptation was almost too strong. "I don't know. The kid in the shop had no idea. I hope Mikey will call me back, soon."

"Why are you so worried?" Alain asked bluntly. "Shouldn't you be glad to have the professor our of your way soon?"

"Because he's Mikey's fucking husband," Brian snapped. "And because Mikey loves him and will fall apart when he dies. That's why!"

Alain looked at him with strangely compassionate eyes. As if he'd understand. Perhaps he did. He never spoke of former lovers, and Brian never asked. Some things were better left alone. So they were quiet, for a few endless moments.

"You still love him that much?" Alan finally asked. Brian nodded.

"Yes," he answered simply. "Always have… always will."

"Why haven't you acted on your feelings, then?" Alan asked. "Why have you wasted almost twenty years, letting others to take what you wanted for yourself more than everything?"

"Because I'm a fucking coward," Brian shrugged, his voice cold and bitter. "And what I've seen as a kid wasn't very encouraging. My mother was a frigid bitch. My father was an abusive drunk. They had a hateful marriage, which is probably why I am unwilling or unable to form a committed long-term relationship of my own. The fact that I drink like a fish, abuse drugs, and have more or less redefined promiscuity doesn't help much, either. Mikey was the only one who'd always put up with me, no matter what."

"Why isn't he with you, then?" Alain asked quietly.

"Because he deserves something better," Brian said. "Someone who doesn't treat him like shit. Someone who genuinely cares for him."

"Oh, you do care for him, there can't be any doubt about that," Alain said seriously. "That's not the problem, I think."

"So?" Brian gave him the sarcastic eyebrow. "What is the problem then, Maestro? Enlighten me."

"The problem is that you need two diagonally opposite things in your life to become whole," Alain said thoughtfully. "On the one side, you're longing for unconditional love and acceptance; you need it to survive at all. Your friend Michael has provided that for you since your teenaged years. You do feel for him the same way, but you can't admit it… or express it in a way he'd need. You are too afraid to give up control. That's the other side of your problem. And Michael isn't the person who could wrestle that control from you, no matter how much you would need to surrender it."

"Who says I needed it?" Brian went into defensive mode without realizing it.

Alain smiled. "I do. And I know this because we have much in common. All you need to do is to learn accepting the truth about yourself."

He grabbed the back of Brian's neck, tilted the younger man's face back and kissed him, forcing his mouth open with his tongue. It was a rough, almost brutal kiss, all about dominance and power. There was a shocking strength in his grip, a clear superiority that loosened Brian's thighs against his will. Alain's other hand grabbed him through the fabric of his trousers, manhandling him roughly, so that he nearly came in his pants from the intense mix of pain and pleasure.

In the next moment, Alain let go of him, admiring his flushed cheeks and kiss-bruised mouth with a satisfied smile.

"And now tell me that you didn't like it," he said.

It was painfully obvious that Brian could not. Alain touched his face, suddenly gentle and considerate again, and his eyes were surprisingly warm now.

"Once you surrender control to me – and it's inevitable that you'll do so one day – you won't need to keep looking for reassurance in a hundred anonymous couplings any longer. Because you'll be mine, and I'll be there to catch you when you are falling. I won't hinder you in seeking out pleasure with others, for so will do I. And I won't force you to do bottom all the time – I like the occasional switch. But I'll be the one in control, whenever you lie with me. That will make you free to be in control with others, without abusing them. It's all about balance."

"It sounds awfully close to abuse and being abused for me," Brian replied.

"It has nothing to do with abuse," Alain shook his head. "You'll have to want to surrender for this to work."

"Like you do when you go to Lady Heather's?" The sarcasm in Brian's voice was evident.

"Something like that, yes," Alain nodded. "With the significant difference that I actually do care for you… something I don't get at Lady Heather's."

"Why do you go there, then?"

"Because I need this as much as you do. Probably even more. I'm older and a lot worse with control issues than you are."

"Well, if that isn't the understatement of the year…"

"You've seen me out of control, and that was just a small taste. Some of us simply do have these needs… and we need a safe outlet, or we'll endanger the people around us."

"No kidding," Brian murmured, knowing all too well how many people he had hurt by lashing out in uncontrolled pain and anger… especially those whom he considered his friends.

"So, you've understood what this is all about, it seems," Alain said calmly. "The decision is yours to make, the time is yours to choose. Leave me a message when you're ready, I'll come to you."

He kissed Brian again, this time gently, almost reverently, and left the apartment without a further word.

When Michael's call finally came, Brian was already halfway through a newly opened bottle of Jim Beam, which gave his voice a light slur.

"Mikey," he drawled, "what's news in The Pitts? How're ya doing? I heard the Professor is in hospital…"

"Yeah," Michael's voice was tense, nervous. "His T-cell count went down last week. Apparently, the meds don't do the deed anymore. So the doctors are trying something new now."

"Is it working?" Brian bit back his first instinct to ask what for? Everyone knew that once the meds stopped working, there wasn't really much that could be done. The inevitable could be delayed for a while, but it would be just a matter of time. But he was glad that Michael at least talked to him about it again.

"I don't know," Michael answered after a long, meaningful pause. "Bri, I'm afraid. I'm scared shitless that he's gonna die and leave me alone to deal with…"

"You're not alone, Mikey," Brian soothed. "Never have been, never will be," then his mind jumped back to Michael's last remark in dread. "To deal with what?"

There was no answer, and Brian, all of a sudden, had that familiar feeling of a huge slab of ice weighing his stomach down.

"Mikey, what are you not telling me?"

Still no answer… just those all too familiar, miserable little noises that Michael used to produce when trying to force back his tears. Noises that Brian had not heard for more than a decade.

"Mikey," he said slowly, fighting back his own panic, "what happened?"

"Probably nothing," Michael finally answered with a badly disguised sniffle. "I don't have the test results yet… and anyway, it could take three to six months till they are really sure…"

"Test… results…" Brian repeated tonelessly, and then he practically exploded. "Fuck, Mikey, what were you thinking? How could you be so careless? You knew the risks, dammit, why haven't you..."

"We have," Michael interrupted him, his voice now strangely controlled. "But accidents happen. We were careful, but it didn't matter. That fucking condom just broke. It wasn't Ben's fault."

"You're damn right; it was yours, because you didn't listen to Deb and all the others," Brian hissed.

"I don't want to fight with you about this," Michael replied tiredly. "I've more important things to do. What's done is done… nobody can change it. All we can do now is to sit it out and wait for the results. Which is hard enough. For both of us."

"You haven't told the others?"

"No. And I'm not going to, at least not until we know for sure what we are dealing with."

"Do you want me to come home?" Brian offered without hesitation.

"No," Michael said promptly. "And don't you dare to tell Emmett. I don't want either of you run back home and fuss over me for nothing."

"Nothing? You call that nothing? Jesus, Mikey, he could have infected you!" Brian practically screamed, forgetting about his still open front door.

"And there's nothing you or Em could do about it," Michael pointed out. "I can deal with it… so far. I need to focus on Ben – not only is his condition worsening, he's also guilt-ridden and miserable…"

"He has every reason for that," Brian hissed nastily.

"Bri, please," Michael's voice sounded incredibly far away and exhausted. "I don't have the strength to deal with your shit, too – so, once in your life, just stay away, will you?"

"I can't fucking believe this!" Brian ran his free hand through his already tousled hair. "All right, Mikey. Have your way… for now. But if you feel that it's becoming too much for you to bear alone, you will call me, and I'll take the first available plane home, understood?"

"You really don't have to…"

"The fuck I don't! I'm still your best friend, aren't I? Promise me that you'll call me, or I'm going home, now!"

"All right, all right," Michael said in defeat. "I'll call."

"Promise?" Brian knew he sounded about four years old, but couldn't help it.

"I promise," Michael replied, and for the first time, there was a tiny smile in his voice. "I gotta go now. Have to close the store and go to the hospital. Call me tomorrow at lunch time?"

"Sure. Take care, Mikey. Miss you."

"Same here," and Michael hung up.

Brian pocketed his cell phone and finally realised that he should close the front door. Aiming to that, he practically stumbled into the lovely black model who lived next door. She was standing in the corridor as if rooted. What was her name again? Sabrina? No… Sarina.

"Did your Momma never tell you that it's impolite to listen to other people's phone conversations?" he snapped at her.

"I wasn't listening," she replied calmly. "At least not voluntarily. You were screaming so loud that I thought you were being killed. Perhaps you should learn to close your front door before getting vocal?"

Brian was about to do just that, but she walked into his apartment and sat calmly at the counter, crossing her long, shapely legs, as if it was the most natural thing on Earth. Perhaps in Alain's house, it was.

"I know it's not my business," she said, "and I won't speak about this again, not to you, not to anyone else. But I couldn't help overhearing a few things – you were quite loud – and I believe I know what's going on."

"Yeah, and what if you do?" Brian snapped. "As you said it yourself, none of it is your business."

"No need to become hostile," Sarina said. "I just want to make a suggestion… based on past experience."

"Sorry, not interested, thanks."

"I'll make it anyway, so you better listen," she said. "If you want to help your friend, you should go to Alain."

"What for?" Brian asked bitterly. "Can he undo a HIV-infection?"

"Perhaps not," Sarina shrugged, "but he certainly can help you to deal with the situation."

"Did he help you with yours?" Brian asked sarcastically. Those old, old eyes in that lovely young face told a different tale.

"More than you could possibly imagine," Sarina answered quietly. "If I told you about the things that have been done to me, you'd first puke for days, then call 911 to get me into a mental ward. So I won't tell you anything, just this: without Alain, I'd have died a grisly death, alone in some gutter in the underbelly of the city. He might seem harsh and volatile sometimes – well, he is harsh and volatile – but there's nothing he wouldn't do for those who are his."

"Are you one of those?" Brian asked. Sarina nodded.

"In a sense. He took me in when nobody else would and took care for my safety and my future, when the one responsible for me wouldn't move a finger to save me."

"And in exchange he gets to fuck you?"

"Not like that. Sure, I sleep with him frequently, but I do it because I love him. Not as 'in-love with him', though. I love him as a benefactor and as a good friend," there was no good way to explain the mortal the intricate relations between a fledgling and her foster Sire. "Besides, he's a skilled and considerate lover. I enjoy sharing his bed."

"So, you have other lovers, too? And you wouldn't mind sharing him? Not even with another man?" Brian was understandably surprised. All women he'd known were very much into permanent, twosome relationships.

"Of course not," Sarina replied. "We don't have an exclusive relationship. Well, we don't have a relationship per se. We have closeness and sex, whenever we feel alone and need each other. And he gives me protection and guidance. He's seen a lot and gone through a lot. His advice has always been valuable. Not asking for it out of stubborn pride would be foolish."

She stood and left with a nod, leaving Brian alone with his thoughts… which were far from being pleasant. Mikey had been exposed to the HIV-virus. Without protection. Just because a fucking piece of plastic proved to be less elastic, less enduring than it had been promised. Because of some idiot's incompetence, his Mikey could die.

Of course, if he, Brian, hadn't been such a fucking moron, if he had kicked Justin out when that little shit started to butter him up again, so that he could sneak back into his life… If he'd had the balls to tell Mikey how he really felt, if he had stood up and fought for Mikey, Ben wouldn't have stood a chance… couldn't have endangered his Mikey in the first place.

Stop, he ordered himself sternly, don't panic! It won't help, and besides, Mikey can still turn out negative.

But he knew he was lying to himself. The chances were fifty-fifty at best, and Michael had always easily caught everything as a child. Had suffered asthma attacks all his youth. And even though in the recent years he'd been mostly healthy… he was in more danger than your average guy.

"Fuck," Brian murmured in despair, grabbing the half-empty bottle of Jim Beam and taking a big gulp directly from the bottle, "I can't do this… I can't make it without him…"

Several days sped away in a blur… with drugs, booze, anonymous sex in the back rooms of gay bars and the occasional visit at Lady Heather's, where he tried, with little to no result, to escape his heart-ache through physical pain. Nothing helped. He went through his day on autopilot, did his work purely on instinct and was sheer unbearable to everyone who worked with him. His lifeline were the phone calls from The Pitts. As long as he could hear Mikey's voice once a day, he endured… somehow. But his work started to suffer from his drug- and alcohol-induced haze, and Alain began to worry in earnest.

As long as Brian produced the expected success, he was left alone. But Alain knew, the Ventrue businessmen were merciless, and they didn't tolerate failure. As quickly as Brian had raised in the ranks, he could end up dumped in the gutter, drained dry, when no longer useful for them.

Alain was not going to let that happen. He had taken a personal interest in the young man early on, and he wanted Brian in a good shape, strong and beautiful, not as a burned-out husk. It was still too early to think about Embracing him, but something had to be done. And since Brian was still too stubborn to come to him for help, Alain decided to force his hand.

Once again, he found the door to Brian's apartment ajar. His sensitive nose had identified the sickeningly sweet smell of a joint on the corridor already. The young man was smoking pot again – and if the alcohol vapours in the air were any indication, he was drinking heavily, too.

Alain entered without knocking and found Brian sprawled out on the sofa in the living room, with an almost empty bottle of whiskey in one hand and a joint in the other one. He crossed the room, fighting his raising anger and plucked both sources of self-destructive poison from Brian's unresisting fingers.

"Stand up," he said in a low, commanding tone. "This ends here and now."

"None of your fucking business!" Even high as a kite and with a goofy grin plastered all over his face, Brian managed to put enough venom in his tone to kill an elephant.

"I'm making it my business," Alain replied, dragging the young mortal to his feet with inhuman strength. "And you're coming with me to my place."

"Not gonna happen," Brian said stubbornly. "Can't make me."

"You think so? Watch me!" and to Brian's utter shock, Alain simply threw him over one shoulder as if he were but a rag doll and carried him over to his own place – a place where Brian hadn't been before.

Alain put him down, not all too gently, in the living room that was practically empty, save from the fireplace and the book-cases covering every single wall.

"Bathroom," the artist pointed at a door, hidden behind the wallpaper. "Go take a shower – preferably a cold one – put your clothes in the hamper and be back here in ten minutes."

"Naked?" Brian still wasn't too far gone to notice the direction this… encounter was going. Alain raised an eyebrow.

"Is that not what you are doing on your sessions with Lady Heather? Same circumstances, different lesson. Move it!"

Had Brian not been drunk and high beyond reason, he'd probably had protested – or turned on his heals and fled, because Alain's eyes had that predatory, silver gleam again, the one that always made him shiver with fear and anticipation. But he'd always been high in the recent days, to numb his fear for Mikey and of being left alone, and it made him uncharacteristically cooperative. Besides, a shower seemed a good way to clear his head before Alain started the inquisition.

When he emerged from the shower, he felt like shit, but his mind was slightly less foggy. Alain guided him to the bedroom, just as sparsely furnished as the living room, with a double-sized mattress serving as the bed. At least it had exquisite satin sheets. Dark blue ones.

"Sit," Alain gestured towards the bed, and after some hesitation, Brian obeyed. The artist, still fully clothed, sat next to him and draped a robe over his shoulders. "And now talk to me. I've already figured out the basic facts, but I want to know why have you been so self-destructive lately."

"It's not your business," Brian snapped. Alain grabbed the back of his neck and pushed him face down onto the mattress with a grip he was unable to break.

"Wrong answer, boy," the artist growled, nipping on Brian's earlobe warningly. "I told you, I'm making it my business. In fact, I'm making you mine first, and after that, we're going to have this business talk, whether you like or not."

"Fuck!" somehow, Brian managed to squirm out of that iron grip and was backing away from Alain in panic. "You wanna rape me or what?"

Alain made no attempt to follow him. "Do I need to?" he asked with a thin smile. "Or are you going to bend over and take it like a man?"

"And what happened to waiting for me to come to you on my own when I'm ready?" Brian asked sarcastically.

"Oh, you are ready all right," Alain gave his raging hard-on a meaningful glance, "you're just too damn stubborn to admit. You've been poisoning yourself with alcohol and drugs for days, instead of admitting you need to hand over control," his voice became low and seductive. "I can give you what your usual poisons and anonymous tricks cannot. And I'm not allowing you to destroy yourself. Come here!"

Brian made a few hesitant steps forward, ready to bolt, but all Alain did was taking his hand.

"Lie down with me," Alain purred, "and I'll make you mine, in a way you never belonged to anyone. Do you want to be freed from your burden and let go of your pain?"

"I do," Brian whispered, "but I won't become your bed slave."

"Not yet anyway," Alain laughed, "that's still a long way to go. All you need to do right now is to surrender your precious control, such as it is, and let me call the shots. You'll like it, I promise."

And he did. Forced to play the completely passive part wasn't easy for Brian – even with Phillipe, he often controlled the sex from the bottom – but he had to admit that it was liberating. And Alain, a true master of dominance, used his amazing skills to keep him interested all night… just like Phillipe had during their first times together.

Do all Frenchmen have such incredible stamina or are these guys on something? Brian wondered. If they are, I sure as hell would like to try it.

"Don't even think about it," Alain smacked his ass, playfully, but with a force that stung afterwards; he couldn't read the blood he tasted like Phillipe, but having drunk from Brian when the mortal fell asleep had formed a rudimentary, albeit one-sided bond between them. "Besides, we aren't on anything. We are just gifted, that's all. Age and experience can do that to a person."

"Age and experience," Brian snorted. "You can't probably be older than I am, which means that having more experience would be virtually impossible."

"You'd be surprised," Alain said, stroking his flank.

Brian raised a sceptical eyebrow. "How old are you anyway?"

"I've been perpetually twenty-nine for the last, oh, five hundred years or so," Alain grinned, knowing that telling the exact, although highly unimaginable truth would make it sure that the mortal wouldn't take him seriously. And indeed, Brian burst out in near hysterical laughter.

"You're truly insane," he said.

"I've been told so, repeatedly," Alain shrugged, then he gave the young man a searching look and asked. "Are you feeling better?"

Brian was speechless for a moment.

"Yeah," he finally answered, realizing that he was telling the truth. "Much better, in fact."

"Good," Alain replied seriously, kissing him. "Next time, don't wait till I go and drag you to my bed with force. We both know you need this… and that I can provide it. So don't be an idiot. Come to me if you need me, will you?"

"I might," Brian said after some hesitation. Alain was right. He couldn't support Mikey by self-destructing. Letting Alain have his way with him seemed to help. It would have been foolish not to accept that help.

The End - for now