FORGING THE BOND 1

by Soledad

A "Pathways in the Dark" story

Part 11 of "The Toreador Chronicles". Follows "Revelations".

For disclaimer and background information see the Introduction.

Rating: Adult

Author's note:

Larry Blaisdell (played by Larry Bagby III) was the only canonically gay male character in BtVS. He was supposedly killed in the last episode of Season 3, but this fact is open to interpretation. I decided to leave him alive and use him, instead of creating an original character for the part. And yes, he was a football player in the series.

Summary: The LA Kindred are preparing for war against the Sabbat, and Brian has to go to a safe place. He's not happy about it.

For the next couple of days Brian was ordered strict bed rest. Under other circumstances he'd have climbed the walls – he was practically never sick – but the heavy blood loss had taken its toll, despite the iron shots. So, for perhaps the first time in his life, he obeyed without as much as a word of protest.

Sarina brought him light meals three or four times a day and threatened him into taking vitamin E-capsules (real ones, not Ecstasy pills that often were nicknamed so) and iron pills. They chatted a bit about neutral topics: mostly about the upcoming Rage movie, the success of which might pave the way to for Sarina's breakthrough as an actress. That was a safe thing to talk about, and Brian did his best not to think about his voluntary nurse's true identity. Because there couldn't be any doubt that Sarina, too, was a vampire. She was too close to Alain not to be one.

Alain paid Brian daily visits as well, keeping himself at arm's length all the time. He knew the mortal needed time to accept the truth that had been revealed to him quite untimely – and without the necessary prep work. Although, to be honest, how could someone be prepared for a truth like that? Besides, he had other things on his mind right now – and he was not alone with that. Every vampire in LA was preoccupied with the Sabbat threat and the possible methods of dealing with it.

On the fourth day, the pretty lady doctor returned to check on Brian, and after a thorough – and partially embarrassing – examination, declared him strong enough to be moved. As long as he took it slow, she added as a warning.

"Moved?" Brian repeated after the doctor had left. "Where the fuck should I be moved to?"

"To a place safer than mine," Alain replied seriously. "There will be a big fight between… between us and Yitzhak's people, soon. And now that they are aware of your importance for the Clan – for me – they would come for you. And they'd look for you here first."

"How could they know about me at all?" Brian asked, trying very hard not to panic. "That Yitzhak guy was the only one who knew me, and you've taken care of him, haven't you?" As Alain didn't answer at once, Brian became even more nervous. "You have that freak taken care of, right?"

Alan sighed. "Unfortunately, not. We… we were too late. When our people went to pick him up, he was already gone. His own pack must have been somewhere nearby."

"Oh, great!" Brian scowled. "So I'm still considered dinner by some crazed monster, who's possibly royally pissed at me for hitting him with an iron bar."

"He's most likely not happy about that," Alain agreed. "Which is the reason why I want to bring you to a safe haven. It's only temporary, until we've taken care of them altogether."

"And what if you lose?" Brian asked quietly.

"In that case you should take the first plane back to Pittsburgh," Alan replied, "because that would mean that I'd be dead – the Final Death sort of dead – and no longer able to protect you. But don't worry just yet; we've fought these monsters before, and I'm still here, aren't I? And so are the others."

"Very convincing," Brian said, not the least convinced. "Where are you taking me anyway?"

"To the safest place that could be found in LA right now," Alain said. "To the only mortals that can face my kind. You'll be better off among your own people during the next few days."

That didn't tell Brian much, but Alain refused to say anything else. On the next day, however, a square-jawed, muscular young man with a military buzz arrived to Alain's house with a black jeep and asked for Brian. Although wearing casual civvies, his entire mannerism practically screamed ex-military, which made Brian extremely uncomfortable, despite the fact that the man was a true eye-candy. Jarheads weren't his preferred sort of people, as jarheads were generally homophobic – and strong enough to make a lot of damage as a sign of their dislike.

"I'm Graham Miller," this particular jarhead introduced himself, "chief of security in the LA house of the Luna Foundation. I was sent to take you there." Seeing Brian's obvious discomfort, he grinned briefly. "Don't worry," he said, "I'm not on liquid diet. Nobody employed by the Foundation is."

"You seem to know about those who are, though," Brian said in suspicion. The jarhead named Graham Miller shrugged.

"Well… I used to serve in a special unit of the armed forces… a very special unit. Let's just say that vampires aren't the weirdest thing I've seen in my line of work. Which is why I got my current job. The Foundation needed someone who wouldn't freak out by the sight of Hostiles."

"Hostile… what?" Brian frowned.

"Hostile sub-terrestrials," the other man explained. "That's the official euphemism for vampires, demons and others of similar kind."

"Official… euphemism," Brian repeated in disbelief. "As in the government or the military or…"

"A very special branch of the Marines, actually," Graham said matter-of-factly. "I was a Marine before being selected for Special Ops."

Special Ops. Oh God, the man was a cold-blooded killer. With the official blessing of the government, no less. And Brian was supposed to go with that to a previously unknown location? Was Alain fucking insane? Brian shook his head in exasperation. Could his life get any more complicated?

Graham gave him an amused look. "No need to be paranoid," he said. "I'm not the one who bites here."

"Sometimes," Brian riposted tartly, "so-called normal people are worse than certified monster."

"Tell me something I don't already know," Graham said grimly, remembering Professor Walsh and her inhuman experiments on sentient beings, evil as they might be. "But the folks of the Foundation are decent people. And you'll need a hiding place for the next couple of days. Trust me: you wouldn't like getting caught between the fronts of the undead."

Which was very true, of course. So, still wary and suspicious, Brian finally got into the jeep with two suitcases and his laptop, and Graham drove him from Hollywood to Downtown Los Angeles, which, surprisingly, didn't take too long, as the traffic wasn't very stark at this early hour. The jeep stopped in front of a beautiful old building in Spanish-Californian Art Deco style. The sign on its front declared that it was the Hyperion Hotel, built in 1918 – probably a very popular place at its prime, now a relic, but renovated not so long ago. Next to its main entrance was a black marble plaque with simple, but elegant gold letters that said "Luna Foundation".

Graham led Brian into a marble-floored foyer that had most likely been reconstructed with the help of old photographs because it looked absolutely authentic. It was furnished with overstuffed armchairs and circular sofas, polished coffee tables and stained glass lamps, and the wallpapers seemed to be gold-embroidered brocade. Even an old-fashioned television set, seemingly out of the 1950s (but with a flat digital screen) stood in one corner. It was very classy; whoever had been responsible for the redecorating, they had a good eye for the details. Brian already felt extravagant ideas taking shape in his head, how he could use this room for ad purposes.

But it wasn't the time for work-related ogling yet. Graham gestured him to come to a semi-circular desk that once must have been the workplace of the receptionist but was nor obviously the control centre of some pretty sophisticated, high-tech surveillance system, with a control panel like the bridge of the Enterprise and a dozen or so monitors. A large, straw-haired, college football player type guy was sitting at the controls, and Brian's gaydar went off the scale in the moment their glances met. Hmmm… the place started looking more promising.

"Hey, Larry," Graham said. "Is everything all right?"

"Smooth sailing, boss," the big buff with the name tag 'Blaisdell' on his breast pocket replied. "We keep the perimeter under constant surveillance."

Graham gave the monitors a cursory look and nodded. "Good. We'll make a good little soldier out of you yet."

"Yeah, and the President is a drag queen," the guy named Larry snorted. "I'm pretty content with what I am now, thanks. Oh, and by the way, the Precept wanted to discuss security measures with you. Preferably yesterday."

"Am I not a lucky man?" Graham said sarcastically. "All right, can you see Mr. Kinney here to his room? I think he'll appreciate your company more than mine, anyway."

"I hope so," Larry replied with a suggestive leer, and then he called out, seemingly into the empty room. "Gunn, could you take over for me?"

"Sure, man," a voice with an unmistakable street accent answered, and a previously unnoticed black guy emerged from one of the large armchairs. "I'm free for the next couple of hours and bored out of my head anyway."

"Thanks," Larry changed places with him and picked one of the keys from the old-fashioned board hanging on the wall behind the desk. "Come with me, Mr. Kinney?"

Brian grabbed his suitcases and followed Mr. Big, Buff & Gorgeous to the elevator, which was a relic, too, with its gilded doors and brocade-covered cabin walls. It was also in perfect order, though, even if a bit slow, and took them to the third floor safely.

"This is where the guest quarters are," Larry explained. "The Foundation's labs and the rooms of Foundation members are on the ground and the first floors. The second floor is off-limits; it's reserved to the hotel owner and his family. Some security people live on the third floor, too, because we came later and the first floor was full already."

The hint was very obvious, even a little clumsy, and Brian suppressed a grin. Contrary to common belief, some of the football player types could be such nelly bottoms that they'd put Emmett to shame. This Larry character seemed one of those, which was exactly what Brian needed at the moment.

"Which one is yours?" he asked bluntly. That shocked Larry for a moment, but he recovered quickly enough.

"Down the floor, number 304," he said. "Yours is number 312, right over here. I don't know how well your bathroom is equipped, though; the girls prepared the room. So, if you need anything…"

"I know where I find you," Brian finished the sentence.

They grinned in complete agreement, and – after dropping his belongings in the room prepared for him – Brian followed the buff security man to #304.

Half an hour – and a blowjob performed by Larry masterfully – later, Brian finally got around unpacking his suitcases. After the surreality of the last few days, an honest fuck (and the promise of more, as soon as Larry got off-duty) was exactly what he needed to keep the rest of his sanity. Even though he was still weakened from his recent… adventures, he didn't have his reputation for nothing. He still had enough stamina to nail Larry's fine ass to the mattress and take out his pent-up frustration on it. He needed to be the aggressor once again, to balance out his position in Alain's bed – and to flush the memory of what the monster Yitzhak had done to him out of his system.

He finished unpacking and powered up his laptop; he was supposed to work from this place, after all. Not that there would be much to do; the current campaigns were running smoothly, and his undead associates were busy with other things at the moment. This was the ideal time to do some creative thinking. Winter season would come faster than one expected, and he needed to plan the campaign for the Rage movie well in advance. That was one project he determined to help to success. For Mikey. And to piss the Nutty Professor off that he could give Mikey something Ben couldn't.

But it seemed that no undisturbed work would be granted him today. Barely had he begun, someone knocked on the door, and – without waiting for an answer or invitation – Emmett waltzed into the room. This time, however, the flamboyant queen of Liberty Avenue was uncharacteristically serious.

"Hi, Brian," he greeted the mortal and dropped into one of the comfortable armchairs. "I'm told that you've finally discovered the true nature of your host?"

"Apparently, you beat me at it," Brian riposted.

Emmett pulled a face. "Not voluntarily, believe me. Going through Becoming unprepared wouldn't be anybody's idea of a good time."

"Becoming… what?" sometimes Brian had the impression that the people around him were speaking a foreign language.

Emmett raised an eyebrow. "Are we still in denial? Or have they forgotten to tell you that I'm one of them now? A blood-sucking fiend of eternal night?"

He tried to make it sound ironic, but there was a bitterness in his voice that Brian had never heard before. Not when Emmett and Ted's relationship fell to pieces, due to Ted's Crystal addiction. Not when Drew Boyd turned out the same cheating bastard as Emmett's other partners.

"Well, look at the bright side of it," Brian said, in a lame attempt to cheer his friend up. "At least you won't need to worry about getting old."

"No," Emmett agreed bitterly," since I'm dead already, that's not gonna be a problem."

"You're amazingly mobile and vocal for a dead man," Brian said, "Actually, all of you guys are."

"Unlife is a weird thing," Emmett admitted. "No sunbaths, no real food – we can eat, but it wouldn't nourish us, so most vampires stop eating after a while – hiding one's true nature out of fear from the Hunters… I thought it wouldn't be necessary for me, ever, as I've been out all my life. It's a lot to adapt to. Even if you've chosen this kind of… existence voluntarily."

"Which you hadn't." It wasn't a question. Brian still had to learn the details, but based on Emmett's behaviour it was clear that the younger man hadn't volunteered to become a vampire.

"I think I'm the only one of my generation who got Embraces by accident," Emmett replied with a derisive snort. "Just because an insane, undead drag queen got carried away with blood lust and nearly sucked me dry through my dick…" Seeing Brian's smirk, he rolled his eyes. "Not that way, you idiot!"

Brian frowned. "Are you telling me that vampires feed by cocksucking? That's… kinky."

Emmett couldn't help but laugh. "You really have a one-track mind. But no, that would be a bit, well…" he shook his head. "Usually, we feed from the wrist or the neck – that's a clean and simple procedure. Although, yes, technically, any big vein would do the trick."

"That's a relief," Brian said. "I was afraid I wouldn't be able to get a boner in a darkroom ever again."

"Very few vampires are insane enough to feed in suck public places, before the eyes of witnesses," Emmett replied. "It would kinda make the whole Masquerade thing pointless."

"Alain said that not all bloodsuckers are committed to the Masquerade," Brian pointed out.

"True," Emmett nodded, "but even the Sabbat know that hey wouldn't stand a chance against SWAT teams with flame-throwers, so they, too, are reasonably careful as a rule."

Brian frowned. This was the second time that someone hinted the government might know about the existence of… well, of non-humanoid creatures.

"You mean the police or the Army or wherever knows about you guys?"

"Some of them know," Emmett replied. "Not many, my… my new family says, and they try to cover all knowledge to avoid mass panic among the Kine."

"Among the what?" Once again, Brian had the impression that everyone was talking in a foreign language around him.

"Mortals," Emmett explained. "Can you imagine the hysterics when people realized that vampires and demons are real?"

"Well, considering that some people are willing to believe in fairies, that's only one step further," Brian grinned, remembering Emmett and Michael's brief brush with that insane fairy cult.

Emmett shrugged nonchalantly, but his eyes were serious. "Believing in every possible insanity is one thing. Knowing that they exist is something else. And people tend to reach violently to everything they fear or can't understand."

"True," Brian admitted; gay-bashing was one of such reactions. "So, tell me… what's it like to be a vampire?"

"Well," Emmett brushed his fingernails on his shirt in an affectionate manner, "the diet is a bit one-sided, and sunbaths are out of the question, but the sex is frequent and great, and the not getting older part is a definite bonus. Not to mention that vampires are generally a lot stronger than humans, so I probably won't have to be worried about homophobes ever again."

It sounded almost convincing, but Brian had known Emmett for too long to buy it.

"Save the show," he said. "I want to know what it's really like. Starting with that so-called drug episode of yours. I know you don't do drugs, so…"

Emmett sighed, the fake brightness vanishing from his face. "That was my Becoming, actually. My transformation. It was a very painful thing, turning into something else… something entirely different," he extended a talon to demonstrate.

Brian shivered. "What else?"

"Fangs," Emmett dropped them briefly. "And our eyes turn silver when we are hungry. Or fighting. Or generally in rage."

"But I saw Alain turn into a wolf, too," Brian said. "And he says he can turn into a bird as well."

"Many of the elder ones can," Emmett shrugged. "It's a latent ability that comes with the Change, but the extent of it depends on two things: age and generation."

Brian nodded. "Age, I can understand. Alain is more than five hundred years old, so he's pretty strong, I guess. But what is generation?"

"Well, according to legends, Caine himself was the very first vampire, gotten cursed after killing Abel," Emmett explained. "The second generation was Caine's progeny; the numbers of them vary from three to six, depending on which legends you're listening to. These are supposedly destroyed – or hiding. The third generation is called the Antediluvians, as they existed before the Great Flood already. They are said to have founded the thirteen Kindred clans that exist today. They're currently hiding in torpor – a coma-like state, in which Kindred can exist for a really long time, but legend says they'll return one day and bring the Apocalypse upon the whole world."

"And you believe that?" Brian snorted.

"I don't really know what to believe anymore," Emmett confessed. "During the recent weeks, the Blount sisters have drilled Kindred lore in me until I thought my head would explode. I'm just reciting you what I've been taught."

"All right," Brian said. "So, how does it continue? What comes after those anti-dead guys?"

"Antediluvians," Emmett corrected. "Be careful, Kindred are a bit… sensitive about their terminology. Anyway, the next level are the Methuselahs, members of the fourth and fifth generation. There are very few of them still around, the true power lies in the hand of those of Ancilla Blood: the sixth, seventh and eight generation. Young Bloods are of generation nine and ten; all above that are considered Weak Blood, like me."

"Which generation are you?" Brian asked, suddenly curious.

"Twelfth," Emmett replied with a shrug. "Besides, I'm just a fledgling… a neonate. I haven't been presented to the Prince yet."

"Presented?" Brian repeated; it had an unpleasant sound to it. "And what Prince…?"

Emmett rolled his eyes. "The Prince of the City, of course. Has Alain told you nothing about Kindred society?"

"He told me a lot, but I couldn't really make heads and tails of it, aside from the fact that it's some sort of feudal system," Brian admitted.

"That's true," Emmett said. "Well, the Third Tradition states that no new vampire can be created without the permission of the local Prince, or the Clan elders, in case there's no Prince. I was lucky that the Prince hasn't ordered my destruction, together with that of my idiot Sire, 'cuz sure as hell that Celeste hadn't asked first."

Brian felt a chill run down his spine. "You could have been killed, just because of some arcane vampire rule?"

"Or left to die," Emmett said, "which would have been longer and a lot more painful. People usually don't survive the Becoming without help from their Elders, and my Sire was in no shape to help anyone, not even himself. Herself. Whatever."

"But since you're here, someone did help you, right?" Brian asked.

"It was Victor Girard," Emmett replied. "He's the leader of our Clan. And it was your Alain who took the risk to go to Angelus – the Prince – and beg for my life."

"He's not my Alain," Brian corrected automatically; then he looked up in surprise. "He petitioned for your survival? Why would he do that?"

Emmett shrugged. "I don't know. Likely, he did it for you, since we're friends. Everyone knows that he'd do anything to get you."

"Like nearly sucking me dry?" Brian asked wryly.

"You still don't understand it, do you?" Emmett gave him an almost angry glare. "I'm just a fledgling, but I hear things when my Elders talk. This… Yitzhak character is a monster the magnitude of which you can't even begin to imagine. The consensus is that Alain starting a fight with him was a suicidal action. Had you not found that iron bar, you'd be both dead now."

"I know," Brian admitted. "I could see that Alain was losing the fight, big time. I… I was never so scared in my entire life."

For a moment, Emmett stared at him in shock. The old Brian Kinney would've never admitted something like that. But again, the old Brian Kinney hadn't socialized with undead citizens, either.

"You're learning," he said in mock appreciation; then he rose. "Well, I'll better be going now. The Thirst is rearing its ugly head, and that's not something you'd want to see."

Brian rolled his eyes. "You really think that seeing you kip a glass of blood behind your collar would shock me? After what I've seen not so long ago?"

"Probably not," Emmett said, "but my controls aren't strong enough yet," he retracted a talon that had emerged on its own. "God, I hate this! It makes manicure seem so pointless… Anyway, watching a vampire feed isn't very… appetizing for outsiders. I've puked for days after my Becoming, every time I tried to feed. See ya later!"

He waved his goodbyes and left, swaying his hips in his usual, seductive manner, leaving a very thoughtful Brian behind. Everything he'd heard about vampires before had now become a new and more serious meaning for Brian. Before, it had only been an intellectual game, trying to make the impossible imaginable somehow. But having seen an old friend drop fangs and extend talons – that had made everything frighteningly real.

He couldn't deny the reality of it any longer. The question was now: was he interested in this sort of life… unlife… whatever? Could he ever get used to live in darkness and to feed on people? To drink blood, to call the deal by name?

He wasn't sure about that.

When Larry's duty shift ended, Brian went over to the security man's room and fucked him through the mattress, bringing him to several screaming orgasms. It was good to be in control again. To drown all his questions and worries in the white heat of pleasure. But when it was over, Brian fell back into brooding mode again.

"Hey," Larry rolled onto his side and shot Brian a sleepy-questioning look. "What's wrong with you? It was hot, wasn't it?"

"Yeah," Brian nodded in agreement. "I just… I've got a lot on my mind lately."

"Uh-huh," Larry hesitated for a moment before asking. "Can we do it again? Later sometimes?"

The old Brian Kinney would have told him that he didn't do seconds. But the old Brian Kinney had never had to ask himself whether his casual bedmate considered him as dinner as well. So he just shrugged.

"Why not?" At least this good-natured jock was one hundred per cent human. Not to mention a great fuck. As long as he was confined to the Hyperion, Brian could put that fine ass to good use.

For tonight, however, he'd had enough. He put his clothes back on, patted Larry on aforementioned ass and returned to his own quarters. He collapsed on the sofa, switched on the TV and fell asleep somewhere in the middle of the rerun of some old Mutant X-episode.

TBC

Note: This is as far as this series has been written. There will be more, I've planned out the whole thing to the end, but I'll need time to actually write it. So, updates won't be quite so fast in the near future. Sorry.

: This is as far as this series has been written. There will be more, I've planned out the whole thing to the end, but I'll need time to actually it. So, updates won't be quite so fast in the near future. Sorry.