Triangle
by Soledad
A "Pathways in the Dark" story
Part 19 of "The Toreador Chronicles". Follows "Truth and Consequences".
For disclaimer and background information see the Introduction.
Rating: 16+ only, please!
Author's note: The "rituals" described here are only loosely based on the "Kindred: the Embraced" TV-series. Mostly they are born of my own imagination, with no actual canon fact supporting them.
Summary: Michael has a hard time to accept that his best friend/new lover is now a vampire. The Kindred in LA do their best to show him his possible choices, but it's the return of an old acquaintance that finally forces him to make a decision.
Alain's secondary haven was an abandoned cargo hall in West-Hollywood: an ugly, two-storey concrete building from the outside, with a simple brass plaque signalling the ownership of the DeLaigle Art School and Studios. From the inside, it looked like a medieval castle… or, at the very least, like the Great Hall of one.
When Alain opened the small door cut into the huge steel gate and gestured him to go inside, Michael had the feeling that he was entering a different world; a long-gone world that had somehow been frozen in time. What looked like a shapeless concrete cube from the outside was, within, a single enormous room with an arched ceiling high above their heads. The arches had been obviously hand-built at a later time, of red brick, yet with the greyish-white of the concrete walls, they looked surprisingly authentic. The long, narrow windows between the arches were made of stained glass, each depicting a different scene, the meaning of which Michael didn't understand. But they kept out the direct sunlight efficiently, breaking it down to a rainbow of different colours – it was a beautiful sight.
The walls were covered with plaster and painted with murals, in the somewhat naïve style of pre-raffaelite painters. The elongated figures of people clad in medieval garb had an endearing quality, and the scenes in which they had been set were lively and delightful. The floor was covered with mosaic to two-thirds of the hall and with wooden planks in the rest.
The furnishing was sparse at best. A long trestle table with two benches stood in the middle, with a heavy, masterfully carved oakwood armchair at the head. On a sideboard of the same craftsmanship were dishes of glass, silver and zinc; Michael was no expert but he would have sworn that they were as old as Alain himself. There was a chest for clothes, and in the farthest corner stood a huge four-poster bed, large enough for four persons if necessary, hung with beautiful, albeit somewhat faded tapestries. Next to the bed, a narrow door led to another room.
There were no lamps in the hall, but two intricately wrought silver candlesticks stood on the bare table, and heavy bronze candelabra in all four corners. There were two beautiful sets of armour on poles left and right of the front door, as if two armed knights would be guarding the hall (which actually had a reliable alarm system).
"This is very different from your house," Michael commented.
Alain nodded. "The house serves the person who I have become. This place, however, is my home. The home of the man I once used to be. My refuge from a world that has changed too much for my comfort."
"Do you change into old costumes, too, when you are here?" Michael asked. He meant it as a joke, but Alain apparently didn't.
"Of course," the artist said. "And so will you. For me, these are not costumes but an integral part of the life I once lead. What we're about to do is an ancient ritual; we can't desecrate it with modern clothing."
Michael rolled his eyes, not entirely sure whether this was a manifestation of Alain's weird sense of humour – something Brian had mentioned occasionally – but the artist seemed utterly serious about the issue. Well, perhaps such things were taken seriously among vampires – who was Michael to know?
"All right," he said with a shrug. "What do you expect me to wear?"
"Less," Alain replied with a sudden, predatory grin, and Michael understood that it had been a weird joke, after all, and he wasn't going to wear any strange medieval garb for this to happen.
"You are weird," he said, shaking his head.
"I've been told so on occasion," Alain replied mildly. He opened the chest, took out a plaited blue cotton shirt that had long, baggy arms, held it against Michael and nodded. "It will do. Wear this."
"And nothing else?" Michael asked sarcastically.
Alain's eyes turned silver for a moment. "You won't be needing anything else."
For some reason, that announcement frightened Michael, his mind providing several reasons fort he request, but he wasn't going to back off now. As a small, fragile boy, he'd been overly careful all his life, and stayed that way as an adult, barely taking any risks and usually at the wrong time. Now, on the threshold of the biggest risk of his life, he couldn't back-pedal right before the first step.
There was one detail that made him a bit uncomfortable, though.
"Are you going to watch?" he asked, his hand hesitating over the first button of his shirt.
Alain nodded with a gleeful expression on his face. "Oh, yes. I've seen very flattering mental images in Brian's mind; I want to know whether reality is even close to them."
Michael felt himself blush involuntarily but began to undress with a definite lack of grace. He wasn't clumsy as a rule – well, not much – but the situation was embarrassing. He'd undressed in front of guys he'd barely known before, and Alain wasn't exactly a stranger (not with his intimate relationship with Brian); still, Michael knew he was being judged, more so than he'd ever been in his life, and that made him nervous. Alain watched him closely, with the detached interest of an artist, which made the whole situation even more unreal, because really, getting naked with an unpredictable vampire wasn't something a guy would do on the regular basis.
Finally Michael was naked, and Alain walked around him without hurry, examining the view from several different angles.
"You are built like a runner," he said. "Brian is biased, of course – one always is when looking at someone through the eyes of love – but you do have a touch of eternal youth about you, which is very appealing. A bit more flesh on your bones wouldn't harm, but all in all, you're more than adequate."
"Adequate for what?" Michael asked, fed up with the weirdness. He felt like a chunk of meat, displayed on the butcher's counter. "For crazy vampire sex or for human sacrifices?"
Alain raised an ironic eyebrow. "I didn't know you would be interested in either. But I meant as a model, actually. I've received a commission from the Otis College of Art and Design, for a bronze Hermes sculpture. I accepted, as I feel like doing something classic for a change, but I haven't found the right model yet."
"And if I'm not interested in posing for you?" Michael asked.
Alain shrugged. "Then don't. It's your decision… although it would be a great sculpture." He pushed the shirt into Michael's hand. "Put this on, get on the bed and wait for me."
Michael found himself obeying without protest. The shirt felt surprisingly well on his bare skin – it was more like a tunic, actually, and almost knee-length, with a lengthy opening in the front that reached down half the way to his navel. He clambered onto the huge bed, sitting on it with his legs crossed and dragged the hem of the shirt over his bare knees nervously.
"Why are you acting like a frightened virgin?" Alain, too, was disrobing, but languidly, allowing him to see his full. And it was worth the sight. For a five-hundred-year old, the artist certainly looked greet: sleekly muscled under pale skin, and nicely endowed, too, although not overly so. He shrugged on a shirt (or tunic) similar to the one Michael was wearing, just in a creamy white colour. It suited him very well, and as he raked his fingers through his hair to loosen the black tresses, all of a sudden Michael was looking at a completely different person.
It wasn't the sardonic lead artist of the DeLaigle Art School and Studios any longer. It was Alain DeLaigle, a lesser French nobleman of the fifteenth century; a young artisan of the greatest period of European art. One who'd seen Botticelli, Michelangelo, Leonardo, Raffaello, Donatello and all the others in person. One who had to learn to survive the rule of the Borgias in Firenze. One who'd heard the preaching of Savonarola and watched the fanatic monk die on the pyre.
It was Alain DeLaigle, the five hundred year old vampire who had seen it all and lived to tell the tale. Well, perhaps not lived exactly… but endured all that and more, and now existed in a world so alien for him as living on Mars would have been for Michael.
The ramifications of those facts nearly blew Michael's mind. As much as he had used to suffer from David's snobbish attitude, that had been the only period in his life when he had truly contacted culture other than superhero movies. And now here he was, facing a person who'd seen all those great works in the museums in the making.
"Yes," Alain said as if reading his mind. "This is what I once used to be, but I'm also all that which I've become in the last half millennium. The short, insignificant lives of your kind, your so-called culture, is but a dance of mayflies in my eyes. You create nothing of lasting value, and in a few decades, you'll be forgotten. All of you."
"What do you want of us, then?" Michael asked, more than a little insulted. "Why do you go through all the pain to bind us to you? Why have you made Brian a vampire, if we're all so shallow and worthless in your eyes?"
"I'm a Toreador and an artist, and as such, I reveal in beauty," Alain replied. "I've Embraced Brian to conserve his beauty and his anger, for both will enrich Clan Toreador greatly. But he has already reached his limits. I've frozen him in his perfect shape, like an insect in a piece of amber, before he would begin to decline, and I'm content with the results, having gained a companion I intend to enjoy for a very long time… even as we count time. You, however, have something he no longer has."
Michael gave him a disbelieving look. "And that would be?"
"Potential," Alain said. "Potential that always has been thwarted: by your friends and family, by less than ideal circumstances, by your shallow surroundings… even by your love to Brian. I can help you to unfold all that which still slumbers in you, undetected. You're still at the beginning of your journey. Some people start late – but it's a journey worth to make."
"And all I have to do is to join the Lost Boys, right?" Michael commented dryly.
"It would give you the necessary time," Alain said. "As I said, you're not ready to accept the Embrace yet; nor would it be in your best interest right now. You need to walk in the sunlight for a long while yet. But as a ghoul, you'd stop aging and can explore the possibilities that lie before you, while leading the same life as before."
"Except the small detail that I'd have to drink your blood regularly," Michael said with a disgusted grimace.
Alain nodded. "Except that, yes. Would it truly be such a high price?"
"I don't know," Michael shrugged. "Am I not here to figure out just that?"
Alain suddenly broke into a wide grin. "Yes, you are. So, why don't we get it done before continuing this theoretical debate?"
He stretched out on the bed next to Michael and kissed him unhurriedly. Michael didn't protest, and when Alain pinched his nipple through the thin cotton of the blue shirt, he arched into the touch. It hurt a little, but in a good way… he felt himself harden already.
"You're very responsive, mon amant," Alain murmured, pushing him onto his bed and sliding a hand under the shirt to reach between his legs playfully. "We'll have to explore those possibilities, too… but there will be time for that later. Now, pay attention. When I kiss you again, I'll cut my tongue just a little with the tip of a fang. You'll have to swallow my Vitae on your own; I can't force you. Don't worry, the small wound will close immediately; you're in no danger to drink too much. Do you understand?"
Michael nodded wordlessly, his nerve endings already on fire from the expert touch of that cool hand on his heated skin. If Alain had asked permission to drain him dry, he'd have bared his throat willingly. He didn't understand it – he only knew that if asked, he would do it.
But Alain didn't ask anything like that from him – not yet anyway. Michael accepted the deep-tongued kiss, opening up obediently to the questing tongue, and felt the tip of a razor sharp fang grazing his lower lip for a moment. He shivered with fear and anticipation. Then he tasted something slick and coppery on his own tongue, and at first he nearly threw up. The feeling was too weird for words, and vaguely disgusting.
He remembered, though, that he was supposed to swallow Alain's blood on his own, and with a gargantuan effort, he overcame his disgust and did so. He shuddered when it slid down his throat, like some cool, living thing, but forced himself to keep it down, although his first instinct would have been to spit it back, right into Alain's face.
I'm drinking blood, he thought with morbid fascination. Like a vampire. Like… like Brian…
Alain looked at him critically. "Well, you're a little green around the gills, but that was to be expected," he said. "Unfortunately, the worst part is just about to come."
Michael wanted to ask what the vampire meant – but in that very moment it hit him with the force of a truck. He was burning up in the inside, as if his intestines would have been flooded with liquid fire, his limbs went into cramps, and he curled up involuntarily in a tight ball of raw agony, whimpering in misery. It hurt more than he'd expected. More than he could have imagined, in fact.
Alain scooted closer to him, hugged him tightly and placed little kisses onto his hair, temple and neck.
"Hold on just a little longer," he murmured. "The effect will lessen in a moment… and then you'll receive your reward."
"What reward," Michael groused between bolts of stabbing pain in his belly. "A pity fuck? Thanks, but I'm so not interested."
"Don't worry," Alain's voice was low and seductive, almost a purr. "I don't intend to have pity with your pretty ass."
It was such a cheesy pick-up line, it had so much… well, normalcy to it that Michael couldn't help but laugh through his agony.
"That's better," Alain said. "Now, try to relax and take deep breaths. You should be feeling by now."
"Feeling what?" Michael asked in confusion.
"Me," Alain replied, and in that very moment, Michael could really feel him. Or, to be more accurate, he could feel a second consciousness existing parallel to his own, one that could only be Alain's.
In a way, it was like looking down the aisles of a shadowy old library, filled with ancient memories instead of hand-written tomes. It had an age about it, like touching history with one's bare hands. Not for the first time, yet for the first time for real, he realized that many things of which he'd had abstract knowledge at best (or not even that, considering his rather low-level education) had once been part of Alain's daily life. That the historical events of the last five hundred years had been eyewitness news for the vampire.
The thought was frightening and fascinating at the same time, like so many other aspects of Alain's complex personality. And yet Michael felt drawn to it, drawn to him, like a moth to the flame.
"Is this what Brian sees when… when you share blood?" he asked haltingly, the weirdness of his own question not even recognizing with him any longer.
Alain shook his head. "No," he said with definite regret. "Brian has no interest for my past. The best I can expect is to share my present with him – and, hopefully, my future, if I can keep him. But that, ultimately, depends on you… on your personal choice. He won't survive the loss of you."
Until now, Michael would have considered that statement as simple emotional blackmail. But now that he'd become privy to Alain's emotions, even though only temporarily, he understood that the vampire was deadly serious. To his honest surprise, he also discovered something else, though: a definite interest from Alain's side for himself.
Alain wanted to fuck him. There was no doubt about that at all.
"I thought you only tolerated me for Brian's sake," he said, unable to hide his surprise.
"It started that way," Alain admitted, petting him absent-mindedly. "I've come to value your assets, though."
"My… assets," Michael repeated slowly.
"I don't mean your ass, pretty as it is," Alain clarified. "I mean your courage. It's not easy to live and work with vampires, especially for someone who doesn't have suicidal tendencies; yet you're doing exactly that. That deserves respect."
Michael was stunned. Absolutely stunned. Respect was one thing he never got much in his whole life. Not from his mother, not from his friends, not from his lovers… or his husband. Sometimes he had the feeling that not even Brian truly respected him. Yet this virtual stranger, this five-hundred-year-old vampire who'd met the greatest minds of human history in his unnaturally long life… unlife… whatever… this unusual person apparently thought that Michael deserved respect.
That was something new. But he found Alain's physical interest in him every bit as flattering. After all, in five hundred years Alain must have fucked half the planet…
"Not really," Alain said, having read his thoughts easily. "Not everyone has the same ambitions as Brian. In fact, I never fucked anyone I wasn't at least remotely interested in."
"But you want to fuck me?" Michael asked, still a little dubious.
"Oh, yes!" Alain said. "Don't be so surprised. If you weren't eminently fuckable, Brian wouldn't be interested in you; and you know that."
"Well…" Michael wished he could be that sure, but Alain silenced him with an impatient gesture.
"Yes, you do. Stop selling yourself under your price. And yes, I'm going to fuck you so thoroughly you're gonna walk funny for a weak at least – if you're up to it, that is. We vampires aren't into vanilla sex. I won't hurt you deliberately, but it could get a little… violent, should I get carried away. Are you willing to take the risk?"
Under normal circumstances Michael would have answered with a clear and determined no. He didn't have masochistic tendencies, and while he didn't mind a little pain sometimes to sharpen the edge of pleasure, he was decidedly not into getting hurt in earnest. Right now, however, the heat of Alain's Vitae was still burning in his veins, almost unbearably, and that burning had made him reckless.
"I… I want to know what it's like," he said.
Alain gave him a long, searching look… then he smiled. It was a decidedly predatory smile.
"Very well," he said, his eyes turning silver. "On your knees then, youngling. I'll take that pretty mouth of yours first."
Having learned Alain's whereabouts hadn't exactly put Brian's mind at ease, on the contrary. He knew his Sire only used that secondary haven for very personal purposes, and he had the nagging suspicion that solitary meditation of five hundred years' worth of memories wasn't currently Alain's main agenda for retiring there. Especially since Michael still wouldn't answer his calls. Not event he mailbox was on. Mikey must have shut off his cell completely.
No, Brian couldn't be sure that his best friend – nowadays also the object of his desire, depressingly out of reach – was currently with his Sire. In theory, Mikey could have simply forgotten his phone; he could have been anywhere in Tinsel Town, from working on the Rage website with Diego to going on some inane shopping tour with Emmett or spending some time with Ash Rivers and his exclusive circle of fellow degenerates… the list could go on and on. Mikey had become quite popular among the self-declared stars of Hollywood.
Yet for some reason Brian was sure that Mickey was with Alain, probably getting nailed to the mattress in that very moment. His Sire had blocked him for the major part of the day, but Brian had noticed Alain's growing interest for Mikey… and was afraid. He knew from first-hand experience how irresistible his Sire could be in full seductive mode, and Mikey, starved for attention, would be easy prey for Alain's seduction skills.
He just couldn't understand why Alain was doing this. Was it a way to show his belligerent Childe that everything that was Brian's also belonged to him by default? Or did he really want Mikey for himself? Unlike most people, Brian could certainly understand that. Michael's beauty was less visible, more subtle than his own, but an artist like Alain would notice it… and doubtlessly appreciate it,
At any other time Brian would have been proud that someone whose opinion he valued would notice how wonderful Mikey really was. Right now, however, he was desperately jealous… something he wasn't allowed to feel. Though freed, he was still a mere fledgling; all which was his did belong to his Sire as well.
The main problem was that he still wasn't sure that Michael was his in the first place. And after finally having made a step into the great unknown between friendship and – well, something else… he dreaded the thought of losing Mikey to anyone. Even to his Sire. Especially to his Sire.
He knew that driving to West-Hollywood and banging on the front door of Alain's private haven would only earn him a harsh punishment, and as his ass still wore the fading marks of their last disciplinary session, he didn't really wanted another one just yet. He wanted to talk to someone, to voice his frustration, to rage and curse and to have a sympathetic ear for his fit of tempers. He refused to discuss it with Emmett, not wanting the whole gay community of LA being informed within the hour, so he chose the only remaining option.
He gave Phillipe Navital a phone call.
He'd be the first to admit that this counted as a fairly extreme reaction for him – he most certainly wasn't the type for 'sharing his feelings'. In fact, the mere thought made him shudder with disgust. Bu he felt terribly out of his league in this situation, and Phillipe was old and powerful, even as Kindred counted those things. Besides, he'd been the first vampire with whom Brian had gotten involved – in several different senses of the world – and they remained causal friends, even after they had stopped being intimate. Brian hoped that if anyone, Phillipe would help him navigate around the pitfalls of his current status.
They met in A Taste of LA, as this was a particularly discreet place for vampires to talk undisturbed – not to mention neutral territory, where most fractions of Kindred society were welcome. Phillipe ordered his favourite vintage of bloodwine – one that contained a very small percentage of actual blood, barely enough to take the edge of the Thirst off – then he looked at Brian with mild curiosity.
"So, what is this about?" he asked. "Or rather whom? Alain or Michael or both?"
"Michael… both… I don't really know," Brian replied with a sigh. "Perhaps it's nothing. Perhaps someone just wants to sow discord between us..."
"You'd make more sense if you'd tell me what happened," Phillipe interrupted. "Preferably in chronological order."
That sounded like the sensible thing to do, and so Brian told him everything that had happened since his first – and so far only – time with Michael. Due to his close ties to other important people of the Camarilla – and the fact that his law firm represented the Vignes Studios – Phillipe then was able to fill the gaps.
"You're in a somewhat… delicate situation," he said when Brian had given them all the facts. "You've been adamant to have Michael here with you; and it was your careless behaviour that has made him aware of our existence. I don't know whether you realize it or not, but you've actually broken the Masquerade. Under an old-fashioned Ventrue Prince both you and your… friend would be dead by now, and Alain perhaps too, should he refuse to destroy you. You're fortunate that we have an Anarch Prince here, whose main concern is not to let anyone be Embraced against their will."
Brian remembered the dark vampire he'd seen in the Hyperion for a moment, almost a year ago, and shivered. He had been attracted to Angelus, Prince of the City very much, but had been emphatically discouraged by Spike, the Prince's Enforcer. He'd only met Angelus one other time, on the Conclave meeting where he'd been accepted as a member of Clan Toreador, but he knew, for the first time in his life, that the Prince was way beyond his league.
Alain liked to call himself a monster, albeit a civilized one. Angelus was a monster; a certified one according to history files. A reformed monster in these days, one of whose grip on civilized manners were everyone's guess, though, at least when his Beast emerged.
Or so the urban legends among the LA Kindred said. Which didn't lessen Brian's interest in the Prince of the City the least – on the contrary. He'd always been drawn to danger like a moth to the flame, and becoming a Kindred only increased that particular craving in him. Sure, he was still a baby in Kindred terms, with little to no hope to catch the Prince's eye just yet – one didn't capture Angelus' attention by be merely pretty – but perhaps one day…
"Don't even think about that for the next hundred years or so," Phillipe, who'd come to know him, his cravings and his appetites fairly well during the last year, warned him seriously. "You wouldn't survive an encounter like that. Besides, don't you think that you are using double standards here? You come to me to whine about Michael possibly sleeping with Alain, and in the next moment you're all about getting into the Prince's pants – are you insane or pathologically self-centered or what?"
Brian shrugged, albeit a little uncomfortably. "I can't help it, Phillipe. It's my nature."
"If we'd all act on our instincts, we could be bacteria," Phillipe said sternly. "It seems to me that you still have to learn a great deal about what being Kindred – being Camarilla Kindred – truly means. First and foremost, it means discipline. Without discipline, you can never hope to keep the Beast under control. Sure, we can have anything we want… but if we don't want to become monsters like the Sabbat, we need to keep our cravings under control."
Brian gave him an incredulous look. "We're talking about casual sex, Phillipe, not about a rampant blood-sucking orgy!"
"Exactly," Phillipe agreed. "You seem to believe that you can continue your life in the Dark the same way you used to live as a mortal… well, you're mistaken. Kindred law is harsh – if you step outside your boundaries, you won't be given another chance. Alain has been very lenient with you so far, but if I were you, I wouldn't cross him when it comes to his prerogatives as your Sire. It could end badly for you."
"But why does he have to take Mikey form me?" Brian asked bitterly. "He could have anyone he wanted – including me. Why has it to be Mikey?"
Phillipe gave him a long, almost commiserate look.
"What makes you think that Alain was the one who started it?" he asked. "You take your friend for granted – but what if he got fed up with that? He's a successful screenwriter now. That, and the courses he finished at the college, and with good results, may I add, have boosted his self-confidence and broadened his horizon considerably. He's no more the meek little man you could pull close or push away as it suited you all those times."
"But I… I love him!" Brian whispered. "He know it. I finally came around to even tell him! Why would he turn away from me now?"
"Who says he turns away from you?" Phillipe asked. "For me, it seems rather that he tries to understand our world – your world. Going to Alain for answers was the logical step."
"But what… what if he falls for Alain?" Brian asked miserably. "I don't mind if they fuck, that's just sex, and it doesn't matter. But you know Alain… how seductive he can be… and Michael is still so innocent! What if he falls for him? I… I can't lose Mikey, after all this time!"
"In that case," Phillipe replied with a faint smile, "I suggest that you start wooing him in earnest."
Michael woke up with the feeling as if a tank had rolled over him somewhen during the previous night… not that the feeling would have been entirely unpleasant. His jaw ached, true, his ass was sore – deliciously so – and he was still a little light-headed from the blood loss. Nonetheless, he also felt great; he couldn't remember to have ever been so thoroughly sated in his life. There was something to say about vampire stamina, he thought, rubbing the spot where Alain's fangs had repeatedly pierced his skin absently. Having five hundred years to refine one's technique probably didn't harm, either.
"Are you all right?" a deceivingly soft voice asked, and Alain, wearing that silly semi-medieval shirt again, came around the bed curtains and handed him a glass of red wine. "Here, drink this."
Michael pulled a face. "I don't really like wine."
"Drink it nonetheless," Alain replied. "It helps with replacing all that blood you've… donated last night. Or would you prefer iron shots?"
"God, no!" Michael protested and drank the wine with very obvious distaste. "Gah, this is awful. Do you undead guys all drink this stuff?"
"Usually," Alain said. "It allows us to feed publicly and discretely. Only another Kindred can make a difference between regular red wine and bloodwine by sight alone."
"Bloodwine?" Michael repeated.
"The scale goes from red wine laced with just a little blood to real blood diluted a little with red wine," Alain explained. "Eateries owned by Kindred usually offer as many as six different versions, depending on the customer's wishes. Don't worry," he added, grinning, when he saw Michael getting a little green and giving the now empty glass a dubious look. "Yours was red wine, pure and simple."
"That's a relief," Michael said honestly. "But since we're talking about the bloodsucking part already… does sex with a vampire always include a big sucking orgy like last night? 'Cause that could lead to serious anaemia in the long run."
"No," Alain climbed into bed with him again. "Last night was a little unexpected, even for me."
"It was?" Michael asked in surprise. "Come on, I couldn't have been that good. I'm not Brian, after all."
"No," the vampire agreed. "You're something else entirely. Something rare and precious."
"Yeah, right," Michael said with a self-deprecating little laugh.
But Alain remained very serious. "I'm not joking, Michael," he said. "You're a true submissive – someone who finds delight in submission – and such people are extremely rare."
"Oh, come on!" Michael laughed. "I know more bottoms than I could possibly count; it's not so that I'd be something special."
"Between simple bottoms and a true submissive are worlds," Alain corrected. "You're definitely the latter: you find fulfilment in giving up control to your partner, in figuring out what he wants or needs, and in giving him exactly that. This has nothing to do with liking to be fucked. You're also gifted with mild empathic powers."
"Me?" Michael laughed. "No way!"
Alain nodded. "Yes, you. That enables you to get along with almost everyone, even with Brian. Especially with Brian, since you're one of the very few people who can see beyond his masks."
"Well… there's some truth in that," Michael admitted.
"Which means that you're no longer safe as a mere mortal," Alain continued. "True submission is an incredible turn-on for vampires, as we usually get off on power. You're practically made to become a vampire's plaything, with such a tight ass and such breakable bones, and now that many of our people have become aware of your existence, you might have to make your decision sooner rather than later."
Michael shrugged. "I should stop sleeping with vampires, then."
"That would be wise," Alain agreed, but hardly enough. You let Velvet Vellour read your blood. She knows now what you are, and she won't keep it a secret if she can hope an advantage from telling about it. Word about your rare nature will get out, eventually, and then… undead doms will fight bloody duels for the chance to possess you – to make you their slave. You'd most definitely not like that, as you are, in my opinion, not into extreme pain."
"No,' I'm not," Michael said with an involuntary shudder.
Alain nodded. "I thought so. But you do enjoy some delicate little pain at times, don't you?"
"Sometimes," Michael admitted with a blush. "Ben used to tie me up from time to time, and I liked it; liked the mutual trust that it expressed. Until he began to use steroids. I never allowed it afterwards. He became unpredictable, and I just didn't want to get really hurt."
"Submission, in its very core, doesn't mean accepting to be hurt by your partner," Alain said. "It's the complete, uncompromising surrender of one's will to a chosen master. It might or might not include bondage and discipline or S/M, and it can be restricted to their sex life or extended to the sub's whole existence. It's always up to the partners included: what they like, what they need, what turns them on, and so on. Obedience works on a completely different level than kinky games."
"Name me an example," Michael said.
Alain combed the small patch of dark hair on Michael's chest with his fingers.
"This, for example," he said. "This… pelt mars your boyish perfection. So if I were your dom, I'd sometimes order you to shave it. On the other hand," he tugged on a few wiry hairs hard enough to cause a little pain but not hard enough to truly hurt, "I might allow you to keep it time and again, so that I can torture you a little. Or. If I got bored with it, I could demand that you have it permanently removed."
"I see," Michael said thoughtfully. "But you already have Brian as your sub – what would you need another one for?"
Alain laughed. "Oh, Brian's anything but submissive by nature. I have to break him fro time to time, because he desperately needs to give up control or else he'd start spiralling down on his self-destructive path again, but for him, submission is a battle of trust he has to fight hard for every time. It's not easy, for either of us. I hate to hurt him, but I have to, if I want him to survive in Kindred society. He's too dysfunctional to stand on his own."
"That still doesn't explain what you'd need me for," Michael said.
"We need you to balance us out – both of us," Alain replied. "Without you, we might destroy each other one day. We have too much in common."
"Yeah, sure," Michael tried to laugh it off, but he could see that Alain truly meant it.
"Look," the vampire said. "Brian needs you, and you need him. We can agree in that point, can't we?" Michael nodded. "I want to keep Brian, but I can't keep him alive – or, at the very least, undead – without your help. And I'd like to enjoy you again… assuming that you liked what we did last night."
Michael nodded. "It was the best sex of my life," he admitted with a blush.
"But not better than with Brian," it wasn't a question from Alain's side.
"That's different," Michael said evasively.
Alain nodded. "Of course. You love him. There's no shame in that – on the contrary. It's the greatest gift a person could give another one. But he isn't made for a twosome bond, and you know that. It's not in his nature."
"I know," Michael said. "Believe me, I know. I've come to accept it, if I didn't want to lose him entirely. Now, are you suggesting a triangle? A permanent one?"
"In a sense," Alain replied. "Kindred are not monogamous by their very nature, neither are we jealous as a rule. Not where simple, physical sex is concerned. What we consider as important is the bond between us – something we only share with those really important for us. With those we love."
"You mean you don't mind whom Brian fucks, as long as he doesn't let them into his mind?" Michael asked. It reminded him uncomfortably of Justin's stupid house rules.
"That's an extreme simplification, but yes, you can see it that way, as long as you don't have the chance to experience the real thing first hand," Alain said. "I've given you a taste of it – you have realized, I think, the sheer intimacy of it. You should understand by now why we wouldn't want outsiders to see it."
"I do," Michael said," but I still don't want to become a vampire. "Not yet… perhaps never. Last night was fantastic, and what you've shown me of the bond was overwhelming, I admit, but I love the sunlight, and real food, and beer… I'm not willing to switch to liquid diet."
"Then use your other option," Alain said. "As a ghoul, you can keep all that, and stop aging and gather new powers. As part of my household, you'd be also as safe as it's possible in this insane world. You could count not only on my protection and that of the rest of our family, but the Camarilla as a whole and that of the Prince himself. What are you so afraid of?"
"Of the fact that a decision like this can't be undone," Michael answered. "And I like my life as it is. For the first time in a long while, it's actually a good life. I don't want to change it."
"Life – even unlife – is full of changes," Alain said reasonably. "And you… you have changed your entire life before. When you went to Portland. When you came here. Even if you decided to go back to Pittsburgh, it wouldn't be the same."
"I know that," Michael replied a little impatiently. "But moving to a different place and becoming a different species isn't exactly the same thing."
"No," Alain agreed. "But you aren't usually afraid of hard decisions, or so I am told."
"You shouldn't believe everything you're told," Michael commented dryly. "In the heart of my hearts, I'm just a cowardly little fag who'd still be in the closet, had Brian not forced me out at the age of thirty. Of thirty!"
"To which he had no right," Alain said, and it surprised Michael a little, because it echoed his own feelings all those years back.
"It was for my own good," he said, instinctively defending Brian, as he always did against others. Even if he agreed with them.
"Perhaps," Alain said. "But that still didn't give him the right to make the decision for you."
"And what you are doing?" Michael asked, amused. "You've been doing your damned best to make life among the undead appealing for me, haven't you? Including trying to numb my mind with incredible sex."
Alain nodded, grinning. "Of course. And I certainly hope that it worked. But the decision is still yours. I've just showed you some of the… benefits of living with Kindred."
They both laughed. Then Michael glanced at his watch that was lying on the bedside table… and bolted.
"Shit! I have to be in the Studios in two hours' time. That's barely enough to fetch my car, go home, have a shower, change and…"
Alain interrupted his panicked rambling with a long, hard, deep-tongued kiss.
"Don't panic," he said. "I've got a bath here, and I can lend you some fresh clothes. Go, have a shower. I'll prepare some breakfast in the meantime, and then I'll drive you to the Studios."
"Is that part of the service if one starts socializing with the undead?" Michael teased.
Alain slapped him on the bare ass… playfully but not too gently, leaving a read handprint on one white cheek. "No," he said. "It's only practical. Now hurry up, I'll need the shower too."
Rubbing his stinging asscheek, Michael laughed and did as he'd been told. Maybe living with the undead wasn't that bad, after all, if getting thoroughly spoiled was part of the package.
Within the next hour, they both showered and put on clean clothes – the ones Michael borrowed were a little big, but not so that it would bother him too much – Michael had breakfast, and they left the haven together. Alain's car was standing right next to the entrance, but even if he'd have been exposed to the sunlight longer than just that short way, it wouldn't have harmed him, as he was well-fed.
He'd drunk from Michael several times during last night. He hadn't planned to, but the young man's taste was intoxicating. He'd have to watch himself around Michael, if he didn't want to get carried away. Angelus wouldn't tolerate any more… accidents, and besides, he meant it when he said he'd respect Michael's choices whatever they turned out to be. He could only hope that the young mortal would make the right decision. He didn't want to lose Michael, now that he'd come to know him, and not just because of Brian anymore.
"Hop in," he instructed the still somewhat bleary-eyed mortal, opening the car's door for him and kissing him unhurriedly. "You're the one in a great hurry, aren't you?"
Michael laughed, kissed him back and got into the car. Alain slid behind the steering wheel and started the engine. Neither of them noticed the young blond twink with the camera in the shadow of the abandoned industrial building nearby.
Justin Taylor allowed a dark little smile to appear on his youthful face as he checked the photos he'd just shot on the small LCD screen of his digital camera. They were good pictures, especially those shot of that parting kiss. There was definitely some tongue involved. Time to send Brian more proof, he thought. Digital cameras really made things so much easier.
He left his hideout and went to his rented car. That silly New Age occult shop owned by that aged hippie would open soon. He could use one of the public computers there to upload the photos and mail them to Brian. No one would be able to track him down, and the best part of the deal was that he wouldn't even have to pay for it… or for the extravagant drugs he could get there from the owner. That stupid old fart would give anything for a piece of ass.
He grinned broadly, got into the car and started the engine. The 'Brian and Michael Soap', as Melanie liked to call it, would get off the air, soon. It was an old programme that had run way too long already. And with Brian being a vampire now, they'd have all the time in the world, once Michael was out of the picture.
Becoming the thrall of Jean-Vincent had been a good decision. He was part of the Kindred world now, and would get Brian back, eventually. Time no longer played an important role.
The End – for now
Will be continued in "Submission".