INTERLUDE
by Soledad
A "Pathways in the Dark" story
Takes place between Parts 23a and 23c of "The Toreador Chronicles". Follows "Once Too Often, Part 1".
For disclaimer and background information see the Introduction. Michael's partner of the night is "played" by Kyle Chandler.
Rating: Adults only, for this part.
Summary: Alain has promised to make up to Michael for having "enjoyed" Justin's performance in the Femboi. Alain is a vampire who keeps his promises.
Michael was genuinely distraught when they left the Femboi after Justin's performance. He knew it was ridiculous that the little shit could still throw him so completely off-balance, but he couldn't help it. He'd lost too much because of Justin – the affection of his own mother, the friendship of Lindz and Melanie, and very nearly Brian, too – he simply could not think straight (pardon the pun) when it came to the blond parasite of Liberty Avenue. Not even Justin's currently obvious bad luck could change that.
Alain saw that all too clearly, but was momentarily at a loss as how to iron out the problem again. Michael's current behaviour had something of a wronged wife, and never in his five hundred and some years had he been forced to deal with that. He also felt bad for having Michael taken to the Femboi to give his alter ego the test run. For all that Michael had grown up on the Liberty Avenue, subjected to the questionable taste of Debbie, the Femboi was deep beneath his style.
Emmett had long since realized the wrongness of his choice, but the truth was, seedy bars were more his world than they were Michael's. So he apologized another two or three times; then he shut up and kept giving Alain helpless looks – which Alain returned in kind. Brian, not being the most sensitive person in town, either, no matter how much he loved Michael, wasn't much help.
So it came down to Brett Keller, the worldliest vampire of the lot, to do something. Although a great deal younger than Alain, both in relative age and in generation – or perhaps even because he was so much younger – he had more extensive experiences in dealing with modern sensitivities. Plus, he really liked Michael, not only as a co-worker but also as a person, and wanted to save the evening for him, if he could.
"You guys go home or go Hunting or do whatever you do on your evenings," he said. "I'll take Michelle out to the Seraglio."
"An excellent choice," Dawn Cavanaugh nodded in appreciation.
Michael didn't seem so sure about that. "What's the Seraglio?" he asked warily.
"An exclusive night club, preferred by guys who like to dress up as women and to be fucked by men," Brett explained. "A very discreet, very refined… and quite expensive place. You can only get in when one of the long-time members vouches for you… or if you're having a date with one of them."
"And you just happen to have a membership, eh?" Michael sounded a bit more amused now.
Brett nodded. "Something like that, yeah. Actually, I own it… well, not alone, of course, but I can claim partial ownership, and I'm quite proud of it. I think you'll like it, Michelle."
"Why do you keep calling me that?" Michael laughed, still a bit shaken but more honestly.
"Because I believe what you need right now is to be seduced and taken like a woman," Brett answered bluntly.
Brian choked on the smoke of his cigarette and Dawn stifled a laughter, while Emmett was grinning like a loon. Alain showed no reaction for the moment; he wanted Michael to have the completely free choice in this matter. When Brett could help to re-build Michael's battered self-confidence, Alain would be happy to let him do it.
Michael raised a teasing eyebrow. "Are you volunteering? Why, Brett, I never knew you cared."
"Nonsense," the Brujah said. "I'd do you any time, and you know that; you're hot and sweet like few other guys in this industry. I will do you tonight, if that's what you want. But I'd be surprised if you weren't able to seduce a more… exciting customer in the Seraglio. With this fine piece of ass," he added, kneading Michael's silk-clad backside briefly, "I'll have to beat off unwanted suitors with a walking stick."
"Well, I don't know," Michael shot Alain a hesitating look. "What do you think, Sire?"
Alain shrugged. "Sure, why not, if you think you'd like it."
"You don't mind…?" Michael trailed off uncertainly.
Alain withstood the urge to roll his eyes. Apparently, Michael still needed a great deal of reassurance, and taking his uncertainties seriously was part of the therapy.
"Michael, when did I mind if you had a little fun elsewhere? The Seraglio is a classy place, and with Brett, you'll be safe enough. Go, enjoy yourself – I did promise you to make up for the Femboi, did I not? Go and make the guys crazy," he smiled. "I know you will."
And so, after a moment of hesitation, Michael gave in and left on Brett's arm to make his first visit to the Seraglio. To do things in style, Brett ordered a limousine to get them there, and Michael had to admit that it did have its moments to get out of such a decadent vehicle on his high heels, while the customers smoking in front of the club were staring at his silk-covered legs with their mouths hanging open. It was a heady feeling, being so openly admired.
Despite its name, the Seraglio wasn't one of those fake oriental places with lots of fake gold and overdone plush and other stupid clichés. It was a supremely elegant night club, with playrooms in different styles and a somewhat old-fashioned bar that – according to Brett, at least – had been designed in the likeness of the lounge of expensive London hotels. The clientele was exclusively male… only that some of them were dressed up as women. As very elegant women. The ones wearing male clothing were dressed up, too, either in fitted suits or even worse, in tuxedos.
Michael became extremely nervous again. "I don't know, Brett," he said, hesitating. "It's way above my usual league. What do I do? How will I fit in?"
"Don't panic," Brett grinned. "The only thing that needs to fit is the dick of your choice up your ass. This is all just theatre. All the guys dressed up as women come here to be fucked. And the ones dressed up as men come here to fuck them. You just wait for the offers and either accept them or refuse them. It's that simple."
Michael still seemed a little uncertain, but before he could have replied anything, they were interrupted by a supremely elegant man in his late thirties or early forties, clad in an impeccable tuxedo. The man had dark hair and exotic dark eyes, with a vaguely oriental touch, and he seemed to know Brett, because he greeted the Brujah director in the manner of old acquaintances… not in the manner of close friends, though.
Brett returned the greeting in the same manner. "Nice to see you again, Martin," he said; then, turning to Michael, he added by way of an explanation. "Martin and I've known each other for some ten years or so. He owns a small bank and several real estate agencies."
"But I'm still a friendly guy," Martin added with a charming smile. "Don't you introduce your company, Brett?"
"Oh, sorry," Brett laughed. "This is Michelle; and she isn't actually my company… I mean, not exclusively. I'm just escorting her; this is her first visit in the Seraglio."
"Oh, is it?" Martin seemed energized at once. "In that case, may I buy you a drink, Michelle?"
Michael looked at Brett helplessly. The Brujah gave a small, barely visible nod, signalling that the guy was safe to go to one of the playrooms with, and so Michael accepted the offer.
"I'll be in the manager's office, should you need me," Brett said, before they would relocate to the bar. "The personnel will alert me when you decide to go."
That was a clear warning to Martin that Brett intended to keep an eye on "Michelle's" well-being, which reassured Michael to no end. So he followed his new suitor to the bar, where Martin ordered a vodka/orange for himself and looked at Michael expectantly.
"I don't assume they'd serve beer here," Michael smiled ruefully, "so I guess a Cosmo will have to do."
"Actually, they serve any kind of drink you order," Martin replied. "But if this is your trial run in cross-dressing, let me give you a hint: ladies of the upper class don't drink beer. Not when other people can see them anyway."
"I stand corrected," Michael actually relaxed enough to laugh; Martin was pleasant company. "Do you come here often?
"Once or twice a week, if I'm in my phase for male company," Martin revealed. "I'm bi, actually, and like real women as much as I like men in drag," he gave Michael a thorough once-over. "You make a beautiful girl; do you want me to woo you as if you were a real one?"
"I'm afraid I don't have the right equipment for that," Michael laughed.
"Oh, I won't say so," Martin discretely slid a hand under Michael's skirt and grabbed his package under the silk thighs. "I'd say your equipment is more than adequate… besides, many women like it the Greek way. Shall we relocate to one of the playrooms? Or am I going too fast for you?"
"A little," Michael admitted helplessly. "I'm, not usually this shy, you know – no son growing up with a mother like mine would have the chance to that – but I'm really new to this thing… and this place is way too elegant for me. I don't know how to behave. It's a little intimidating."
"I believe you'll find out soon enough that the clientele is not so fine by far as they'd like the others to think," Martin grinned. "But I'm in no hurry. We can socialize a bit first if that would ease your mind."
"That would probably be helpful," Michael said, relieved.
Martin nodded. "Very well. Let's dance first, then."
The dance floor of the Seraglio was nothing like Michael hand seen before in any gay bar; not even in the very exclusive (and expensive) ones Alain preferred. It seemed that here dancing really meant dancing, not merely a sort of foreplay, and Michael had to confess that he didn't know any of the classic dances. His previous experience was limited: visits to the Babylon and other gay discos, where people used the excuse of "dancing" to become all touchy-feely and to rub against each other shamelessly before vanishing in the back rooms.
He said so with disarming honesty.
"It doesn't matter," Martin reassured him. "You can learn it in no time. It's not that difficult; besides, most of the ladies here started off like you. Actually, teaching a newbie is a lot easier than breaking a good dancer out of the habit of leading."
And sweeping Michael onto the dance floor, he began to explain the figures of the dance. It was a bit complicated, despite his promise, but after a while Michael slowly developed a feeling for it; and he had to admit that it was fun. The dance required a great deal of body contact, although in a much more subdued way than he was used to it – and the mortal warmth of Martin's solid body felt good, so incredibly good. In a sudden moment of clarity, he realized how much he needed this: warm mortal hands on his skin, a warm cock up his ass, without having to ask himself whether he would end up as dinner.
It wasn't so that he didn't trust Alain; he did, implicitly so. But boinking the undead was a complicated thing, even for a ghoul. There was always a very real possibility that his bed partner might Frenzy and kill him, without even meaning it. Sure, someone of Alain's age ought to be able to keep the Beast on a tight leash; but accidents could happen, and Brian's stories about Alain's temper tantrums weren't really suited to disperse Michael's fears.
He realized that he'd been living in constant tension, ever since coming to LA; and that tension now finally, gradually fell away from him as Martin leaned in to him while they were dancing slowly, in full body contact. He accepted the kiss, allowing the older man's tongue to invade his mouth. It was almost shockingly warm after all those months in which he'd mostly been intimate with vampires. Perhaps it was this mortal warmth the undead craved, why so many of them took mortal lovers, despite the risks.
Suddenly he couldn't wait to feel that warmth even more intimately.
"I think we've socialized enough," he whispered when they had to break the kiss for the lack of air; another thing he hadn't experienced for a while.
Martin laughed, feeling him harden through the thin silk of the dress.
"Yes, it feels so, doesn't it?" he replied. "Do you have any preferences concerning the scenario? The playrooms offer a wide spread of choices."
"I thought playrooms have something to do with BDSM," Michael said in surprise.
Martin shook his head. "Not here. This isn't a fetish club but a role-playing one. Is there a particular reason why you started cross-dressing?"
"Actually, it's for a possible cameo role in a movie," Michael admitted.
"Oh, that's easy then," Martin turned to the floor manager. "Is the casting couch free at the moment?"
The young man consulted his palmtop.
"It's just been cleaned," he then said. "Should I book it for you, sir?"
"Please," Martin handed him his membership card. "It seems that the young lady here would like to apply for a film role."
The floor manager swiped the card through the slot of his palmtop and handed it back. "The room is yours, sir. You know the way, I presume."
"Yes, I do," Martin put the card away and pocketed his wallet. "Have champagne sent to the room, please."
The room turned out to be a nondescript yet flashy office, the sort that many influential people in the movie industry of Tinsel Town preferred, including the Vignes' and Edward Blount. It had the usual large desk, heavy curtains and multiple phones (likely fake ones in this case), as well as a leather sofa and the matching stuffed armchairs and glass-plated table in the opposite corner.
A bottle of champagne in a silver ice bucket and a small bowl of strawberries were already waiting on said coffee table when they arrived. The whole thing was so much like a scene from "Pretty Woman" that Michael seriously had to fight the urge to giggle hysterically. He was just grateful that he had Martin in it instead of Richard Gere whom he wouldn't have touched with a ten-foot pole, actor or no actor.
So they had some champagne and Michael allowed Martin to feed him strawberries while groping him under his flimsy dress. He'd never thought that wearing silk thighs could increase the sensation so much, especially if one only wore a string tanga beneath, meaning that he was basically bare-assed naked under the silk.
Martin seemed to enjoy the experience, too.
"How much do you want that role, Michelle?" he asked, sliding a hand between Michael's thighs to fondle his cock and balls. "What would you do for it?"
"Anything," Michael was so far gone by now he was nearly weeping in desperate need. "Anything you want."
"Well, in that case I hope your delicate little pussy can take a good, hard banging," Martin turned him and bent him over the back of the overstuffed leather sofa, still talking to him as if he were a girl, eager to spread her legs for a film role. "Because that's what you'll get, and rest assured that I won't stop until I'm done with you."
He pushed the flimsy dress way up above Michael's waist and pulled the silk thighs down, just under the curve of Michael's ass, together with the string tanga, so that the male package remained covered, leaving the illusion of fucking a girl intact. It was a deliciously dirty thing, Michael found so much hotter than complete nudity.
Looking back over his bare shoulder, he saw Martin tear open a small package and roll the condom over his straining dick. He was nicely endowed but not overly so, to Michael's relief. He wanted a nice, long fuck, not being split in two by a log.
"Such a naughty little girl," Martin murmured, slapping Michael's exposed, vulnerable ass repeatedly; hard enough to sting, but not so hard that it would actually hurt. "Selling your sweet little pussy for a film role... I think I need to teach you a lesson."
In the next moment Michael felt something bunt and slick nudge at his hole and Martin pushed into him slowly, carefully, yet without any preparation. He was fine with that; it was part of the scenario and besides, he was being thoroughly and frequently stretched by both Alain and Bri, so he could take it with a minimum of discomfort. In fact, he was glad Martin didn't treat him like some delicate flower. He might be dressed up like a girl, but he was still a guy and an experienced bottom who had developed an appreciation for a bit harder play since mingling with the undead.
"Are you all right?" Martin asked, now fully sheathed inside him.
Michael nodded, a bit frantically. "Give me a moment," he wriggled a little, so that Martin's dick would touch his sweet spot, and then relaxed around him at once. "Okay, you can move now."
Martin didn't need more encouragement. Lifting one of Michael's legs, he placed Michael's knee on the armrest of the sofa, opening him wide, and then started to pound into him with abandon, hitting his sweet spot unerringly by every inward slam.
Michael held on for dear life, enjoying the treatment too much to be embarrassed by the mewling sounds coming from his own throat, while his dick rubbed against the silk of the thighs delicately. Oh, this was so hot, so good! The only thing he regretted was that he couldn't see Martin's face.
As if reading his thoughts, Martin pulled out of him and turned him around, lifting his leg again, pushing it from right to left and hocking his knee over his arm.
"Hold it there," he ordered and pushed back into him.
The angle was different in this position, the fit tighter bit even better. Michael felt so full he feared he would burst any moment now. The clouding of Martin's exotic eyes revealed that he was close, too, and in a moment he came, shuddering with the force of his orgasm. Michael followed only seconds later, thankful for Emmett's warning to wear double protection under his string tanga, or else he'd have soiled the expensive dress beyond help.
"Oh," he groaned, coming down from his high when Martin pulled out of him and teased the entrance of his sensitized hole with that still semi-hard dick. "That was great. Thanks."
"My pleasure… quite literally," Martin fingered his ass, stroking him in the inside which, strangely enough, helped him to calm down. "You're absolutely delicious. I'll leave my number with the management for you, should you be interested in a repeat performance. No strings attached."
"I'll think about it," Michael got back to his feet… a bit gracelessly. He expected to walk funny for the next day or so. "Is there a place where we can clean up?"
"Of course," all playrooms are equipped with an en-suite shower," Martin steered him to the door, a hand still on his bare ass. "Do you want to go first or shall we share?"
"I'll go first if you don't mind," Michael replied.
Martin shrugged. "Not at all; we're still strangers, if you think about it. Take your time; I'm in no hurry."
And so Michael showered and got dressed again, and then gave Brett the call via one of the waiters. Brett came while Martin was still in the shower and grinned like a shark.
"Did you have a good time, Michelle?"
"The best for a very long time," Michael admitted. Brent nodded.
"I thought so. You'll always be welcome here," he handed Michael a brand new Gold membership card. "Starting today, for as long as you need it. Celebrities are always good for business."
"I am not a celebrity," protested Michael, laughing.
"Not yet," Brett said. "But you will be."
Those words proved prophetic, soon enough. Emboldened by his experience in the Seraglio Michael consented to appear in Rage II, credited as Michelle Grossi, and the news that he would be seen in the movie and those who spotted him would be able to win free DVDs, if they were lucky, turned the fandom absolutely crazy. The movie wasn't even finished yet when the premiere tickets were pre-sold in several cities, and for a while he actually had to grow a beard and wear sunglasses, so that people wouldn't recognize him on the streets. Not even the lead Rage actors were as popular as he had become.
"I told you so," Brett grinned and assigned to him two Brujah ghouls as bodyguards. "You are a celebrity."
Michael shook his head soberly. "I never wanted that, Brett. I just wanted to tell my stories."
"Which is exactly why they are so hugely sought after," Brett pointed out, grinning. "Don't worry. You've got the time to get used to the hype."
Actually, Michael doubted that very much. It simply wasn't in his nature. But he guessed he could enjoy it as long as it lasted. In the meantime, he had film scripts to write.
~Te End - for now~