AN: Thanks again for all the lovely reviews and it's great to see some people trying to figure out who we are too. This chapter comes with the same warnings as previous chapters, darkness and finally some smut, sort of. We hope you continue to enjoy our work!
Brendan was having a bad day.
After failing to kill himself because of a meddling priest (who may or may not have been real), he'd had an encounter with a beautiful stranger and said stranger had caught him having a nap in a mausoleum.
He was pretty sure he'd styled the whole thing out. It probably wasn't normal for the breathers to spend days in mausoleums, but Brendan had pretended it was something that anyone could do. He'd worked very hard to pretend everything was fine and that he was not the slightest bit interested in the beautiful boy (who had saved him without even knowing it). That bit had been quite pleasant. But from the moment the innocent had left, Brendan had been stuck in that stupid mausoleum all day! He'd had hours with nothing to do except sleep (something he didn't really need to do) and look at the places where the people who got to stay dead rested. He envied them sometimes. It was hundreds of years since he had properly rested.
Brendan had finally got back to the club, taking the streets of Hollyoaks at the speed of sound the second the sun went down. He'd been given cause to stop outside the club,by the far too familiar sound of Mitzeee and Cheryl arguing, as usual. He'd sighed and then tried to make an intimidating entrance to teach them a lesson.
For a moment he thought he'd succeeded but then they'd started again and within seconds he couldn't care less any more. Because there he was again; the beautiful innocent who had saved his life. This was it, this was fate. He had been saved so this beautiful creature could be part of his afterlife. He had hired him on the spot.
Then the little bastard had mentioned Amy. He didn't know who Amy was, but he could imagine her: some beautiful buxom woman, as perfect in the bedroom as the kitchen, maternal and beautiful. He hated Amy already. The mother of this beautiful man's children. What right did she have to steal this boy's innocence? How old was he any way?
Okay; so Brendan wanted nothing less than to plaster the innocent over a flat surface and send him spiralling into a whirlwind of pleasure unlike any he'd ever felt before. Which he supposed would be the definition of stealing his innocence; but that was different, that was him.
And as he watched the beautiful boy walk away (giving him a sublime view of the most tempting arse he'd ever seen), he could barely care what Mitzeee and Cheryl were talking about.
He didn't look away until the door blocked the beautiful innocent from his sight. Then he turned back to survey his club; there were two idiots were looking vacant on the sofa.
"So you glamoured those two, but didn't bother with the other one?" he asked, annoyed.
"Must be Cheryl's "little problem"," said Mitzeee, harshly, using air quotes.
"I do NOT have a problem and you brought them all in!" cried Cheryl, "I thought you were taking care of it!"
"Well, they're littering up my club," said Brendan, "get them out!"
Both women exploded into moans.
"Oh! But Brendan! Can't I keep one of them?"
"You promised me a bonus Brendan!"
"I'm starving Brendan! I haven't had a man in forever!"
"Well then get your own!"
"I am warning you, Mitzeeeeeee!"
"Jesus Mary and Joseph," Brendan mumbled and left them to it. He couldn't care less what they did with those two, whoever they were. His mind was more favourably occupied with the golden skinned innocent, who came out of the morning sun.
He could give Steven a mass of shifts. He could never let him go again if he wanted. He pictured the beautiful boy lying next to him, clinging to him. He imagined how those tanned legs would feel wrapped around him, how that beautiful face would look twisted in orgasm. The boy was impossibly perfect.
Impossibly. There was a rat smell here, wasn't there? Someone so perfect just turning up on his doorstep. Twice. Steven was working for someone.
He strode back to the women. "Who invited him for an interview?"
Mitzeee looked askance, "Don't look at me! As if I'd suggest someone so skinny!"
"That was the first time I saw him" said Cheryl, "but I think his wife asked the other day."
Brendan sneered, "Amy," he said, with hatred.
Cheryl nodded, "Yeah, she was sweet, said he'd been looking for a job for ages and they had kids, and…"
"Was she pretty?" Brendan asked, forgetting why he was asking these question.
"Yeah, I suppose, in a skinny and childlike sort of a way," Cheryl confirmed, Brendan flinched again. Cheryl might have gone on to say more, but Brendan was not interested. He shut them out again and went up to the walkway. People had started to arrive for a night of clubbing; he liked to stand up here watching out for potential snacks and trouble makers. He spotted the trouble makers easily. The snacks seemed less appealing.
He couldn't care less how many pretty young things were giving him 'come hither' looks, or those who had displayed themselves like an all you can eat buffet. It just seemed irrelevant now. Those golden limbs and easy smile kept intruding when he thought about it. That damn beautiful boy.
Macca turned up at about eleven and leaned casually on the rail beside him. He had a high-necked shirt on to hide the marks Brendan had left at their previous interactions.
"Hi there," he said, in what Brendan supposed was Macca's attempt at sexy.
"Macca," he said, still looking through the crowd.
Macca leant over, clearly trying to put himself into Brendan's line of sight. "So, you fancy going into one of the rooms?"
"Not tonight," said Brendan, coldly.
Macca shifted closer, even daring to touch Brendan's hip. "Oh, go on Brendan," he said, "you know you want to."
Brendan snorted, "I know I don't," he replied, scathingly.
"Come on," said Macca; clearly about to try again, if the hand now travelling dangerously close to Brendan's groin was anything to go by. But Brendan had had enough.
He turned to face Macca, making eye contact. This was usually his seduction technique; not his method of pushing people away from him, but he went with it anyway.
"Macca, you do not want me," he said, knowing his eyes would have trapped Macca's.
"I do not want you," Macca replied, woodenly.
"You will now leave this place and never return unless I call for you."
"I will now leave this place and never return unless you call for me."
"You will keep my secrets safe and avoid any vampires from this moment on."
"I will keep your secrets safe and avoid any vampires from this moment on," said Macca, like a robot.
"Good, now go," Brendan instructed. And Macca did, as Brendan knew he would. That was the power of vampires. Mind control over lesser beings. Mortals were powerless to their whims. Except for Cheryl's for some reason.
He eventually gave up on trying to run the club, throwing out everyone with a pulse (and a number of people without one) and closed the club before midnight. Cheryl thought he'd gone mad. Mitzeee was more clued in.
"It's that lad, isn't it? Isn't it? You fancy him! That's why you gave him the job!"
"Shut up Mitzeee," he replied.
"I knew it!" cried Mitzeee, "I suppose he's pretty (in a twinky kind of way), but a bit skinny for my tastes."
"Good job you won't be eating him then," said Brendan. "Did you get his employment shit?"
"Employment shit?" asked Mitzeee.
"You know, bank details, P45, that crap."
Mitzeee pulled a face, "Do I look like a secretary?"
Brendan gave her his best scathing look, "Oh heaven forbid I should expect you to do some work today. It's not like that's what I pay you for."
"Yeah, well...you can sort it tomorrow, can't ye?" Mitzeee replied, dismissively. Brendan supposed she had a point. He'd decided to employ Steven, it was his responsibility to sort it all out.
Long experience had taught Brendan that it was better to have those boring things in place. There was something about DOA that caught the attentions of a myriad of noisy people; councillors, police officers and heaven forbid vampire slayers. There had to be nothing on the surface that suggested anything amiss. Brendan was careful that nothing of a suspicious nature could be traced back to him or the club; he was a stickler for taxes being paid on time and work permits being checked. If anyone was hoping to look, they would not be finding any excuses to pry.
"I shall remind him," he said at length, unable to hold back the small smile. "I need to check he's not employed by anyone… unsavoury anyway."
"What?There are people out there less savoury than you?" said Mitzeee with a grin and a laugh. Brendan gave her a final glare and left. He had more pleasurable things to worry about.
He was back home in seconds, knowing Mitzeee and Cheryl were more than capable of locking up by themselves. He had just one task in mind, as he shut himself away. He relaxed, lay back and closed his eyes.
He could find Steven easily enough. The lad had probably gone to sleep quite soon after getting home and Brendan traced his dreams with relish. He felt a surge of pleasure when he found no resistance to his entrance into those dreams.
He had a good look around; looking for lies and duplicity. But he could find no fear, no dishonesty, no sign that Steven was living a double life or lying. In fact, his dreams were so open Brendan felt strangely comfortable in them. He saw children playing happily, he saw warmth and friendliness, he saw the normal anxieties of starting a new job, of paying the rent and affording the things a family needed. Then he saw himself.
He was not doing much yet, just staring at Steven in a predatory manner. Brendan watched himself and the boy in a scene that highly reflected their earlier moment. He could feel the attraction radiating from Steven, just as he had that morning and that evening. It was strong enough to rival his own.
Steven's imagined Brendan stepped forward: slow, sedate and graceful. Steven bit his lip with anticipation. When they got closer, Steven's excitement only grew. Brendan didn't feel like watching any more.
He took the place of Steven's imagined Brendan. It wasn't his body here, but then again neither was it Steven's. It didn't matter. No words were necessary.
"What are you doing here Brendan?" Steven's dream asked.
"I came to see you," Brendan replied, honestly.
"Why?" asked Steven, Brendan recognised that same self-doubt he'd seen earlier. Even Steven's dreams lacked confidence.
"Because I want you," Brendan replied. It didn't matter. Steven would remember this in the morning, but he would assume he had dreamt it. He couldn't hold anything that happened now against Brendan.
"Me?" asked Steven, half-terrified, like he expected his own subconscious to reject him. "Have you changed your mind about the job?"
"No," said Brendan, "never."
"Then…"
Brendan closed the gap on him then, unable to hold himself back any longer. Their lips met and Steven submitted to the move beautifully. Brendan smiled to himself putting his hand behind Steven's head. He felt Steven gasp, willingly giving himself over to Brendan.
Brendan deepened the kiss, slipping his tongue into Steven's mouth. He was surprised to find Steven's own tongue meeting it, battling. Steven's hands came up too, gripping Brendan's shoulders. Not so submissive then, Brendan thought. He guided Steven backwards until the dream created a bed for them. Together, they fell onto it, and without the need to hold him standing, Steven's legs came round to pull Brendan closer.
Steven was hot.
His hands would not stay still. They explored Brendan's body, finding muscles, and flaws. His legs were anchoring Brendan to him and Brendan wasn't sure he could get away from Steven now even if he tried. His own hands were busy too; one still cradling Steven's beautiful face and the other moulding itself to Steven's body, exploring the slim frame eagerly. He heard Steven's approving groan at the moves.
He broke contact between their mouths, moving to Steven's jaw bone. He followed it, traced it down to Steven's neck with kisses, this was accompanied by the sound of Steven's gasps and the feel of one of Steven's hands grasping at his hair, like he was trying to pull Brendan closer. He did this until he reached the pulse point, where jaw met neck. He could almost taste Steven's life blood flowing underneath, feel the tempo that kept Steven alive with his lips. He paid it extra attention, worshipping it with tongue and lips. He knew what should follow, what a hundred years of this life showed him should follow.
Yet he didn't want to.
The pulse was too beautiful, the boy too breakable. He wanted them both, but as they were. Innocent, perfect and unbroken. He kissed the point one more time, before pulling away and looking down at Steven.
The boy's face was flushed, his eyes heavily lidded, his breath coming in desperate gasps. Brendan smiled at the beautiful sight.
"Are you ready?" he asked.
Steven nodded back at him; clothes never seemed a problem in a dreams and Brendan kissed him again, bringing their most intimate parts close together.
"Stee—eee," came a shrill sound that really didn't match the scene. Brendan frowned, what on earth was that noise?
"Steeeeeee!" called the voice again and it was far too close for comfort.
"That's Amy," said Steven, a look of confusion on his face, "I think…"
And the dream disappeared around them. Brendan opened his eyes to the darkness of his own coffin, the stillness of his own place and with an annoying feeling of dissatisfaction. In his dream Steven had opened himself up for Brendan, given himself over, presented himself like a gift and some stupid woman had woken him up before Brendan could take advantage of it.
Once Steven started working for Brendan he would find himself on every shift that existed, with a thousand jobs to complete in between. He would find his new job had taken over his life and Brendan would make sure he didn't even care. Brendan would make sure that Steven would feel the same burgeoning obsession Brendan did; feel the same need, the same desires, the same passions and the same hatreds.
And Brendan really, really hated Amy.
Paul Browning walked through the darkened streets of Hollyoaks without a care in the world. He knew that there was apparently a murderer wondering around the village, but felt no fear. He'd killed again tonight, one of his ill patients who had a lot of money. Paul knew he should feel guilty, but the wedge of stolen money in his pocket shielded him from such emotions. He was going to buy Mercedes a diamond ring tomorrow, a really big one.
He cut through the alley that lead to his flat, calmly breathing in the cold night air. He stopped suddenly as he sensed something dart to the side of him, something big.
"Hello?" asked Paul, he glanced around the alley and was relieved to find he was on his own. It was probably his imagination, he always was a bit jittery after he killed someone.
"I've been watching you." hissed a voice from behind him.
Paul nearly jumped out of his skin, turning quickly to where the voice had come from. There was no one there. He turned round to go forward but found his path blocked.
"Have you a confession, Doctor?" hissed the voice, this time from a completely new direction.
"What? Who are you?" Paul called back.
There was silence. He looked around, peering into the darkness for the source. Still he could see no one. Paul laughed. "Some sort of religious nutter, are you?" he sneered, "too scared to show me your face though?"
He was met with silence again and he laughed again. "Thought so." He moved on, he had no time for lunatics tonight.
A dark shape appeared in front of him. Paul hadn't seen anyone arrive and he almost shouted in shock.
"I gave you the chance to confess, doctor," said the stranger, "now it's time you pay for your sins.
Paul let out a blood curdling scream and then he knew no more.