[Fanfic] The Songs You're Seeing
Nov. 9th, 2010 12:26 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bersekerAU MEME bingo card
Prompt: Fantasy & Supernatural:Author's Choice VAMPIRES
Personagens: Br/Arg.
Rating: ... I honestly have no idea. There's blood.
Warnings: Blood. And vampires. And, needless to say, this has nothing whatsoever to do with the actual countries of Brazil and Argentina, but I'm pretty sure I didn't have to say that. Hence the 'needless'. Ok I'll shut up.
Sumário:
Notes: there are many people you can blame for this.![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
zulenha, who did this fanart and inspired me to write the whole thing. vasilina0946, who wrote the first vampire AU that inspired Zu. And sakuratsukikage, who let me borrow her vampires for this don't ask, it's a long story. And, honestly. After all that, it became pretty obvious: the universe wanted me to write about vampires.
Also, thank youzulenha for the beta-reading ♥♥♥
and nothing is sweeter
than the songs you're seeing
begging for the colder hand she hides
Ok so this wasn't exactly the job of his dreams, and the pay wasn't that good either, and he had to take two buses just to reach the stupid place, but at least he was working, right?
And it was cool. Very cool. Even if Luciano had dreamed about something different. Like, you know.
Something actually related to college.
That had been the plan, anyway. To study and work at the same time like his sisters had done, and the working part was going fine, obviously, but he hadn't been approved this year, so... yeah. Luciano didn't mind, really. He could wait another year.
It wasn't like he had a choice, after all.
He was working at a nightclub. It was cool. The music and lights and fancy drinks he had to prepare and people who came to talk to him and flirt even if he couldn't, really, since the place was always so crowded that he couldn't give them much attention, but he always found a way.
He liked flirting. And people usually remembered him, and asked for him when he wasn't there – his boss had told him so – and that was pretty cool.
The only problem was the distance. Two buses. Come on. And, well, the lack of anything college-related. Even if he didn't mind. It was ok, really, it's just that- well.
He didn't want to say this, and he hadn't, not even to his family, but he thought about it now and then, a little and.
Well.
This job, mixing drinks and serving people, and smiling and flirting and everything... you didn't have to be... well, smart, did you? It's not just that anyone could do that, it's just that... it was the kind of thing that you do when you can't find another job because you're too stupid, that's what.
He was sure people would tell him that it wasn't like that at all. That they trusted him. His father, his sisters. They knew he was smart, really, and they weren't ashamed of him just because he wasn't studying. He should just relax. And no one actually thought he was too stupid for anything else, of course not. And people liked him. He had lots of friends. It was something he was good at, talking to people, and liking them, so they usually liked him back.
Oh, well. Something like that, anyway.
And that was another very cool thing about this place, all the new people he met, and sometimes he couldn't see them clearly, because it was always dark and full of red and blue lights that didn't help much when it came to seeing faces, but had an amazing effect on clothes and hair and skin. When the party actually started, the place transformed into something magical with impossible colors and shades of dark purple, glittering and sparkling and turning even the glasses on his hand into little jewels.
Which was why the blond guy caught his attention. Because his hair first looked green, then sort of blueish and then a mix of every possible color, and then Luciano was sort of mesmerized and he couldn't look away. From his hair.
Of course, the rest of him was also very hot. Even with the crazy color scheme and the dark and the people who kept blocking his view, Luciano could tell he looked hot, with a weird shirt that wasn't even all that weird, considering, just a bit... old fashioned, and no one wore shirts to clubs anyway, but it looked good on him.
He looked at Luciano. As in, straight at him, and stared, as if he could see his eyes from across the room, and then Luciano couldn't decide what he wanted to do, go to him and say something or just... stay here and gape at him like an idiot or keep working and pretend he wasn't staring back, but he couldn't, couldn't even avert his face. Everything felt wrong, to look away or to keep looking, and he had to swallow hard before forcing himself to smile, literally, it took effort to make the corners of his lips raise just enough to look friendly, and then the blond guy with crazy hair raised his chin and sort of smiled back, only it wasn't a nice smile, it was smug and arrogant and it made Luciano's own tentative smile vanish right then, and then he turned back to someone at his right as if Luciano didn't matter much, as if he didn't matter at all.
He tried to get back to what he was doing, and mix the drinks and serve and smile to other, nicer people around him who were actually smiling back, and touching his arm and his hand when he got near and giving him their phone numbers and, and not being so fucking rude and-
Ok, it didn't matter. It was just one random guy, one random smile. It didn't matter, it didn't mean anything.
He was still trying to remember that, the next time he saw the blond guy. But when he came Luciano was feeling almost dizzy from the lights and the music and his eyes, and the fact that he had been thinking about this guy all day long, and now he was here, sitting in in front of him. And waiting. Luciano tried to ignore him, but he couldn't help sneaking a peek, and then he saw the blond's eyes still staring right at him, so he tried to focus but couldn't and then he was feeling stupid and awkward and he didn't like it, so he raised his face and tried to smile:
“May I help you?"
… he shouldn't have said that. It was silly, and stupid. Why had he said it?
The blond just smiled, the same annoying way he had smiled last night, as if he enjoyed Luciano's discomfort, and then said:
“What's the best you can do?"
“Ah. Well. Anything you want, I-"
“... anything I want," he said, slowly. Savoring each word.
No, not really, it was more like he just wanted Luciano to realize what he had just said, and was dragging it out for the hell of it, to make Luciano squirm. Not that he would. Squirm, that is.
And he had some sort of Hispanic accent thing going on too that was almost sweet and- no, it was very annoying.
“Yep, that's what I said. So what's it going to be?"
Also, fuck you, he thought. But didn't say it. He still needed the money.
“How old are you?"
That's none of your business. What the hell.
“... nineteen," he said, reluctantly, “Why?"
“You look younger."
They looked the same age, Luciano was sure of it. And he was tired of this. Of the weird smile and weird glint of his eyes and weird everything, so he just nodded – still smiling- and went back to... nothing, but at least not looking at him, and he had decided to leave, to go to the kitchen and... check on things, or something, so he was surprised and a little mad at himself when he looked up and said:
“Why? How old are you?"
“Guess."
“... forget it, I don't care," Luciano said. He was trying hard not to say something really nasty. “Where are you from?"
“Can't you tell?"
… you know what, fuck this shit, he thought. Why was he looking at him like that, like measuring him up, and not liking what he was seeing as if Luciano were just not that interesting and-
“Argentina," he said. “Right?"
He had heard it before, after all. The young man smiled again, but now it looked different, almost a little wistful:
“Yes... of course, that's not how I used to call it, when I was there. A long time ago."
Luciano nodded. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to say now. Or why he wasn't leaving. He had decided to leave. At least twice. He was sure of it. But then Argentinean Guy looked up again – his eyes were so green, almost like contact lenses because the color was too strong to be real, too bright and vivid, almost magical on its own, even if he ignored the colors from the club and-
“What's your name?", Luciano asked. And he was sure he hadn't planned to ask, it just felt like the right thing to do now, if he was really going to ponder the guy's eyes like that, and his voice sounded weird, as if the words were coming out on their own and he had no control over what he was saying, and-
The young man laughed:
“You're so easy," he said. Then he got up, shaking his head. “My name is Martín, if you really need to know."
And then he left, didn't even bother to ask his name back, just turned and went away leaving Luciano standing there, feeling his cheeks heating and feeling slightly sick at himself and suddenly the world felt so much more real, and now he could think of all the things he should have told him, or all the times he should have just ignored him and and and-
Too late now. And- it wasn't important, and he wasn't going to think about him or anything like that, he wasn't going to let that creep ruin his night twice in the same week.
It's just that. Well.
His eyes were so beautiful.
“So," he asked the next night, “What time do you leave this place?"
Luciano froze.
This. This was crazy. He must have heard wrong.
“Yes," Martín said, smiling that infuriating smirk of his, “Unbelievable, I know, but I think you're interesting, so. Tell me."
“We don't- uh, we don't kick people out, so- we'll close when the last one leaves, and- are you serious?"
“You must have some idea," he said. Still smiling. He was calling him stupid. Wasn't he? Luciano could feel it.
“And I suppose you go straight home, don't you?"
“... it's usually five in the morning, and of course I do, where else am I suppose to go?"
“I don't know, school? You are young."
There was noise now, loud music and the eerie feeling of the dim lights, and his hair looked full of strange colors again, blue and purple and green and his eyes looked almost red, and- still beautiful. More than anything Luciano had ever seen before, it was almost painful to look away.
So he didn't.
“No, I don't. Just home."
“So this is it?This is all you do with your life?"
... he hadn't said this. Had he? People didn't say these kind of things, it was too- he couldn't-
“Don't you want to go to college?"
“Look, just who- I don't know who you are, but-"
Martín raised his hands, an amused smile on his lips:
“Just asking. Sore point, uh?"
“I don't have to go to college if I don't want to, I just-"
“Of course. Just stay here. How much do you make?"
Luciano was sure he wasn't blushing. He didn't blush. Ever. He was just- feeling weird, and hot and he didn't want to see that smile anymore, and why couldn't he think of anything to answer, he should be answering that now, or telling him to fuck off, or something, instead of standing here with his face burning and-
“I see," Martín said, drawling the word for what felt like a very long time, “It's not that bad, I guess, some people are just... sort of born for this, I guess."
“It's none of your business, you know-"
“I bet your family is really proud of you."
“Look, you don't even know me-"
“Forget it, I'm just messing with you. I'm sure they understand, like I said, some people are made for waiting. And for serving others. Speaking of which," he raised his glass again. Luciano gritted his teeth, but took the glass from him – he couldn't even do something dramatic, like slam the glass on on the counter or anything, because then the stupid thing would break and someone would scream at him for it, so he just filled it again and gave it to him avoiding his eyes all the time, and then Martín held his wrist.
He should have pulled off his arm. Should have told him to cut it out and go die in a fire. Something. Anything. But he had lost the count of all the things he should have done by now.
“I'm sorry," Martín said, not looking sorry at all, “I'm not trying to insult you."
“Really," Luciano mumbled. Martín held him a little tighter, his fingers cold and hard and it felt more like... he didn't know, something other than a human hand, but-
“Of course. I'll still wait for you."
He should- so many things, there was so much to say and so much he wanted to do and he raised his head sharply but then the sting of the words vanished and Martín was smiling at him, that mocking smile he had given him all night long and he was looking at him like that, green eyes and blond hair falling on wisps on his forehead and he looked so, so beautiful and-
“Ok," Luciano said. Martín squeezed his wrist again, then let go.
Luciano waited, silent and numb as he finished his drink. He wanted to say something, but- it was... nice, this, to... have his attention, or- whatever this was, and Martín wanted him, he wouldn't say that if he didn't so maybe he was just one of those very rude people and then- well then-
Martín smiled. The lights from the club colored his whole face now, red and blue and green and purple, made his lips glitter, made his teeth flash:
“You're so easy," he said. It was too low, no more than a whisper, but Luciano heard anyway, and this time he just nodded.
It was four in the morning when the club finally closed.
Luciano wasn't really thinking anymore. He had seen Martín a few times, always with someone else, always a few glimpses before missing him in the crowd, and he didn't... if Martín wanted to go out with him, then why- but that small part of him that didn't really mind, not really, that voice that kept saying that it was alright because Martín was just too beautiful to sit and wait for him, that he should just shut up and be grateful, that voice got so loud as the night went by, that it was hard to listen to anything else. This wasn't cool, and he wanted to go home, but.
Well.
... he was pretty sure Martín was wrong, they weren't ashamed of him. They talked all the time, he would have noticed if they were. And he hadn't, so there, and it didn't matter anyway, because he was going to do something with his life. That was the plan. He just had to figure some things out first, that's all, and they knew that, they knew he was-
It didn't matter. It didn't matter.
And then when they were closing and he thought there was no one else there, well, he couldn't help but be a little disappointed, because he had said he would wait, but- whatever, he probably had found something else, and- it didn't matter.
It was still dark outside. And the silence, so deep after the loud music from the club, made the night a little magical, as if there was a giant bubble surrounding him and muffling all the sounds, the wind and the river nearby, soft and distant, and his footsteps on the street. Sounds of silence.
He looked up, and sighed. The place was so far from downtown that he could see all the stars, and he liked that, even if it mean there was no light and it was dangerous and sort of creepy. But at least it was beautiful.
... see, he liked this place. Even if it was far from home. Even if he would have to wait at least forty minutes before the next bus. And then he'd get home and find his sisters eating their breakfast, and he'd feel tempted to drink coffee but would have to resist it, because if he did he wouldn't be able to sleep. And then they would smile up at him – well, Marji would, the others would sort of maybe grunt and nod a little, because they weren't morning people. They would hate Marji a little for smiling and hate him for existing and hate the whole world for a few hours, but they would hold back all the hate long enough to kiss him on their way out, and see, they loved him. They weren't... embarrassed or anything. He would have noticed.
Luciano sighed again.
He had walked for a minute or two, when he heard the steps. So he stopped, and he had already turned when it crossed his mind that it could be anyone, and maybe he was just about to get mugged or something, but by then it was too late, and he could see it was Martín.
Like he had sort of maybe hoped it would be.
“Told you I would wait," he said, and smiled. Now, without all the crazy lights, it looked almost normal. But cold.
And empty.
Luciano didn't say anything. That weird feeling was taking hold again, that voice that told him to run away and to stay here at the same time, so he didn't move, he stood there and waited until Martín was two feet from him, and then he opened his mouth to say something, and maybe explain to him that he wasn't interested after all and he wanted to go home, but that would be so stupid, so dumb and childish, and he couldn't waste this chance, if someone that beautiful was interested in him he should be-
“I should leave," he whispered. He couldn't look away now. Martín looked a bit surprised, but then he smiled again.
He touched his face.
Luciano didn't react. Not even when Martín tilted his chin and kissed his lips. Luciano stood there, paralyzed.
“Come on," Martín said, “We don't have much time. You're better than that."
He kissed his neck, then, sucking hard at the skin. Luciano raised his hands, holding on to Martín's shoulders.
“Am I?"
He could see the stars, now, stretching on forever in the sky. Like a carpet. Could feel Martín's arms around him like ropes, maybe, or something stronger, something harder, pulling him to a body that felt just so damn cold.
“No," Martín said, lips still against his neck, “Not really. You're not."
Right. Right then. He didn't mind that. Now things were getting clearer, and sharper, and painful, but at least he was starting to get it.
“I can't leave."
“No," Martín said. He held him tighter, “You can't."
He bit his neck, then, hard, enough to make Luciano gasp. And then his hands were everywhere, on his back and going under his shirt and squeezing his buttocks and then grabbing his hair and pulling and Luciano whimpered, Martín's teeth still on his neck and he could feel the blood running down his skin, thick and slow and strange, and then Martín stopped biting and licked the trickle from his neck.
Luciano was holding his shirt, fists closed tight on the fabric. He felt dizzy. And. He was cold, and a little sick, and he thought maybe he would throw up or pass out or something, he couldn't read his body anymore, he just- he wanted to be home, he-
"Relax," Martín said, “Just- let go.
He wanted to live. He wanted it so much, to get away from here, from this, but-
Martín kissed his mouth. It wasn't a nice kiss, it was hard and demanding and it tasted of blood, and Luciano wasn't sure if he had decided to open his mouth of if it had just happened, and there was more blood on his neck and on Martín's lips and he looked strange, now, blank and empty and- dead. He looked dead.
Please, Luciano thought. But the kiss was so bad, and at the same time so good, good enough to cloud his ideas again and he wanted to get rid of those clothes so he could feel Martín's hands and his body and he wanted to fuck him and to be fucked and everything at the same time and he couldn't think, even when Martín grabbed his hair again and pulled and made him show his throat, when Martín bit him again and licked and his legs felt weak, and he was sure he would fall if Martín let him go, and then-
Then he wanted to go home, where he would have to decide if he would take the coffee or not, and the girls would tease him for going to bed now and dad would tell them to be quiet because he had been working and it seemed so empty. So pointless. And college next year, and a boring job after that, and what was the point of everything, why bother, why-
“Yes," Martín said, “Surrender. Just- stop fighting me."
They love me, Luciano thought. I want-
“You want me.“
Yes.
That.
He wanted to cry, sort of, and maybe he was, his face felt wet, and he didn't know it if was sweat or tears or blood from Martín's mouth. He felt empty. His body was like a doll in Martín's arms, he couldn't even keep his fingers on his shirt, nothing. The only thing keeping him standing was Martín's arms on his waist, and his fingers on his hair, supporting his head to taste his blood.
His lips were warm. Everything else was cold, but his lips felt warm, Luciano thought.
And then he didn't think of anything else.
Martín let the kid fall on the floor, and then cleaned his mouth with the back of his hand.
He felt dizzy. And weird. And a little angry at himself.
Well then fuck, what now? He hadn't planned this. He didn't have to do it. He should have better control than that. He had practice.
Didn't have to kill him.
Well. Whatever. The river was close enough, he thought. He dropped down to one knee, pressed his fingers to the kid's throat. He was still alive, for a few more minutes, maybe. Surely wouldn't survive the rest of the night, so Martín would be doing him a favor, really. The river would be faster.
Or.
He could turn him.
... no. He didn't need that. More competition. It was a dumb idea, really.
So he scooped him up, as carelessly as he could. Didn't take long to reach the river, ten, eleven, twelve steps. He counted. It sort of distracted him from Luciano's face – oh great now he was naming it – and how dirty it was, and thick eyelashes still wet and smears of blood and scraps from the street's paving and a breath so shallow that even he had to strain to listen.
Not that he was. Not that he cared, anyway.
Luciano – the kid's body was so warm.
The water looked dark. And dirty. And the smell wasn't too great, either.
...he could take care of him. Teach him how to survive. In the beginning. Maybe it would work.
Except it wouldn't, of course. It wasn't in their nature. He would make an enemy for himself. Which was dumb.
He held him a little tighter. Warm. Even if he was dying.
Martín closed his eyes. Took a deep breath. It was a crazy dumb idea, Martín wouldn't have the power of suggestion to control him. Luciano would see him for what he was. No tricks, no smoke and mirrors, nothing. Just him.
But maybe. Maybe they would be friends.
He looked at the river. He would throw him. It was decided. It would happen. Non-negotiable. End of story.
It's just that...
Well.
His body was just so warm.
~*~
Prompt: Fantasy & Supernatural:
Personagens: Br/Arg.
Rating: ... I honestly have no idea. There's blood.
Warnings: Blood. And vampires. And, needless to say, this has nothing whatsoever to do with the actual countries of Brazil and Argentina, but I'm pretty sure I didn't have to say that. Hence the 'needless'. Ok I'll shut up.
Sumário:
Notes: there are many people you can blame for this.
zulenha, who did this fanart and inspired me to write the whole thing. vasilina0946, who wrote the first vampire AU that inspired Zu. And sakuratsukikage, who let me borrow her vampires for this Also, thank you
zulenha for the beta-reading ♥♥♥and nothing is sweeter
than the songs you're seeing
begging for the colder hand she hides
Ok so this wasn't exactly the job of his dreams, and the pay wasn't that good either, and he had to take two buses just to reach the stupid place, but at least he was working, right?
And it was cool. Very cool. Even if Luciano had dreamed about something different. Like, you know.
Something actually related to college.
That had been the plan, anyway. To study and work at the same time like his sisters had done, and the working part was going fine, obviously, but he hadn't been approved this year, so... yeah. Luciano didn't mind, really. He could wait another year.
It wasn't like he had a choice, after all.
He was working at a nightclub. It was cool. The music and lights and fancy drinks he had to prepare and people who came to talk to him and flirt even if he couldn't, really, since the place was always so crowded that he couldn't give them much attention, but he always found a way.
He liked flirting. And people usually remembered him, and asked for him when he wasn't there – his boss had told him so – and that was pretty cool.
The only problem was the distance. Two buses. Come on. And, well, the lack of anything college-related. Even if he didn't mind. It was ok, really, it's just that- well.
He didn't want to say this, and he hadn't, not even to his family, but he thought about it now and then, a little and.
Well.
This job, mixing drinks and serving people, and smiling and flirting and everything... you didn't have to be... well, smart, did you? It's not just that anyone could do that, it's just that... it was the kind of thing that you do when you can't find another job because you're too stupid, that's what.
He was sure people would tell him that it wasn't like that at all. That they trusted him. His father, his sisters. They knew he was smart, really, and they weren't ashamed of him just because he wasn't studying. He should just relax. And no one actually thought he was too stupid for anything else, of course not. And people liked him. He had lots of friends. It was something he was good at, talking to people, and liking them, so they usually liked him back.
Oh, well. Something like that, anyway.
And that was another very cool thing about this place, all the new people he met, and sometimes he couldn't see them clearly, because it was always dark and full of red and blue lights that didn't help much when it came to seeing faces, but had an amazing effect on clothes and hair and skin. When the party actually started, the place transformed into something magical with impossible colors and shades of dark purple, glittering and sparkling and turning even the glasses on his hand into little jewels.
Which was why the blond guy caught his attention. Because his hair first looked green, then sort of blueish and then a mix of every possible color, and then Luciano was sort of mesmerized and he couldn't look away. From his hair.
Of course, the rest of him was also very hot. Even with the crazy color scheme and the dark and the people who kept blocking his view, Luciano could tell he looked hot, with a weird shirt that wasn't even all that weird, considering, just a bit... old fashioned, and no one wore shirts to clubs anyway, but it looked good on him.
He looked at Luciano. As in, straight at him, and stared, as if he could see his eyes from across the room, and then Luciano couldn't decide what he wanted to do, go to him and say something or just... stay here and gape at him like an idiot or keep working and pretend he wasn't staring back, but he couldn't, couldn't even avert his face. Everything felt wrong, to look away or to keep looking, and he had to swallow hard before forcing himself to smile, literally, it took effort to make the corners of his lips raise just enough to look friendly, and then the blond guy with crazy hair raised his chin and sort of smiled back, only it wasn't a nice smile, it was smug and arrogant and it made Luciano's own tentative smile vanish right then, and then he turned back to someone at his right as if Luciano didn't matter much, as if he didn't matter at all.
He tried to get back to what he was doing, and mix the drinks and serve and smile to other, nicer people around him who were actually smiling back, and touching his arm and his hand when he got near and giving him their phone numbers and, and not being so fucking rude and-
Ok, it didn't matter. It was just one random guy, one random smile. It didn't matter, it didn't mean anything.
He was still trying to remember that, the next time he saw the blond guy. But when he came Luciano was feeling almost dizzy from the lights and the music and his eyes, and the fact that he had been thinking about this guy all day long, and now he was here, sitting in in front of him. And waiting. Luciano tried to ignore him, but he couldn't help sneaking a peek, and then he saw the blond's eyes still staring right at him, so he tried to focus but couldn't and then he was feeling stupid and awkward and he didn't like it, so he raised his face and tried to smile:
“May I help you?"
… he shouldn't have said that. It was silly, and stupid. Why had he said it?
The blond just smiled, the same annoying way he had smiled last night, as if he enjoyed Luciano's discomfort, and then said:
“What's the best you can do?"
“Ah. Well. Anything you want, I-"
“... anything I want," he said, slowly. Savoring each word.
No, not really, it was more like he just wanted Luciano to realize what he had just said, and was dragging it out for the hell of it, to make Luciano squirm. Not that he would. Squirm, that is.
And he had some sort of Hispanic accent thing going on too that was almost sweet and- no, it was very annoying.
“Yep, that's what I said. So what's it going to be?"
Also, fuck you, he thought. But didn't say it. He still needed the money.
“How old are you?"
That's none of your business. What the hell.
“... nineteen," he said, reluctantly, “Why?"
“You look younger."
They looked the same age, Luciano was sure of it. And he was tired of this. Of the weird smile and weird glint of his eyes and weird everything, so he just nodded – still smiling- and went back to... nothing, but at least not looking at him, and he had decided to leave, to go to the kitchen and... check on things, or something, so he was surprised and a little mad at himself when he looked up and said:
“Why? How old are you?"
“Guess."
“... forget it, I don't care," Luciano said. He was trying hard not to say something really nasty. “Where are you from?"
“Can't you tell?"
… you know what, fuck this shit, he thought. Why was he looking at him like that, like measuring him up, and not liking what he was seeing as if Luciano were just not that interesting and-
“Argentina," he said. “Right?"
He had heard it before, after all. The young man smiled again, but now it looked different, almost a little wistful:
“Yes... of course, that's not how I used to call it, when I was there. A long time ago."
Luciano nodded. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to say now. Or why he wasn't leaving. He had decided to leave. At least twice. He was sure of it. But then Argentinean Guy looked up again – his eyes were so green, almost like contact lenses because the color was too strong to be real, too bright and vivid, almost magical on its own, even if he ignored the colors from the club and-
“What's your name?", Luciano asked. And he was sure he hadn't planned to ask, it just felt like the right thing to do now, if he was really going to ponder the guy's eyes like that, and his voice sounded weird, as if the words were coming out on their own and he had no control over what he was saying, and-
The young man laughed:
“You're so easy," he said. Then he got up, shaking his head. “My name is Martín, if you really need to know."
And then he left, didn't even bother to ask his name back, just turned and went away leaving Luciano standing there, feeling his cheeks heating and feeling slightly sick at himself and suddenly the world felt so much more real, and now he could think of all the things he should have told him, or all the times he should have just ignored him and and and-
Too late now. And- it wasn't important, and he wasn't going to think about him or anything like that, he wasn't going to let that creep ruin his night twice in the same week.
It's just that. Well.
His eyes were so beautiful.
“So," he asked the next night, “What time do you leave this place?"
Luciano froze.
This. This was crazy. He must have heard wrong.
“Yes," Martín said, smiling that infuriating smirk of his, “Unbelievable, I know, but I think you're interesting, so. Tell me."
“We don't- uh, we don't kick people out, so- we'll close when the last one leaves, and- are you serious?"
“You must have some idea," he said. Still smiling. He was calling him stupid. Wasn't he? Luciano could feel it.
“And I suppose you go straight home, don't you?"
“... it's usually five in the morning, and of course I do, where else am I suppose to go?"
“I don't know, school? You are young."
There was noise now, loud music and the eerie feeling of the dim lights, and his hair looked full of strange colors again, blue and purple and green and his eyes looked almost red, and- still beautiful. More than anything Luciano had ever seen before, it was almost painful to look away.
So he didn't.
“No, I don't. Just home."
“So this is it?This is all you do with your life?"
... he hadn't said this. Had he? People didn't say these kind of things, it was too- he couldn't-
“Don't you want to go to college?"
“Look, just who- I don't know who you are, but-"
Martín raised his hands, an amused smile on his lips:
“Just asking. Sore point, uh?"
“I don't have to go to college if I don't want to, I just-"
“Of course. Just stay here. How much do you make?"
Luciano was sure he wasn't blushing. He didn't blush. Ever. He was just- feeling weird, and hot and he didn't want to see that smile anymore, and why couldn't he think of anything to answer, he should be answering that now, or telling him to fuck off, or something, instead of standing here with his face burning and-
“I see," Martín said, drawling the word for what felt like a very long time, “It's not that bad, I guess, some people are just... sort of born for this, I guess."
“It's none of your business, you know-"
“I bet your family is really proud of you."
“Look, you don't even know me-"
“Forget it, I'm just messing with you. I'm sure they understand, like I said, some people are made for waiting. And for serving others. Speaking of which," he raised his glass again. Luciano gritted his teeth, but took the glass from him – he couldn't even do something dramatic, like slam the glass on on the counter or anything, because then the stupid thing would break and someone would scream at him for it, so he just filled it again and gave it to him avoiding his eyes all the time, and then Martín held his wrist.
He should have pulled off his arm. Should have told him to cut it out and go die in a fire. Something. Anything. But he had lost the count of all the things he should have done by now.
“I'm sorry," Martín said, not looking sorry at all, “I'm not trying to insult you."
“Really," Luciano mumbled. Martín held him a little tighter, his fingers cold and hard and it felt more like... he didn't know, something other than a human hand, but-
“Of course. I'll still wait for you."
He should- so many things, there was so much to say and so much he wanted to do and he raised his head sharply but then the sting of the words vanished and Martín was smiling at him, that mocking smile he had given him all night long and he was looking at him like that, green eyes and blond hair falling on wisps on his forehead and he looked so, so beautiful and-
“Ok," Luciano said. Martín squeezed his wrist again, then let go.
Luciano waited, silent and numb as he finished his drink. He wanted to say something, but- it was... nice, this, to... have his attention, or- whatever this was, and Martín wanted him, he wouldn't say that if he didn't so maybe he was just one of those very rude people and then- well then-
Martín smiled. The lights from the club colored his whole face now, red and blue and green and purple, made his lips glitter, made his teeth flash:
“You're so easy," he said. It was too low, no more than a whisper, but Luciano heard anyway, and this time he just nodded.
It was four in the morning when the club finally closed.
Luciano wasn't really thinking anymore. He had seen Martín a few times, always with someone else, always a few glimpses before missing him in the crowd, and he didn't... if Martín wanted to go out with him, then why- but that small part of him that didn't really mind, not really, that voice that kept saying that it was alright because Martín was just too beautiful to sit and wait for him, that he should just shut up and be grateful, that voice got so loud as the night went by, that it was hard to listen to anything else. This wasn't cool, and he wanted to go home, but.
Well.
... he was pretty sure Martín was wrong, they weren't ashamed of him. They talked all the time, he would have noticed if they were. And he hadn't, so there, and it didn't matter anyway, because he was going to do something with his life. That was the plan. He just had to figure some things out first, that's all, and they knew that, they knew he was-
It didn't matter. It didn't matter.
And then when they were closing and he thought there was no one else there, well, he couldn't help but be a little disappointed, because he had said he would wait, but- whatever, he probably had found something else, and- it didn't matter.
It was still dark outside. And the silence, so deep after the loud music from the club, made the night a little magical, as if there was a giant bubble surrounding him and muffling all the sounds, the wind and the river nearby, soft and distant, and his footsteps on the street. Sounds of silence.
He looked up, and sighed. The place was so far from downtown that he could see all the stars, and he liked that, even if it mean there was no light and it was dangerous and sort of creepy. But at least it was beautiful.
... see, he liked this place. Even if it was far from home. Even if he would have to wait at least forty minutes before the next bus. And then he'd get home and find his sisters eating their breakfast, and he'd feel tempted to drink coffee but would have to resist it, because if he did he wouldn't be able to sleep. And then they would smile up at him – well, Marji would, the others would sort of maybe grunt and nod a little, because they weren't morning people. They would hate Marji a little for smiling and hate him for existing and hate the whole world for a few hours, but they would hold back all the hate long enough to kiss him on their way out, and see, they loved him. They weren't... embarrassed or anything. He would have noticed.
Luciano sighed again.
He had walked for a minute or two, when he heard the steps. So he stopped, and he had already turned when it crossed his mind that it could be anyone, and maybe he was just about to get mugged or something, but by then it was too late, and he could see it was Martín.
Like he had sort of maybe hoped it would be.
“Told you I would wait," he said, and smiled. Now, without all the crazy lights, it looked almost normal. But cold.
And empty.
Luciano didn't say anything. That weird feeling was taking hold again, that voice that told him to run away and to stay here at the same time, so he didn't move, he stood there and waited until Martín was two feet from him, and then he opened his mouth to say something, and maybe explain to him that he wasn't interested after all and he wanted to go home, but that would be so stupid, so dumb and childish, and he couldn't waste this chance, if someone that beautiful was interested in him he should be-
“I should leave," he whispered. He couldn't look away now. Martín looked a bit surprised, but then he smiled again.
He touched his face.
Luciano didn't react. Not even when Martín tilted his chin and kissed his lips. Luciano stood there, paralyzed.
“Come on," Martín said, “We don't have much time. You're better than that."
He kissed his neck, then, sucking hard at the skin. Luciano raised his hands, holding on to Martín's shoulders.
“Am I?"
He could see the stars, now, stretching on forever in the sky. Like a carpet. Could feel Martín's arms around him like ropes, maybe, or something stronger, something harder, pulling him to a body that felt just so damn cold.
“No," Martín said, lips still against his neck, “Not really. You're not."
Right. Right then. He didn't mind that. Now things were getting clearer, and sharper, and painful, but at least he was starting to get it.
“I can't leave."
“No," Martín said. He held him tighter, “You can't."
He bit his neck, then, hard, enough to make Luciano gasp. And then his hands were everywhere, on his back and going under his shirt and squeezing his buttocks and then grabbing his hair and pulling and Luciano whimpered, Martín's teeth still on his neck and he could feel the blood running down his skin, thick and slow and strange, and then Martín stopped biting and licked the trickle from his neck.
Luciano was holding his shirt, fists closed tight on the fabric. He felt dizzy. And. He was cold, and a little sick, and he thought maybe he would throw up or pass out or something, he couldn't read his body anymore, he just- he wanted to be home, he-
"Relax," Martín said, “Just- let go.
He wanted to live. He wanted it so much, to get away from here, from this, but-
Martín kissed his mouth. It wasn't a nice kiss, it was hard and demanding and it tasted of blood, and Luciano wasn't sure if he had decided to open his mouth of if it had just happened, and there was more blood on his neck and on Martín's lips and he looked strange, now, blank and empty and- dead. He looked dead.
Please, Luciano thought. But the kiss was so bad, and at the same time so good, good enough to cloud his ideas again and he wanted to get rid of those clothes so he could feel Martín's hands and his body and he wanted to fuck him and to be fucked and everything at the same time and he couldn't think, even when Martín grabbed his hair again and pulled and made him show his throat, when Martín bit him again and licked and his legs felt weak, and he was sure he would fall if Martín let him go, and then-
Then he wanted to go home, where he would have to decide if he would take the coffee or not, and the girls would tease him for going to bed now and dad would tell them to be quiet because he had been working and it seemed so empty. So pointless. And college next year, and a boring job after that, and what was the point of everything, why bother, why-
“Yes," Martín said, “Surrender. Just- stop fighting me."
They love me, Luciano thought. I want-
“You want me.“
Yes.
That.
He wanted to cry, sort of, and maybe he was, his face felt wet, and he didn't know it if was sweat or tears or blood from Martín's mouth. He felt empty. His body was like a doll in Martín's arms, he couldn't even keep his fingers on his shirt, nothing. The only thing keeping him standing was Martín's arms on his waist, and his fingers on his hair, supporting his head to taste his blood.
His lips were warm. Everything else was cold, but his lips felt warm, Luciano thought.
And then he didn't think of anything else.
Martín let the kid fall on the floor, and then cleaned his mouth with the back of his hand.
He felt dizzy. And weird. And a little angry at himself.
Well then fuck, what now? He hadn't planned this. He didn't have to do it. He should have better control than that. He had practice.
Didn't have to kill him.
Well. Whatever. The river was close enough, he thought. He dropped down to one knee, pressed his fingers to the kid's throat. He was still alive, for a few more minutes, maybe. Surely wouldn't survive the rest of the night, so Martín would be doing him a favor, really. The river would be faster.
Or.
He could turn him.
... no. He didn't need that. More competition. It was a dumb idea, really.
So he scooped him up, as carelessly as he could. Didn't take long to reach the river, ten, eleven, twelve steps. He counted. It sort of distracted him from Luciano's face – oh great now he was naming it – and how dirty it was, and thick eyelashes still wet and smears of blood and scraps from the street's paving and a breath so shallow that even he had to strain to listen.
Not that he was. Not that he cared, anyway.
Luciano – the kid's body was so warm.
The water looked dark. And dirty. And the smell wasn't too great, either.
...he could take care of him. Teach him how to survive. In the beginning. Maybe it would work.
Except it wouldn't, of course. It wasn't in their nature. He would make an enemy for himself. Which was dumb.
He held him a little tighter. Warm. Even if he was dying.
Martín closed his eyes. Took a deep breath. It was a crazy dumb idea, Martín wouldn't have the power of suggestion to control him. Luciano would see him for what he was. No tricks, no smoke and mirrors, nothing. Just him.
But maybe. Maybe they would be friends.
He looked at the river. He would throw him. It was decided. It would happen. Non-negotiable. End of story.
It's just that...
Well.
His body was just so warm.
