A little birdy (with long legs and a high-pitched giggle) had told him this was Andy McCarron’s favorite hot-spot. It wasn’t the nicest of places. Dark, smoky, perfect place to become a one-night stand. If that’s what you’re looking for. But, Jason hadn’t come to get laid. He had to sort this out with McCarron once and for all. And if the ass didn’t want to talk sober, he’d talk drunk.

This couldn’t go on. If Andy wanted to fight, they would fight. But they couldn’t keep fighting like this. Like something was weighing them down. They had to clear the air; forget about it. If they didn’t, the press would pick up on it, and things would get real messy, real fast.

He couldn’t even remember why this was affecting him so much. They looked like they were having fun in that picture, yes, but he couldn’t remember it. And in all honesty… Well, was he ever honest? Of course not.

His hair fell into his eyes again, white-blonde obscuring his vision. He hated places like this. Bars with booze that fucked with your mind. Dance floors with people swimming through each other, groping each other, feeling each other with no other passion but passion itself. Anonymous hands that touched you for their own voyeurism. They touched you while others touched them.

Perhaps sex was a thing of the past. Perhaps this was where love had gone.

The music wasn’t bad, but he couldn’t find the rhythm. So he pushed through, heading for the bar and spotting the long-haired vocalist, who was nursing a beer and chatting with the bartender. He took a couple steps further, and was about to step off the dance floor when a hand encircled his wrist. Long, nimble fingers he could never forget. He paused.

The fingers griped him tighter, and he felt his pulse race. He was being pulled, back into the masses, back into the heat. His mind had left him. He couldn’t protest.

A strong body leaned against him as strong hands found his hips, pulling him into the song. What? He couldn’t understand. How did he find him? How The Fuck Did That Man Find Him? Fingers splayed against his groin and gripped his thighs, too hard for love. Too soft for obsession. Somewhere in between. If there was an in between. Lips fell against his neck. He remembered how soft. The teeth bit his wire choker and pulled a little, as the body swayed to the beat Jason couldn’t catch. He couldn’t feel… It was all numb again.

Something cold and thick stuck to his veins, turning his blood to clay. He stiffened as the lips opened against his ear.

“Loosen up, Jules…” A soft voice purred. “You remember this…”

His throat felt stiff and tight. “Do I know you?”

The laugh blew against his ear and ran down his spine. “Don’t lie to me, Julian. You can’t lie to me.”

A shaky breath he could barely feel. “I know.”

Threads of panic began to string through his bones, and he knew. He’d known it from the second he felt that grip upon his wrist, and it had fought his mind into submission. He didn’t know whether to breathe or not.

Milo…

“Go on,” The words brushed his ears. “Turn around. Look at me again.”

Slowly, he followed the command. His eyes found Milo’s quickly, and he took a step back. Their lips had been so close, but above all things, he was grinning. Sinister and sweet, powerful and weak. A human face on a human man who was never really human at all. Far from it.

Blue-black curls touched his cheeks and framed his face, his stormy eyes catching him and holding him like a spider-web. He had grown taller. Stronger. But he was still… He still had that thing. That aura anyone could feel. Jason felt it now, and it brought back everything he had never forgotten. The water. The fire. The mindlessness and humility. Never Will I Cease… Flooding his mind with images and words he did not want to see or hear. He felt weak.

“You will always be my favorite weapon, Julian.”

Very weak. Like he had lost all his strength.

“Smarter than Krista, smarter than Jason… Maybe even smarter than Me…”

He couldn’t fight back when Milo slipped an arm around him, pulling him deadly close. Still moving against him with the rhythm.

“Be honest, Jules. You and I, we’re the brains here. You know it.”

Too close. He could feel… And now he was doing it. What Milo wanted. How did…

How did it always end up this way?

“I’m not that smart, Sir. Not like You. There is No One like You.”

“Come with me again, Jules. It’s all yours this time.”

He had to remember who this was. He had to stop.

Breaking away, he ripped his eyes from Milo’s and turned. But, as soon as he did, he panicked. Heading toward them, pushing through the dancers, was Andy McCarron. Brown eyes blazing with anger.

“What the Hell are you doing here?!” He raised his hands in defense as Andy pushed him back against Milo with rage. “Fuckin’ Stalker! How Dare You?!”

“Whoa, McCarron! Cool it!” He heard himself yell. Milo laughed.

Andy pushed him again, and he grabbed his wrist before he could pull it away. The look on their faces… Andy’s angry, narrow eyes. Milo’s shocked, intrigued gaze. He almost wanted to smirk.

“How dare you, you fuckin’ bastard?! Where the Fuck do you get off?!” He heard Andy hiss. The brunette jerked his arm away and balled his hand into a fist. “You- you get my number off some damn lackey, and now you’re just gonna show up here when I don’t feel like a fuckin’ chat?! Fuck You, Man!”

Rage boiling in his (slightly less-than-sober) gaze, McCarron moved to shove him again. He caught both wrists this time, holding them in a vice-like grip. And, suddenly, beats pumping through the floor and Andy’s eyes livid with anger, it didn’t seem right to be here like this. It felt… awkward, different. But, he knew, it was always like that with Andy. If he cussed him out, if they got into a fight… Always awkward, like a dance they didn’t know. Falling two seconds behind the beat, missing cues, stepping left when they should’ve stepped right. He wondered if Andy felt it too.

He fought back. Trying to wrench his wrists free, trying to get away. Swinging himself in every direction, hair flying out behind him. But, Jason refused to let go. Milo’s eyes bored into his back, surprised and pleased.

“Fuck You!” Jason felt his heart pound against his ribcage as Andy’s eyes met his, blazing with bright fury. He had to get him…

Fuck…He realized with blood-draining fear. I have to get him away from Milo…

Andy was probably pretty buzzed, at least. Alcohol dulls your mind, turns you hazy. Milo prays on the hazy. Couldn’t he see it? Didn’t he know?! Asshole! Fuck, Milo could do anything to him now, anything! Didn’t he Get It?! Any Sick, Twisted-

Unable to stand the thought any longer, he wrenched Andy around, pulling him roughly off the dance floor and toward the door. He ignored the curses, but couldn’t ignore the grey eyes that followed every step he took.

---

He didn’t know why he had to do it. Something in the way Jason had stared…

He’d been sitting at the bar, polishing off his first beer of the night, when he felt the room’s tension shift. Ignoring the bartender’s idle attempt at conversation, he’d turned to the dance floor and scanned it for anyone who might cause…

And there he was. The blonde man who has slowly become his one-way ticket to frustration.

But he wasn’t alone.

A black-haired man was following him through the dance-floor, and finally grabbing his wrist, which seemed to stop him short. Andy blinked. The look on his face… it stirred in the pit of his stomach like a storm.

The man pulled him back into the dance, and Andy had to struggle to see. He stood a little, brows furrowing as he saw the black-haired man whisper something to Jason and… press against him in a way Andy could only envy. He licked the beer from his lips and watched as the blond turned to face him slowly.

The look on his face…

The Goddamned Look…

Like he’d just seen a nightmare…

Yet, he was moving closer and closer. Like a dog, being led by a leash.

A dull tug in the pit of his stomach. He had to stop this, had to get him away. Hopping off the stool, he began moving through the crowd of dancers, sliding a little to feign drunkenness. He picked a fight with him, ignoring the black-haired man in his ‘drunken rage’.

Now he was here. Unsure of exactly how he got here, but here nonetheless.

The hands that gripped his wrists went soft against his skin as they pulled him out the door. Thumbs unconsciously rubbed his inner wrist, easing the ache within. The feeling spread a low prickle of nerves through his body. He felt… interestingly calm.

Of course, now he was supposed to be drunk. And depending on Gulley’s next action, this could get… complicated.