Bacca di Sangue
It was almost morning, and there was no sign of Evrissyan. Willa moved through the club like a slithering snake clothed entirely in red plastic, darting eyes looking this way and that suspiciously at the surroundings about her, as though she were ready to consider them responsible for the disappearance of her employer. When he came out to play with the toys that walked into his club with nothing but fun in their minds it was never difficult to discover what his intentions were and usually Willa was able to find him, even on a night as crowded as this one had been.
Now the night was dying and so were the crowds. The few remaining clubbers that remained in the lusty hangover of the Bacca di Sangue were either asleep on the pieces of furniture in which they had encountered as their love perches, or were still continuing to slowly and quietly fuck each other until the night was done. Either way Willa moved over them and around them like they were rocks in the road, blocking her path, wanting to trip her on her way. The music had died down, soon the disk jockey would be on her way home to sleep for the day and return in the evening. Everyone, the bouncers, the bartenders, the coat managers, everyone would be tired and wanting to go home. Those that loved the club were soundly devoted to it on all levels and would surely return the following night.
She stepped down the stairs carefully. One faulty move in her huge platform plastic boots and she could easily break her ankle and go tumbling down, as she was warned about when she first bought them. She peered down into the front room, not looking up at the pin cushions in the cages above her, but rather towards the bar, where the bartender was cleaning the glasses that had been used that night.
Her eyes skimmed over the remaining couples. Their moans lingered in the air and glided up to her ears, so she would watch them as she passed, slowing down just a little to have a good look. Something she also enjoyed, not only fucking with some of the interesting characters that found their way in, but watching them have sex with each other. It was one of the reasons why she applied for this job in the first place, her sexual control had no boundaries and she was always finding someone new to play with for the night. Hence Evrissyan would not touch her with even the tip of his finger, despite the fact that he too could be quite promiscuous.
Willa walked to the bar and the bartender, Zack, looked up at her as she approached, watching him through his silver-rimmed skiing sunglasses.
"Hey Zack." she said as she slid onto one of the bar stools, the material of her outfit crackling as she moved. She crossed her arms on the bar surface and looked up at the black bartender. He was as native to the Bacca di Sangue as she was, they were two of the first people Evrissyan had hired, and they had stuck it out for nearly two years now. They had always gotten along fairly well, despite Willa not caring at all for Zack's clothing tastes. Tonight's, to her, looked like a Halloween costume that only someone who liked shiny things would wear. But she said nothing.
"Hey Willa." he said in a friendly reply, setting down the beer mug he had just been wiping clean. He leaned over the bar, his costume drinking in the red light from his surroundings and it seemed as though his dark-skinned face was floating against the bottles behind him. "How was your evening?"
"Very busy." Willa assured him, and this was true. She had at least four different partners that night, which was an unusual minimal, but tonight she had been far too distracted to do anyone else all night, far too focused on seeing Evrissyan, and more importantly, seeing Evrissyan's fascination over Keagan.
Zack set off to work then preparing a mimosa, which was Willa's favourite drink. She always had it when the night was done, in a very tall champagne glass. "Yours?" she asked, referring to his night, rather pleased that he prepared her drink without having to be asked.
Zack shrugged, his expression was unreadable but he was always a very cheery guy. "Yeah, about the same. Was a good crowd tonight." he handed her the mimosa, and she took it in both hands, her long red fingernails brushing over the glass gently.
She glared down into the orange liquid as though she wanted to accuse it desperately of something. Then she lifted and sipped, and then set it down, feeling the alcohol rush through her and desperately loving it. "Indeed it was." she said in only a slight murmur. "Have you seen Evrissyan?"
He shrugged aimlessly, as he shoveled a bowl of blood berries into another that was quite a bit fuller. "Do I ever see him? He hardly ever comes out, y'know.. The guy's practically a hermit."
Actually Zack could recall only one time that their employer had stepped foot into the club further than the Champagne Room, only once had he ventured far enough down into the foyer . Zack remembered that night very well, he remembered looking up from his conversation with a few of the regular girls that came by and he spotted Evrissyan practically floating down in the steps in his ever so elegant way, his deep sea-green eyes peering this way and that, meeting any that dared to gaze upon him. All creatures of flesh and blood that had tasted pleasure already once that night we drawn to him as he showed himself, and they wanted him, the lust in their eyes for him was painfully evident. Some drew closer on their hands and knees towards him, gazing up at him lovingly with wide wanting eyes, hoping that they would be lucky enough to be chosen.
But Evrissyan chose none of them. He would smile at them, of course, maybe pat their heads as though they were well-behaved children, but Zack had not seen him take a single one to heart, at least not enough to go to bed with them. His employer had sat down at his very bar and had a glass of sparkling water and nothing else, nibbling on blood berries and allowing their liquid centers to dribble over his luscious lips, a nasty tease to anyone who watched and wanted nothing but to lick away the sweet nectar and seek forth his other treasures.
But that had been a long time ago, and Zack had not seen him back since. He always assumed that their boss was hiding away in his tower, watching his guests on the many cameras that lined the corners of the club, looking upon the people who adored him for creating an erotic idealistic world for them, and allowing them to excite themselves in the pleasure within. Not that this would have surprised Zack, necessarily. But he assumed that's what Evrissyan did with his time, when he was not lounging in the Champagne Room.
Then Willa began to turn her head back and forth in a simple shake, and her red lips that looked as though they had been painted and dried as plastic harbored a smile that was not at all kind. "Not tonight." she said slowly. "I caught him eyeing a newbie."
Of course that wasn't all that uncommon, sometimes Evrissyan would fall so back into the deep recesses of his own mind that he had little control whenever a delicious young thing sat themself in his lap and began to grind full force with their hips, moaning loudly with sheer pleasure that they were dry-boning the owner of the club without even knowing it, getting off on the beauty of a man who didn't acknowledge their existence, or their very presence at that moment, even.
So Zack, as he cleaned a few beer mugs that had been stained with the lip prints of his guests in bright red lipstick, shrugged his broad shoulders. "You don't say." his tone showed Willa that he didn't find that particularly unusual.
Willa clicked her long, cat-like fingernails down on the surface of the bar, studying Zack and wondering if perhaps the bartender had had a glimpse of lovely young Keagan, just before he had ventured on upstairs onto the dance floor to catch the eye of their adorning employer. "Perhaps you've seen him." Willa mentioned. "He looked rather drunk."
The bartender shrugged his shoulders again, setting down the beer mugs. "I dunno, throw a description out."
"Hmm..." Willa hummed in her throat, raising an eyebrow and smiling somewhat devilishly. What kind of words could she use to describe Keagan, likely one of the most beautiful things that had ever walked through the doors of Bacca di Sangue. With his pristine white skin and his curly red hair there was only one thing that Willa could have used to summarize exactly how she saw Keagan.
"A Botticelli angel..." she said. "In a nylon shirt."
Ah yes, she had described him perfectly, because as she said this Zack looked up at her, rather surprised. But she could instantly tell that indeed he had seen him. "Oh yeah, I did see him." Zack said, nodding his head, for indeed he had remembered seeing a boy that resembled a Botticelli angel, from what Zack had seen of some of Evrissyan's priceless collected artwork. "Curious thing he was."
"Drunk too." Willa mentioned rather bluntly, and one of her finely groomed eyebrows rose in question. "What'd you give him?"
Zack thought back to when he served the red-haired boy and he remembered exactly what he had given him. "A cherry pink." he said.
Willa sat there and blinked at him. Anyone who had just walked in through the doors could have sworn that she was some sort of human-sized doll made of wax that they had morphed to sit at the bar and look perfectly pretty but at the same time perfectly strange. She didn't even breathe, it seemed, when she ran over almost four times in her head that Keagan had only had one cherry pink and was drunk off his ass.
"...That's all?" Willa asked, as though she were expecting something much more interesting and was rather disappointed by the answer she had heard instead of the answer she had wanted.
Zack shrugged, and moved to dry the rest of the glasses that had gone through the wash, not looking at Willa. "Yeah."
Willa didn't understand this. Was Keagan so innocent a thing that one drink that was ninety percent artificial flavored juice and ten percent vodka would make him as drunk as he appeared when she last saw him? She had expected that he had guzzled down at least half a dozen beers; at least that's how many it took for normal people to become relatively drunk. And it wasn't all that possible that he had been drugged at all, really. Drugs were prohibited in Bacca di Sangue, and all shifty characters were searched by the bouncers outside and later thrown out if they were caught with anything on them.
Willa pressed her cheek into her fist and shook her head. "Huh..." she mused, and took a long sip of her drink, and sat it down, gazing blankly at the colourful labels that decorated the bottles behind the bar. Zack was finishing with the last of his glasses and didn't understand why she was so interested in this all of a sudden. Since when had Evrissyan's actions meant so much to her?
"So Evrissyan went after him eh?" Zack asked and chuckled slightly as he turned to put away the assorted glasses that he had just washed and dried. "Well, I haven't seen that kid leave so I guess the morning-star found him."
Willa finished her drink and sighed deeply. "I guess so." she said, and then she stood up from her bar stool. It had been a very long night and she was very tired. She was going to go back to the office, write up her hours, and then go home and have a good rest. "Keep an eye out, will you?" she asked Zack.
Zack nodded. "Sure thing Will. Have a nice night."
She waved in reply, too tired and too intoxicated to mumble anything that would have been coherent at all. Then she slowly stepped along the red carpet, around the couples that were still basking in the afterglow of sex, some couples that were still going at it like rabbits on the assorted pieces of furniture. But she didn't stop to look at any of them, far too intent on going home to care about anything else.
When Zack watched her leave he wondered why she had been so interested in this new boy that had entranced Evrissyan. It must have been the fact that it sounded like, by the way she told it, that Evrissyan had gone after this boy himself, instead of the boy going after him. Indeed this was a very, very interesting turn of events, and Zack smiled to himself, knowing that in the near future he certainly wouldn't dare to interfere with any of Evrissyan's affairs, but he wouldn't mind hearing a tidbit or two from the pawn on Evrissyan's chessboard.
When Keagan's eyes finally began to flutter open, they adjusted quickly to the low light in the room. His head was pounding and he couldn't hear the music anymore. He felt sleepy and slightly groggy, almost like when he had taken pep pills to stay up all night studying and then completely zoning out the next afternoon after a paper was done. He didn't understand what day it was, what he was wearing, or more importantly where he was.
But all that didn't seem to matter at that point. He could taste something sweet and bitter at the same time on the back of his tongue. The light, even though it was low and soft, was harsh on his eyes and he turned away from it, as though trying desperately to block it out. A low groan rolled from his throat and before he knew it he threw himself onto his stomach and nearly rolled clear off the bed in which he was laying on.
Keagan wanted to sit up and examine his surroundings but at the same time none of his muscles would respond to his thoughts and commands. The smell of the air around him was of cinnamon, spicy and in a way very welcome. Keagan knew there was absolutely no way he could have been back in his dorm room, lying down on his bed, because nothing in the dorm smelled or looked as interesting as this room did. And then Keagan remembered where he was, the very place in which he had stolen away from his dorm room to go to, dressed in his roommates clothes and decorated in makeup. The Bacca di Sangue.
Then Keagan quickly became aware of something else, just as he had discovered that this was the Bacca di Sangue and indeed he had not left the club at all. But he discovered that he had to leave, had to get back to the dorm.
Keagan tried then to sit himself up so he could maneuver himself from the room in which he lay, and then he was startled by something else, a feeling that he wasn't positively sure whether he was imaging it or if it was real. But he was almost certain that there was another person there in the room with him.
He rolled then onto his back and coughed almost violently, the remainder of the drink was still itching the back of his throat. His head throbbed and the light that poured down onto him was nearly blinding. He rose his arms to cover his eyes and then he felt the weight of another form beside him there on the bed. Keagan threw his arm off his eyes then and looked to his side, only spotting a pair of bright green eyes, electric green eyes that portrayed deviousness and power of seduction, as they eyed him hungrily. Keagan stared for moments, scared that in his slightly drunken state that he was seeing things, that these eyes were not real at all.
But then, however, Keagan suddenly became rapidly aware to a soft feeling of pleasure that was arising in his groin. His eyes opened and closed again, as he discovered that the owner of those green eyes, the body that adorned the weight on the bed next to him, was stroking him slowly, through the pants he was wearing, with long soothing fingers. Although his mind told him that this was wrong and disgusting and must be stopped immediately, the groggy drunk side of Keagan didn't care, and embraced the pleasure openly.
Keagan moved his arms along the surface of what he was laying on and then he discovered what it was. Velvet. He was lying on a bed with a velvet cover. It felt very nice to his cooling skin, and he nestled himself down into its warm embrace, wanting to fall asleep all over again and not awaken for days on end. But the pleasure he was feeling kept him aware more than he would have thought. When he opened his eyes he looked for the green eyes but they had melted away into the darkness, and it seemed all that was left was Keagan alone in that room on that bed, with a phantom of the darkness stroking him.
Then Keagan felt the featherlike brush of lips against his. Revolted, he pulled back but then his mind became mush when the caresses became far more urgent, eager, pleasuring in all the right ways, and when Keagan had a good mind to lecture anyone who tried to kiss him, all the red-haired boy could do was settle back into the velvet and moan, as he allowed these little pleasures to take him hostage. When these lips reached forward to kiss him again, Keagan did not fight them, instead focusing on the attentions of that hand in his crotch.
It was the drink, Keagan thought so suddenly. This was just the effects of the drink, everything had been. When he had been sandwiched between the two men on the dance floor, their wandering fingers and all the fluttering pleasuring feelings they gave him, he imagined that they had only been the side effects of the drink, as he had never had a drink like that before and the effects it would have on him were only so comprehensible.
This pair of phantom lips kissed Keagan over and over, as though thirsty for Keagan's taste and unable to get enough. Keagan began to move his hips just slightly, moving to push the bulge in his pants harder into the palm that cradled him, moaning against the lips that kissed him. Another set of fingers, the free hand of this phantom, moved along Keagan's chest, running their soft padded fingertips over the knitted nylon of Keagan's see-through shirt, pausing to tweak a pink nipple and stopping to listen to the music that sounded from Keagan's mouth.
"Had I known," came a soft, masculine voice from the shadows, one that startled Keagan nearly to death before he discovered that it belonged to his phantom, the voice of the being that settled over the boy's body in liquid strides. Keagan's eyes fluttered closed and the voice continued. "Had I known that Botticelli's angels moaned so sweetly...I would have stayed in Florence to abide in their company."
Keagan moaned gently when he discovered who his phantom was. A phantom who spoke with aesthetics...spoke beautifully, gave him pleasure in the form of words and not just touches. A Botticelli angel, that was what this phantom deemed Keagan. The red-haired boy knew very suddenly that he would never be satisfied until he knew this phantom's name, could recognize his face in a crowd. Instinct captured Keagan, he pushed himself up into that pulsing hand and begged with motion for the fluttering sweeps of that firm palm. Keagan knew by now, with the thought of the constant teasing, that he was fully erect and ready to be molested to any extent.
It seemed as though this phantom understood perfectly, for the next thing he heard was the sound of his zipper being pulled down, just as he felt those soft lips graze over his once again, the soft pink tongue that belonged to their owner slipping past Keagan's parted lips and entering without asking permission. Keagan, on account of being taken by surprise by this more than erotic act, moaned deep into the kiss against the tongue that filled the crevice of his mouth and searched all around, gathering the boy's sweet taste.
Soon those wandering digits found their way inside of Keagan's pants, against the boy's soft boxers that had formed a formidable tent. The phantom was not surprised by the boy's largeness when in such arousal, and began to tease by stroking him ever so lightly outside of the cotton. He listened to the sounds the boy made, his sounds of wanting, needing to be touched when in such a state. The phantom himself grew to sheer hardness wondering what sort of mating sounds Keagan had deep in that lovely voice of his, waiting to burst out in a fit of passion.
But then, just as those fingers seemed to work him so very beautifully, and just as that tongue had begun to taste so very, very sweet and addictive in his mouth, and just as Keagan was about to make such drastic requests (to be tasted, to be molested, to be violated to any end), everything paused as though time itself had stopped. Keagan could only hear himself breathing heavily in his head, discovering that the fingers touching him burned torturously against his hot flesh were frozen, and the tongue in his mouth that fitted so wondrously had halted. Keagan tried to shift himself, raise his hips to encourage those fingers to touch him a little more, but nothing seemed to work. Everything was halted, and then everything was pulled away, the entirety of everything that was feeling oh so right disappeared from him like smoke elapsing into the air that he breathed. The burning fingers that stroked him so gloriously left spots of freezing cold on him, and the tongue slipped from his lips and left behind only that delicious taste of his phantom's mouth. The weight was gone off of Keagan's body, he was the only one laying on the bed, and when Keagan tried to protest and bring his phantom back to him, he could only fall back onto the bed and groan with frustration at being neglected so horribly.
Had it all been a dream? A wondrous, romantic dream? Keagan had had several like it before, those amazing sexual dreams with fantastical partners in which you feel absolutely everything or you feel nothing, and then you remember everything or you don't remember it at all. Keagan wondered if that was all this had been; a wonderful dream. But if it was than how could it have been stolen away so easily? What had he done to make it all go away from him?
Keagan was then determined that if he lay back down and tried to get to sleep once again, that the dream would return and the phantom would come back to him and bestow upon him all sacred pleasures that he had never known with such a partner. Keagan would ask of all things, all glorious acts that would make him climax in an instant. To be suckled, nuzzled, licked, kissed, touched, molested...fucked.
However just as Keagan laid his down and was more than determined to make the dream return to him, he gave in to the everlasting effects of the drink still flush in his system, and passed out; cold, unable to awaken for at least twelve hours. It was dangerous, and poor Keagan, with the erection he had at that moment, it would have been a perfect invitation for any lecherous molester who might have seen him to come by and take full advantage of him. He was lucky though.
The owner of the club was now so aroused that he wanted more than anything to strip the boy completely, turn him to his stomach, and fuck that little virgin asshole and listen to Keagan's screams. It was too much, the images that flashed through his mind were torturous. Taking Keagan there so roughly, gripping his hips and pounding into him mercilessly, bare skin touching Keagan's, having Keagan arch his back against his chest...
But then he paused, and felt he had to pull away. Once getting into everything - the handjob that would have led to the blowjob and inevitably the initial fucking of the pretty red-head - there was no going back, and Evrissyan would have been a rapist. He was a man of many words and was knighted by people for being many things, for being beautiful and brilliant and wickedly funny and amazingly intelligent...but they would not call him a rapist. Not tonight, not ever. And even if he sabotaged the security cameras that watched him even now (which he could only view, on account of no one else had the access), the voices in his head would have tormented him long enough into torturing himself to believing that he was guilty of rape, a terrible, undeniable crime.
No, it would not happen. Not here, not in his club, and not to this boy. For all Evrissyan knew, the boy was straight as an arrow, never fucked arses or fucked with arses ever before and didn't plan on starting. Didn't want to be touched, nuzzled, licked or anything by anyone unless it was a blonde number with perfect fingernails and a tulip between her legs. Worse, he could have been married, married with a house in the suburbs with two perfect children, a golden lab named Sam and a perfect job. It could have ruined everything, it could have ruined Keagan if the boy knew.
Evrissyan had to pull away, and watch as Keagan begged silently for the attention he was receiving; lifting his hips up into the air, inviting anyone to touch him, and letting tiny moans go past his lips, his mating call, to anyone who cared to touch his lips with their tongue, fill his mouth with their flesh, touch his hair with cum-stained fingers and brush his long eyelashes with smudged fingertips. And then he fell back into the bed, exhausted and instantly unconscious, all with thanks to the drink. Evrissyan sighed deeply, turning away from Keagan and swinging his legs over the side of the bed, rubbing his hands over his face and breathing deeply.
He reached down in between his legs, and realized that he was harder than he ever remembered being. He clenched his eyes closed in frustration; if he had been any other person with any other thoughts than Keagan would have been a virgin no longer there in that bed. He considering jacking, embarrassing as that was, especially with a boy as gorgeous as Keagan lying asleep right next to him. He also considered wakening the red-haired boy and returning as his pleasure-giving one-night stand, making him beg him to take him there in that room, and then it wouldn't have been rape at all.
Frustrated beyond belief, Evrissyan rose from the bed and tried to distract himself from the aching in his pants. He had to get the kid out of there, and then get upstairs where he could masturbate in peace and no one would know about his attempt and failure that night. He looked back at Keagan, deciding the kid couldn't obviously be awakened easily. He didn't exactly want to have to explain to him why he was aroused and in this small little room in a place he had clearly never stepped foot in. Surely he lived nearby, close enough that he could simply...put him in a cab even?
Evrissyan approached Keagan's dead weight body and padded the sides of his pants through his pockets, relieved when he felt something that was surely a wallet in the let pocket, but struggling to get it out without disturbing the sleeping beauty was a task. Leaning over Keagan's sleeping body and staring down at that perfect swirled belly button, and those sweet little pink nipples that just begged to be pinched...he had to shake his head violently and pull away the fastest he could.
Flipping through the wallet the first thing that Evrissyan found was a bank card, a Coca-Cola card that was expired for the year 2001, and a few bucks cash. The only other thing in the entire wallet was an ID...a school ID for the Sherbridge University.
Evrissyan held it up to the faint light and examined it closely, squinting his eyes as though believing he was going blind. The kid in this picture looked nothing like Keagan; he had short red hair and thick black glasses and a white-collared shirt. His expression was grim beyond belief, as though saying "I hate this school...and I really wish I didn't go to school here".
"Christ kid, crack a smile." Evrissyan muttered to himself and continued to examine the ID. It revealed that he lived currently on campus at the university. Good, a place for the kid to go. It also revealed that...Keagan was 19. 19-flippin-years-old.
The club's owner looked over his shoulder down at the sleeping Keagan, who had not stirred or tossed in his sleep once, and upon surveying him it seemed doubtful that this kid was only 19-years-old, but at the same time it explained the lack of experience, the boyish charm he possessed, and all such things. Evrissyan bit down on his lip, once again more than glad that he hadn't had the guts to go through taking advantage of the drunk kid...he actually was a "kid" afterall.
Not that Evrissyan had done worse or anything. He had lost his own virginity when he was 14. But to his memory he had never taken anyone -who was male, that is- under the age of 21, usually because most of the cities he had taken residence in, the legal adult age was 21, and no one underage found their way into the Bacca di Sangue.
Evrissyan shrugged his shoulders. He wasn't at all opposed to shagging 18-20 year olds, so long as the legal age allowed it.
Upon sticking the ID back in the black wallet and tossing it on the bed beside Keagan, Evrissyan quickly left the back room and went out on a quest to see if there was anyone, anyone at all, left in the building that could take Keagan back to the university on their way home. Of course, as he had suspected, most of the club had cleared, for it was nearly morning. The DJ didn't stay past 4 o'clock and after he left most of the dancers did too. The dance floor was deserted, as was the Champagne Room. Upon descending the stairs he found the only ones left in the building must have been the two pin-cushions going at it like rabbits on one of the loveseats towards the back wall.
And Zack. Zack was still there! Perfect!
The bartender was still behind the bar, cleaning the last of the glasses and finishing up the count of bottles and what not they had in stock. Evrissyan approached the bar (Zack hadn't seen him yet), and slammed his palm down on the bar to give Zack a bit of a start.
The black bartender, dressed in a silver alien costume (something that piqued Evrissyan's curiosity upon greeting him that evening), turned around with a frown that instantly lifted once laying eyes through black sunglasses upon his employer. Zack and Evrissyan, quite unlike with Willa, got along for the most part, since they had known each other just as long as the club had first opened many years back.
"Morning star." Zack said, smiling in greeting and placing his hands on the bar. "Good to see you, how's it going?"
Evrissyan shrugged, wanting to sit and have a late drink and talk to Zack about all of the night's fuckings and woeful moments, but now wasn't the time. "Things could be better. How was business tonight?"
Zack shrugged modestly. "Can't complain, plenty of folks for their drinks, but most wanted the blood berries, as you'll find." he pointed to one of the fishbowls down towards the end of the bar, in which was nearly empty of its round red candy inhabitants.
Evrissyan regarded this information with a nod. "Anything else happen? Fights? Unusually attractive fucking?"
The bartender thought back for a moment and then shrugged, continuing to wipe one of the last champagne glasses with a beat up rag. "Nothing out of order or anything. Why?"
"I picked up a boy earlier, he was so drunk that he passed out before I could get him into one of the back rooms." Evrissyan blurted out rather curtly, making Zack look up at him in surprise. "Tall kid, red hair, nylon shirt, leather pants, recall any customers like that?"
Zack looked at him in such a startled manner, it was as though Evrissyan had identified him as being a murderer on the run for several years. Evrissyan gathered by this look that indeed Zack remembered seeing Keagan, and would most likely remember what he gave him to drink. But to the club owner's slight question, Zack chuckled deeply and shook his head just a little. "The Botticelli angel in the nylon shirt...yeah, I remember him. Willa was here not long ago telling me about him, telling me you had gone off with him."
Evrissyan let out a low, frustrated sigh. Much as he appreciated the business that Willa often provided the club with, he didn't like it when she became so curious in his life that she was on top of him every night, in regards to what he drank and who he fucked. It was unnerving. "Willa, perfect. Well listen, you obviously know who I'm talking about, what did you give him to drink?"
Zack shrugged. "A cherry pink. Willa asked the same thing, said the kid was really drunk. Why? He's the one who's passed out?"
"Yeah, in one of the back rooms." Evrissyan said quickly. "He's a university student, I need you to drive him back to the campus and get him some...help, anything."
Zack paused for a moment, regarding his employer not with irritation or anger, but curiousity. This was one of the very few times that Evrissyan had ever asked this kind of favor of him. Taking a drunk kid back to his university, no big deal, he could surely do it. It would mean getting home a little later, but he had come to notice that doing these little favors for Evrissyan often earned him brownie points that the morning star never forgot about. So he nodded his head. "Yeah sure, I can take him. Which university?"
"Sherbridge." Evrissyan said, having traveled down the bar to fetch the bowl of blood berries in order to pop one into his mouth. "You'll need to drive about twenty minutes out of your way, that gonna be all right? I don't want to put the kid in a cab, you know."
"Yeah no, I understand. It's fine." Zack said, nodding. He knew what Evrissyan meant too, cabbies in this part of town at this time of night meant a lot of people go missing and aren't seen again.
"Thanks Zack, I owe you one. Or overtime." He smirked and Zack laughed with him as well, and having placed his last champagne glass down with the others, he leaned against the bar, waiting for further directions for Evrissyan to provide him with.
Then Evrissyan thought of something. "You didn't give him any blood berries did you? In the cherry pink?"
Zack shook his head. "Nope. Just had the one drink. Don't know how it is he was drunk enough to pass out, that's just damn weird."
"Ah, you know kids these days." Evrissyan said, sitting himself down and popping the candy-like reds into his mouth, delighting when they burst in the hollows of his cheeks and filled his mouth with that glorious, high-like flavor. "He's probably diabetic or something like that. Looked like he was really out on the town tonight though, he's different from his picture."
Zack didn't ask how it was Evrissyan possessed a picture of Keagan, and didn't really want to know. He wanted to take care of the kid and go home. It had been a long night and all he wanted was to sleep. "What room is he in? I'll take him out through the office."
"Hmm," Evrissyan mumbled through one of his half-bitten berries. "Room A9. But wait a second, will you."
The club's owner stole a Bacca di Sangue labeled napkin from behind the bar, and taking the pen that Zack had been using to count the stock, wrote on a napkin intended for his and Keagan's eyes only. Swiftly he wrote, "Come back to your phantom's arms, Keagan, whenever you're feeling blue. I'll be waiting." He signed the signature, feeling confident that if the kid found his way back into the club and showed one of the staff members the napkin, they'd know right away who had beckoned him. And as a final touch, Evrissyan painted his own lips in the juice of the blood berry in his mouth and kissed the corner of the napkin. Satisfied with what he had done, he fold it up. "All right, let's go up to A9."
They returned to the back room in which Evrissyan had left Keagan, and the club's owner was happy to find that Keagan had only moved a forearm over his eyes, likely to block out the light pouring down on him, but had moreless not moved at all. He folded the napkin up and slowly slid it into Keagan's pocket along with the discarded wallet, and sitting down next to the passed out Keagan...silently begged him to return to the Bacca di Sangue another night soon. However he was sure with the night and the memories he had bestowed upon Keagan that night...the boy would come running the next chance he got.
Smiling slightly, Evrissyan leaned down, pressing him palm to Keagan's cheek, an kissed him gently on his plush, pink lips, wishing and hoping that Keagan would remember it, remember it and feel compelled enough to return to him. He sighed into the kiss, the smell of Keagan intoxicating him, and upon pulling away he turned to Zack and smiled softly. "Make sure he gets to his room...or a bed, at least. Sherbridge University."
Zack nodded in understanding. His alien costume was gone and he was ready to head out for the night, and having been an ex kick-boxer (with great strength), he easily lifted Keagan off the bed, who didn't so much as flinch, and carried him out of the room. Evrissyan watched Zack carry the Botticelli angel away, and remained on the bed, waiting until he heard the door closed before smelling the sheets where Keagan had been laying.
Then Evrissyan sighed, and made his way up to the penthouse, where he could watch sit privately in the surveillance room undisturbed and watched as the simple-minded creatures of this city indulged in the pleasures that the club offered them. On most nights he took the time to look through all the taped sessions in the back rooms and in the Champange Room, but tonight the only one he was interested in was the camera in room A9.
While watching it, Evrissyan sat back with another bowl of blood berries, and watched in silence, feeling his groin perk up again with delicious naughty thoughts of Keagan. Evrissyan shuddered, hoping to God that Keagan would find the napkin, read the note, and feel compelled to come back.
And if he didn't, Evrissyan knew where he schooled.
Next Chapter: You can guess what happens -
A/N: I got terrible writer's block right in the middle of this chapter, so I'm sorry it wasn't finished sooner. Hope you enjoyed it though.