So he waited, somewhere near the commercial district for the perfect target. Oh, by now Kor knew the signs to look for. Maybe someone who was walking with their head down, maybe someone who’s feeling a little blue, or seeming a little distracted.
“Maybe just someone not drunk.”
Locking up at ten at night was becoming a chore - he left the building after eleven due to his own personal habits, and yet the hour grew too late to do much in the heart of Destiny City. The nightlife in this region was defunct due to ghost stories and some kind of renegade superhero squad, which left Isaiah two choices: go home or go to a bar. Neither sounded particularly appealing, but home offered music that he could play at his leisure and actually enjoy, plus the drinks were free. Less company proved an additional boon.
So after having gotten into his own skin by redressing in his change of clothes, the pawn shop owner-turned-rivethead started on the relatively short span between his store and his condo. A straightforward endeavor of ten minutes at most, Isaiah expected he would encounter little more than a stray dog in the park that he crossed through to save time. It was, he supposed, one of the efforts Destiny City put forth to regentrify the area and lure in fresh blood, but he found it somewhat irritating and dangerous to cut through a sparsely-lit area where joggers frequented - especially since he dressed largely in black.
Put plainly, he was just waiting for the instance where someone mistook him for a mugger.
Perhaps instead, he should’ve considered dressing more appropriately.
But for now he strode beneath the street lights that lined the stretch of shop fronts. Occasionally he glanced toward the lit windows to study the products available - from generic clothing to confections to pointless Hallmark gifts to send to people he hadn’t seen in three years. Little of it interested him, and the same could be said of his surroundings.
Into view came someone cloaked in black. Rutile grinned wider and watched him for a while, following him higher up, landing as silently as he could. This man… He was interesting.
Nothing was remarkable about him, other than the fact even his hair was black. Was this the new trend in fashion? Admittedly, as much as he designed his own clothing, Rutile didn’t actually pay attention to too many fashion trends. Either way, he kind of wanted to jack this guy of his clothing. It was something along the lines of what he’d wear if he wasn’t patrolling.
He watched for a good, solid, three minutes before he jumped from his current spot and landed behind the man with a light clatter of boots on concrete.
“Where you going so late at night?” He asked, trying to make his voice silky smooth. Habit from picking up the drunk crowd, but maybe the man wouldn’t get startled. Startled civilians were so much harder to drain, honestly. This was going to go smoothly if it was the last thing Rutile did.
Initially he figured the voice addressed someone else. Peripheral vision informed him that no one else lingered on the streets - not even the undesirables that often camped the bus benches. Most shops had closed down, and the few that remained open catered purely to the dwindling nightgoers of the city.
Rapist or mugger? Isaiah wondered to himself as he slowed to a halt. Half-turning, he watched the man for what he could with the street lamp as background lighting to darken his features. Mostly black, he noted, with a surfeit of belts like someone new to the goth scene. His experience in Chicago informed him to keep hidden any fears he might have toward the confrontation, so he paid conscious attention to his countenance in addressing this stranger.
“Home,” he answered simply, and dropped a practiced smile.
It looks like there’s more to worry about here than being accused of attempted mugging, he reminded himself. How interesting. I wonder if he counts for one of these renegades that has their way with the scene at night.Oh, who am I kidding? The news is full of s**t anyway. I just want a good story.
As he turned away from the man, Isaiah withdrew a pack of cigarettes from breast pocket and fished for the last of his vices. Tucked between lips, he lit up with the jet lighter that bounced lightly against his chest with each step. A draw, and smoke left him with a sigh through his nose. He didn’t want to know what this stranger was fishing for - not unless he was reading it on the newspaper the following morning.
Rutile hummed a little and looked at the other. He couldn’t call him a boy, the guy looked similar in age to Rutile. It was weird. He usually drained the younger teenagers; the ones stupid enough to use fake IDs to get into bars and clubs. Every now and then he’d drain a miserable looking guy who was a bit older on the age scale. But someone his own age? Not usually. The ones his own age tended to make things more difficult. He actually felt guilty or something similar. Why? He didn’t know. It just seemed.. more wrong? The older guys were wasting their energy anyway, and the younger guys tended to have way too much energy.
It boiled down to Rutile thought he was doing the world a service, pulling energy from people like that. This guy, though?
Not a good time to be growing a conscience, Rutile! He frowned at his own thoughts and then shook his head. Oh well.
He hummed a bit and just watched the other smile and grinned himself. “Home, eh? All by your lonesome on a night like tonight?” Rutile was trying to make his voice a bit flirty and then moved closer when the other light up a cigarette.
“Mind if I bum one off you?”
The other man must’ve thought something worthwhile, for Isaiah saw a frown cross his face before apparently dismissing it. Isaiah was careful in preserving his own countenance in turn. Doesn’t seem to have much to do with what I said. Considering knifing me, perhaps? No - this isn’t Chicago. Hah, what am I thinking.
Isaiah shrugged easily as he approached the stranger, already pulling another cigarette from his pack. He held it end-to-end with his own and took a drag to light it. Afterward he handed the cigarette, still pinched between index and middle finger, toward the requesting man. “Yes, well, I’m new to the area. Not familiar with any clubs around these parts - if they still exist.” Isaiah paused to grimace, an expression exaggerated by the black and red lipstick. “But unless you were dying to give some recommendations, home was the goal.” A quick once-over at closer view confirmed a tattoo underneath one eye and many piercings. Isaiah wasn’t fond of the style behind all that metal - he preferred a different aesthetic.
But would it matter if the man was face-down, a**-up on his bed? Not likely.
Would I take this one home? Isaiah asked himself, then immediately refuted the ask. Since when was that ever a question? I never learned to say no to anything willing. I suppose the real question is who ******** who.
“I also haven’t caught your name,” he finished, his tone expectant.
Rutile watched this one approach with a cigarette, eyes flicking to how he lit it and then looked back up to him as he took it. “Mn. There are clubs,” he murmured now that they were closer. He took a deep drag off the cigarette before nodding a bit and sighing out. “Just looking on the wrong end, I suppose. Look a little further downtown and look for something called Spankies. No, not a strip joint, but a club. Lots of fun if you’re looking to dance,” he said. The quickest way to get this one drained was to talk to him. Possibly. He wasn’t drunk, so his approach had to change quite drastically.
“Looking for a strip joint, there’s Gentlemen’s Club…” He grinned a bit wider and gave the other a wink. Slowly the man let his posture relax a bit more. This could end up taking a while.
Then he asked about his name and he thought for a moment. “Just call me Rutile.” He raised his brows and then laughed a bit more. “Home though, sounds better. It’s dangerous alone.” He even gave an exaggerated bow. “Let me escort you.”
”Anything that plays aggrotech? I can’t tolerate some of the s**t that they pump out the speakers in the usual clubs. Not that it matters much - this city doesn’t seem to have a pulse after dark.” And he doubted he’d have time to trawl the club scenes in the area for something more fitted to his tastes with a shop to run. He considered the lights, the catwalks, the surfeit of cables and cords forming rivulets down the columns, and the way that one Sidney James so easily usurped his heart in the heat of one of his favorite songs. It gave Isaiah pause, and he pressed his teeth together to a grind to force himself away from the memories.
“Unfortunately, one can’t take the strippers home - it’s a setback to me, you see.” Isaiah offered a flippant shrug. He hadn’t yet deduced if this man qualified as a prostitute or simply a slut. If the latter, then they were both in the same category.
Or maybe he was just hopeful.
“Rutile. Is that a stripper name, then?” Isaiah side-eyed the other man, humming thoughtfully around his cigarette. After taking a drag, he snorted smoke from his nose and about-faced. I can’t imagine his company could make my life any worse. “Well then, Rutile, I’ll let you escort me halfway. That’s through the park, there. The rest of it I plan to go alone, unless you manage to make yourself particularly friendly and endearing.” The hand holding his cigarette trailed behind him while he walked, with its opposite thrust firmly into his jacket pocket.
What in the heck was aggrotech? He really felt out of the element and old. Was that something that had been around for a while? Rutile's green eyes squinted at the other as he took another drag off his cigarette before thinking. "Ya know. I'm not sure. I don't know too many genre names." He shrugged a bit more and gave a helpless laugh. "I just know what I can dance too, up close and personal."
He wasn't even thirty and he felt like he was fifty. God damn, man. It was rough. He already had his fiancee making him feel too old sometimes. Now some kid off the street? He rubbed his face, piercings clinking over the gold band around his finger. It was interrupted by a laugh when Isaiah said he couldn't take the strippers home. "For the right price, I'm sure you could!" The smile on his face got even wider and he snorted.
"Me? A stripper? Nah. Back when I was younger I could turn tricks, but.." he clicked his tongue as he thought. The man turned on his heel and he sauntered up to him, right next to him and just wrapped the hand not holding his cigarette around the other's waist. "Oh, honey. I can be very endearing and friendly."
”You can dance to just about anything aggrotech if the beat is hard enough.” The small talk felt strange - he never played the game this way before. Once the interest was established, he cut all the corners and went straight for the chase. Backs to walls, teeth on lips, legs on shoulders, no comment necessary. Was he supposed to bat his pretty eyelashes and flatter the man? A shame he didn’t wear the fake ones today, then. “Or you can just make your own beat, against a wall… or a bedframe… or a door… Even a chair works if you get creative enough.” Isaiah glanced upward toward his sidelong companion again to size him up, and he seemed to keep pace unabashedly. No shying away with this one.
When the arm came to latch around his waist, Isaiah expected to take a fast trip to the nearest light pole to get started on some nightly escapades, but nothing of the sort came to pass. instead he strode with his cigarette arm shifted forward slightly, because beating his elbow against the man’s arm seemed somehow not-sexy, while trying not to winch away from a gesture he considered more romantic and less sexual.
I guess some flirting styles have to work up to it. Wouldn’t it be s**t, though, if he found a hot girl in a club and she was in a rush to get laid? I think that a** would go to the quickest one to say ‘yes’.
“My ex used to put cigarettes out on my back. Think you can keep up with that kind of endearment, Rutile?” What kind of a name is that, anyway? If stripper isn’t right, is it prostitute? He hasn’t exactly quoted me a price. I’d figure Rutile like Diamond or Sapphire or GlitterTits. It’s got to be some trashy stage name. Why otherwise choose it.
“I’m into knife play, if that’s anything to you.”
Rutile had something in mind for this one. He seemed to want something very badly from him and well.. Rutile’s relationship was very much open. Eyes darted this way and that before he suddenly headed down an alleyway and dragged the shorter one with him. They didn’t stop until they were well away from the street lights and Rutile was absolutely sure that no one could see them. With practiced ease, he put the man against the wall of a building and tipped his head back. A quick flash of a smile and he leaned in and kissed the other fast and hard enough that he felt teeth clash and heard the click, as well as felt it all the way in his spine. Fun.
He started pulling energy as soon as his lips touched the other’s. It wouldn’t be much at first, but if the kiss continued, well, Isaiah might feel weak and lightheaded, possibly even sleepy. For now, though, they would both (hopefully) enjoy it. Especially since Rutile’s tongue snaked out to swipe against the other’s and tried to press in.
Not to brag or anything, but he’d been known to basically ******** mouths like this.
”Good. i like to bleed.” Life concerns lost their efficacy alongside his heart. His life ended with one Sidney James and the walking corpse that called itself Isaiah Zähne could perish in a blink, nothing of value scattered to the wind. He hardly wondered what happened to the real Isaiah - and he suspected he knew well enough. So if this night ended with exsanguination to a stranger, what did it matter?
The sudden jolt in a different direction sparked his adrenaline, and Isaiah followed while the stranger half-dragged him through dirt and detritus and all-too-familiar discarded paraphernalia. The man’s touch turned menthol bright when he pressed Isaiah to the wall, and the shorter man felt his nose clear to take in the scent of a would-be lover. He hardly took a breath before lips seized his, and with a hand against his jaw, he could only remain idle or press forward with mutual fervor. Isaiah took the latter option by responding open-mouthed, and drew Rutile’s tongue in with a quick suck of lips against the wet muscle. Metal clawed against his palette and Isaiah sighed harshly through his nose.
The cigarette was discarded - he already had something else to suck on - and fingers darted for the man’s shirt. His nails clawed up the offending presence to just above the beltline and started on unbuckling what he couldn’t see.
Excitement spurred him on, but it waned curiously while he set to work on his next partner. His hands paused while he questioned himself: was he really in the mood to go all out with someone he just met on the street? That involved some serious creativity given the circumstances, and when was the last time he simply made out with someone?
Middle school came to mind.
Maybe this was easier.
Isaiah began entrusting more of his weight to the wall behind him as his legs felt further drained. Suddenly he became away of the tired weights beneath his eyes, but his current proclivities took precedent.
The belts that came open let his skin breath like it needed to. He sighed slowly and shuddered a little. He slowly pressed himself against the other, hand sliding from that jaw into the other's hair. Making out was something Rutile adored almost as much as booze. Not everything had to be sex. When was the last time anyone just made out with a random stranger in a dank alleyway? It'd been a long, long time. This time was better though, because he wasn't getting money for it.
The other, however, after a while, seemed to slow his pace down and he slowly pulled away, examining the now tired face of the other. He moved to press one more kiss to the other's lips, open mouthed and then pulled back and let the energy pearl roll off his tongue with a tiny clink when it hit his tongue ring.
"Hey, you okay, kid? Need to go home?" He pocketed the pearl and laughed a little. "We close?" He didn’t want to just leave him in the alley. If anything, he would drag him to a street light, lean him against it and then go off. That was responsible. Then someone would see him.
Teeth drawled across Rutile’s bottom lip to prevent escape, but the skin popped free of his firm hold without too much effort. A thin bead of saliva connected tooth to lip and hung faintly. His fingers tucked beneath the beltline to the first knuckle and sat idly while his brain struggled to keep up with what he was doing. Why did simply making out become so difficult? His thoughts and motions felt sluggish, as if he overestimated his energy reserves in closing down late for the day. Didn’t he sleep well last night? Isaiah rifled several possibilities during the brief pause between the pair.
Eyes closed for the last kiss and teeth caught the tongue ring playfully when the other man pulled away. Isaiah felt too tired to give pursuit in the tug-of-war motions in carnal deviation. Rutile didn’t seem concerned about that, at least.
Isaiah snorted at first, then a laugh came delayed. He smiled, for once more genuine with his depleted energy. Hazel gaze dropped to chest belts, then below, then closed altogether for a moment to showcase the black stretches of liner and shadow. “I’m not always this terrible, I promise. Maybe I’ve just been running myself too hard.” Why else should he feel so tired?
“My home is…” He trailed off, wrenched one hand from Rutile’s pants, and gestured loosely to his right. “Five minutes from here? Just through the park and… Down some streets… You know.” He shrugged.
“You should come home with me. And when I say ‘should’, it means you don’t have a choice.”
The taller of the two laughed and he let his whole body brighten up. He was adorable when he was sleepy. Slowly he pulled their bodies apart and then just thumbed under the other’s eye slowly and nodded. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll make sure you get home safe and sound.” Did he ask this guy’s name? He thought a moment and shrugged. “Don’t seem to remember your name, but right now I guess it’s no big deal. C’mon. Lean on me.”
He gripped the other around his waist after fixing up at least the belt on his pants and tugged him very gently, like he would guide a drunken friend. “I’ll stay the night. No big deal, ya know?” He squeezed the other’s hip slowly and then wandered off to the right with him. “Just tell me when to turn.”
”You never asked.” Isaiah cocked a threaded brow at him. “David Westerman.” The pseudonym came to mind easily, and rolled off the tongue in a natural fashion. He hadn’t used this one since Chicago and doubted that anyone would connect name and face here now.
The sudden departure of warmth from his chest and abdomen disappointed him, but Rutile made up for it via seizing waist and pulling him close. It chased away the rare chill to the summer nights that often bit those too thin to ward it away. “I can walk, I promise - I’m not going to fall asleep on my feet.” His words found no followup with action, though ,when he leaned against the other man regardless. Curiously, he didn’t seem to budge - did Isaiah weigh less than he thought?
No, that can’t be right. I’ve weighed 118 pounds for the last three months. His skin didn’t have much give; he must have some pretty significant muscle to not be bothered like that.
The five minutes passed at a crawl, with Isaiah issuing few directions. The condominium itself lay on a relatively straight shot from his pawn shop, consisting of an entire three turns before he reached the building proper. In the interim, Rutile put up with myriad yawns and proved to be a good sport about the whole matter. Occasionally Isaiah referred back to their mingled taste still on his tongue and considered pursuing it again as soon as they reached his apartment, but the exhaustion threatened to set into his bones now. He needed to sleep, and soon.
Keys allowed him into the building, Isaiah urged Rutile into the elevator, and the pair reached correct floor and flat in only a few minutes’ time. Isaiah thanked the stranger, invited him in, and found himself much too tired to pursue earlier interests.
No, tonight was a night for pure sleeping.
Saint Sergio
fin! and grats on captain!
