Carsten Visits Fangtasia, Part 6
They were discussing janteloven - arguing about it, more accurately - although it's not like Carsten was definitively on the pro- side. He was simply trying to explain it to Eric, who thought he'd made the whole thing up.
"Can't you see, it promotes unity. It's respectful of other people-"
"It's bullshit and you know it. 'Communal desire,' my ass," Eric growled at him. This was fucking stupidity - and the Swedes had bought into this as well? Eric was incredulous. If you didn't slaughter your neighbor and steal his woman and his pigs, fine, Eric could understand how that might advance society. But the idea that you weren't better than others? Eric was better than 99.9% of the people he'd ever met, and so was this boy.
"Say that bullshit again?"
The boy was laughing at him now.
"'Don't think that you're smarter than us, don't think you're more important than us, don't think you're good at anything-'"
"You're paining me. They teach you this?"
"Well, not just like that. It's more … it's there, that's all. Everyone knows it."
"It's the Christians, isn't it? They're behind this." It smelled of the Christ-lovers, tainting everything they touched with their lies.
"No, Eric, it's -- it's more to do with equality-"
"You look me in the eye and tell me you don't think you're smarter than most of the idiots you meet every day."
"But you act like the only right motivations are selfish ones. Don't you think we're responsible for one another? We have to help one another?"
"No… is this some sort of trick question?"
"Eric, come on, you helped me."
"Maybe I just wanted something."
"I don't really believe you."
"Are you calling me a liar?" But Carsten could see he was only playing.
"Forget it, let's talk about something else. You could laugh at my music some more."
Eric snorted. The boy and his obscure, pretentious tastes - that was Danish, for sure, although the Swedes seemed to be getting in on the act recently… janteloven. It offended Eric's Viking spirit. A once proud nation of warriors, pussy-whipped. Eric had heard the stories about Stockholm men these days; it must be true.
“So if I stay here tonight…" the boy was saying, which brought Eric's attention around rapidly.
“I just want to talk Swedish, ask you some questions.” Which was of course a total lie, but things were off to a good start. Eric didn't plan on forcing the boy into sex, so he needed to turn elsewhere, and he figured sympathy and conversation would get him where he wanted to go eventually. The ale wouldn't hurt either. Sometimes it was fun to scare the humans before fucking them, it tended to make for a wilder ride, but Eric wasn’t feeling the urge tonight with this one, his youthful idealism shining in his big gray eyes. In fact, Eric made the astonishing realization earlier that if the boy suddenly lost his nerve and decided all he wanted was a place to sleep, so be it. Eric smiled at the novelty of the idea. He must be getting soft in his old age. If Pam knew, she'd laugh in his face.
"What's so funny?"
"Nothing. Something at work. So. You’re sixteen, you’re on your slumming-through-the-states tour with your friends, you started out in Boston… what else have you seen?”
And the boy kept talking, relaxing while he drank his ale and finished his sandwich from the drive-through Eric had stopped at on the way home when Carsten admitted he was starving, and Eric knew there was probably no food in the house except for whatever the humans who worked for him brought in themselves.
Eric let him ramble, asking questions, listening as the boy talked about the failed side trip to Florida, then the dicey neighborhood they got lost in just outside St. Louis, then meeting up with some friends of friends in Memphis before heading south again. Eric kept mentally removing Carsten's clothes, even as he prodded the boy into talking more about his life in Copenhagen and his family, including the unexpected, tantalizing detail of a girlfriend, which the boy clearly regretted mentioning the moment he said it.
The kid did seem a little … tentative in that department. Eric wondered what the problem was. He couldn't imagine anyone turning the boy down. But he was still very young. Also, humans were always defining their sexuality as if they’d been forced to order off the same set menu for life. Eric was a fan of the revolving, all-you-can-eat buffet. He still thought the boy had the interest and the desire; he might just be lacking experience, and that Eric would be more than happy to provide.
Every now and again Eric caught a glimpse of those low-cut jeans and the underwear - all the cool kids wore them, he’d been told, even the girls. Eric found the look both ridiculous and wildly arousing. He wanted a better look at those snug briefs and all they contained. He wanted to unbuckle the belt and slide those tight, dark jeans down to the boy’s bare white knees…
“And so then you drove to Shreveport? With those three boys?” Eric suddenly pictured them sucking each other off under the blankets while they tried to keep quiet. Desperate groping in a field somewhere, handjobs in the back of their car… he refocused his mind before his fangs ran out again.
“Well, yes, but just for the bar, really. We heard about the bar. We figured that even if we couldn’t sneak in, we could hang around outside and meet some vampires.”
Eric sighed. “Trust me, a very ancient vampire. Stay away from vampires. Vampires are mostly trouble."
Carsten laughed again, unexpectedly; he had a great laugh, young and free.
“How ancient are you?”
“You wouldn’t believe me.”
“I don't know … three hundred?”
“Older. Also, why are you out cruising vampire bars? Didn’t you say you had a girlfriend back in Copenhagen?” And here we get to it, Eric thought. Carsten flushed; the rush of blood under his skin was delicious.
“I did have a girlfriend. Melissa. But we broke up. I sort of had a crush on - well, her father, actually.” He looked down; Eric eyed him speculatively.
“Well, that must have been awkward. Did anything happen with him?”
“No.” Liar. Eric smiled. He couldn’t resist asking the next question.
“Well, how about with her? Did anything happen with her?”
"I don't want to talk about that." The boy looked pained; he took another swig of ale without answering further. Eric felt a small pang of regret. Strategic error; maybe the boy hadn’t been able to. That would have stung. Eric changed courses abruptly.
"Tell me something nobody knows."
"What?"
"It doesn't have to be a big secret; a small one's fine." Eric doubted the boy had accumulated too many big secrets. "But something you've never told anyone else."
"Why?" The boy looked confused.
"Because I'm nosy. Because I want to know something about you that nobody else does."
Carsten stared ahead for a moment, thinking. His face shifted.
"What is it?"
"You'll laugh. No, it's … stupid. Give me a minute, let me think of something else."
"Come on, out with it."
"All right, but you can't tease me, and you have to answer my question after."
"Fair enough."
"Well, there's a museum in Copenhagen called the Glyptotek, it's got all sorts of things … masks, Greek sculptures, lots of old stuff. But newer things too, nineteenth, twentieth century. I go on free Sundays a lot, just by myself. I like to be in there, it's quiet, it makes me happy, all those old things…" The boy paused and took another swallow of ale. He was a little flushed but not drunk; he could hold his liquor. He didn't have to be stone sober, but Eric didn't want him drunk either; that held no appeal.
"Anyway, there's this painting by this artist, Jacques-Louis David, of the Comte of Turenne… it's a portrait, he's wearing a frock coat and holding his hat." Carsten swigged some more ale and then looked Eric in the eye. "And I go look at the painting because I have this weird crush on him, I don't know why. I've been going back for years, I saw him on a trip with my parents." The boy shrugged a little, looked down at his glass. "That's the first time I can remember that feeling … looking at a man, I mean. That's all. I told you it was stupid. Okay, your turn. You tell me a secret nobody else knows."
What a strange kid, Eric thought, shifting through his memories. It was like an ocean of sand. All sorts of dark secrets popped immediately into his head, none of them fit for the boy's consumption. All the people he had murdered, some in worse ways than others. All the things he had done that humans would attach the word evil to. Centuries of survival by his wits and sometimes not much else. Witnessing the horrors of the Crusades, which transformed Eric's suspicion of the Christ cult into abject hatred. The Plague. His arrival in the New World… there must be something he could tell this child that wasn't so awful it would send him screaming from the house.
He wanted to tell Carsten about Roskilde - about how he'd been there twice, the first time at the head of his own longship, before they'd sunk other ships in the fjord to try and stop the raiding parties. Before they'd even built the great cathedral. And the second time, more than three hundred years later, by then a vampire traveling at night with his maker, the Black Plague sweeping all around them, decimating the countryside so that sometimes even they went hungry when they strayed outside the cities. And Eric killed whomever he wanted to in the darkness, because he could, because it never would have occurred to him then to do differently. As far as he could see, those wretches were all soon dead anyway… and now. Here. This boy. Sixteen years old, half Eric's mortal age at his own death a millennium ago.
The boy watched him, waiting. And something about the look on the child's face tore at him inside, bitter and sweet, and he realized there was nothing he could say about Roskilde. Nothing at all. And he opened his mouth to say a lie, but what came out instead was the other thing in his mind at just that moment.
"Every time I look at you I want to take your clothes off."
Carsten frowned, thoughtful.
"That's not a very good secret," he said.
But before Eric could come up with something better, Carsten stood up and leaned forward and put one hand behind Eric's neck and kissed him. And kept right on kissing him, making small yearning sounds deep in his throat, his mouth warm and wet as it moved against Eric's, his tongue darting in, tasting, exploring, and then Eric's fangs were out.
"Can't you see, it promotes unity. It's respectful of other people-"
"It's bullshit and you know it. 'Communal desire,' my ass," Eric growled at him. This was fucking stupidity - and the Swedes had bought into this as well? Eric was incredulous. If you didn't slaughter your neighbor and steal his woman and his pigs, fine, Eric could understand how that might advance society. But the idea that you weren't better than others? Eric was better than 99.9% of the people he'd ever met, and so was this boy.
"Say that bullshit again?"
The boy was laughing at him now.
"'Don't think that you're smarter than us, don't think you're more important than us, don't think you're good at anything-'"
"You're paining me. They teach you this?"
"Well, not just like that. It's more … it's there, that's all. Everyone knows it."
"It's the Christians, isn't it? They're behind this." It smelled of the Christ-lovers, tainting everything they touched with their lies.
"No, Eric, it's -- it's more to do with equality-"
"You look me in the eye and tell me you don't think you're smarter than most of the idiots you meet every day."
"But you act like the only right motivations are selfish ones. Don't you think we're responsible for one another? We have to help one another?"
"No… is this some sort of trick question?"
"Eric, come on, you helped me."
"Maybe I just wanted something."
"I don't really believe you."
"Are you calling me a liar?" But Carsten could see he was only playing.
"Forget it, let's talk about something else. You could laugh at my music some more."
Eric snorted. The boy and his obscure, pretentious tastes - that was Danish, for sure, although the Swedes seemed to be getting in on the act recently… janteloven. It offended Eric's Viking spirit. A once proud nation of warriors, pussy-whipped. Eric had heard the stories about Stockholm men these days; it must be true.
“So if I stay here tonight…" the boy was saying, which brought Eric's attention around rapidly.
“I just want to talk Swedish, ask you some questions.” Which was of course a total lie, but things were off to a good start. Eric didn't plan on forcing the boy into sex, so he needed to turn elsewhere, and he figured sympathy and conversation would get him where he wanted to go eventually. The ale wouldn't hurt either. Sometimes it was fun to scare the humans before fucking them, it tended to make for a wilder ride, but Eric wasn’t feeling the urge tonight with this one, his youthful idealism shining in his big gray eyes. In fact, Eric made the astonishing realization earlier that if the boy suddenly lost his nerve and decided all he wanted was a place to sleep, so be it. Eric smiled at the novelty of the idea. He must be getting soft in his old age. If Pam knew, she'd laugh in his face.
"What's so funny?"
"Nothing. Something at work. So. You’re sixteen, you’re on your slumming-through-the-states tour with your friends, you started out in Boston… what else have you seen?”
And the boy kept talking, relaxing while he drank his ale and finished his sandwich from the drive-through Eric had stopped at on the way home when Carsten admitted he was starving, and Eric knew there was probably no food in the house except for whatever the humans who worked for him brought in themselves.
Eric let him ramble, asking questions, listening as the boy talked about the failed side trip to Florida, then the dicey neighborhood they got lost in just outside St. Louis, then meeting up with some friends of friends in Memphis before heading south again. Eric kept mentally removing Carsten's clothes, even as he prodded the boy into talking more about his life in Copenhagen and his family, including the unexpected, tantalizing detail of a girlfriend, which the boy clearly regretted mentioning the moment he said it.
The kid did seem a little … tentative in that department. Eric wondered what the problem was. He couldn't imagine anyone turning the boy down. But he was still very young. Also, humans were always defining their sexuality as if they’d been forced to order off the same set menu for life. Eric was a fan of the revolving, all-you-can-eat buffet. He still thought the boy had the interest and the desire; he might just be lacking experience, and that Eric would be more than happy to provide.
Every now and again Eric caught a glimpse of those low-cut jeans and the underwear - all the cool kids wore them, he’d been told, even the girls. Eric found the look both ridiculous and wildly arousing. He wanted a better look at those snug briefs and all they contained. He wanted to unbuckle the belt and slide those tight, dark jeans down to the boy’s bare white knees…
“And so then you drove to Shreveport? With those three boys?” Eric suddenly pictured them sucking each other off under the blankets while they tried to keep quiet. Desperate groping in a field somewhere, handjobs in the back of their car… he refocused his mind before his fangs ran out again.
“Well, yes, but just for the bar, really. We heard about the bar. We figured that even if we couldn’t sneak in, we could hang around outside and meet some vampires.”
Eric sighed. “Trust me, a very ancient vampire. Stay away from vampires. Vampires are mostly trouble."
Carsten laughed again, unexpectedly; he had a great laugh, young and free.
“How ancient are you?”
“You wouldn’t believe me.”
“I don't know … three hundred?”
“Older. Also, why are you out cruising vampire bars? Didn’t you say you had a girlfriend back in Copenhagen?” And here we get to it, Eric thought. Carsten flushed; the rush of blood under his skin was delicious.
“I did have a girlfriend. Melissa. But we broke up. I sort of had a crush on - well, her father, actually.” He looked down; Eric eyed him speculatively.
“Well, that must have been awkward. Did anything happen with him?”
“No.” Liar. Eric smiled. He couldn’t resist asking the next question.
“Well, how about with her? Did anything happen with her?”
"I don't want to talk about that." The boy looked pained; he took another swig of ale without answering further. Eric felt a small pang of regret. Strategic error; maybe the boy hadn’t been able to. That would have stung. Eric changed courses abruptly.
"Tell me something nobody knows."
"What?"
"It doesn't have to be a big secret; a small one's fine." Eric doubted the boy had accumulated too many big secrets. "But something you've never told anyone else."
"Why?" The boy looked confused.
"Because I'm nosy. Because I want to know something about you that nobody else does."
Carsten stared ahead for a moment, thinking. His face shifted.
"What is it?"
"You'll laugh. No, it's … stupid. Give me a minute, let me think of something else."
"Come on, out with it."
"All right, but you can't tease me, and you have to answer my question after."
"Fair enough."
"Well, there's a museum in Copenhagen called the Glyptotek, it's got all sorts of things … masks, Greek sculptures, lots of old stuff. But newer things too, nineteenth, twentieth century. I go on free Sundays a lot, just by myself. I like to be in there, it's quiet, it makes me happy, all those old things…" The boy paused and took another swallow of ale. He was a little flushed but not drunk; he could hold his liquor. He didn't have to be stone sober, but Eric didn't want him drunk either; that held no appeal.
"Anyway, there's this painting by this artist, Jacques-Louis David, of the Comte of Turenne… it's a portrait, he's wearing a frock coat and holding his hat." Carsten swigged some more ale and then looked Eric in the eye. "And I go look at the painting because I have this weird crush on him, I don't know why. I've been going back for years, I saw him on a trip with my parents." The boy shrugged a little, looked down at his glass. "That's the first time I can remember that feeling … looking at a man, I mean. That's all. I told you it was stupid. Okay, your turn. You tell me a secret nobody else knows."
What a strange kid, Eric thought, shifting through his memories. It was like an ocean of sand. All sorts of dark secrets popped immediately into his head, none of them fit for the boy's consumption. All the people he had murdered, some in worse ways than others. All the things he had done that humans would attach the word evil to. Centuries of survival by his wits and sometimes not much else. Witnessing the horrors of the Crusades, which transformed Eric's suspicion of the Christ cult into abject hatred. The Plague. His arrival in the New World… there must be something he could tell this child that wasn't so awful it would send him screaming from the house.
He wanted to tell Carsten about Roskilde - about how he'd been there twice, the first time at the head of his own longship, before they'd sunk other ships in the fjord to try and stop the raiding parties. Before they'd even built the great cathedral. And the second time, more than three hundred years later, by then a vampire traveling at night with his maker, the Black Plague sweeping all around them, decimating the countryside so that sometimes even they went hungry when they strayed outside the cities. And Eric killed whomever he wanted to in the darkness, because he could, because it never would have occurred to him then to do differently. As far as he could see, those wretches were all soon dead anyway… and now. Here. This boy. Sixteen years old, half Eric's mortal age at his own death a millennium ago.
The boy watched him, waiting. And something about the look on the child's face tore at him inside, bitter and sweet, and he realized there was nothing he could say about Roskilde. Nothing at all. And he opened his mouth to say a lie, but what came out instead was the other thing in his mind at just that moment.
"Every time I look at you I want to take your clothes off."
Carsten frowned, thoughtful.
"That's not a very good secret," he said.
But before Eric could come up with something better, Carsten stood up and leaned forward and put one hand behind Eric's neck and kissed him. And kept right on kissing him, making small yearning sounds deep in his throat, his mouth warm and wet as it moved against Eric's, his tongue darting in, tasting, exploring, and then Eric's fangs were out.