The Leech & The Whore [6]
Hello again! I love you all. And the hate for Diana. She doesn't go away so... XD With this chapter, I know a lot of people will be wanting to slap Blake upside the head.
Oh, for non-UK people: Megabus is a super cheap bus service that goes all over ze country. Budget travel ftw. XD
It started with vodka. It always started with vodka, one way or another. This time it started in the pub, even though Blake was working. It wasn’t long before the loud insults thrown across the bar at one another started to distract the customers, other than Mr Moseby who was still asking ‘where the devil William’s young lady went’. As the argument went down the inevitable path that ended with the redhead making not-so-subtle references to the events of the night previous, a night the week before and most nights in between the customers averted their eyes and tried to deny the fact that they were all giving in to the suggestion and picturing what was being hinted at. The sudden absence of conversation only served to make the bartender angrier and it was less than ten minutes before the first punch was thrown.
There was no jukebox to break anymore but they managed to break three glasses, one ashtray and the leg of one barstool before Terry ordered them outside. Once in the alleyway outside, the damages ran to include two shirts, one tie and a long red ribbon which was this week wrapped around Phoenix’s upper arm. From there, the evening dissolved into a mess of kisses and curses that tasted of vodka and were coloured with blood. When the haze finally began to clear, the digital readout on the alarm clock Phoenix had been forced to buy read three-fifteen in the morning. Blake was lying the wrong way up on the bed, feet pressed against the headboard and arms spread wide each side of him. Phoenix stood in front of the mirror, pressing a damp cloth against the wound that had been reopened in his arm.
They hadn’t said a coherent sentence to one another since they had left the pub. There was no real need for conversation. It was just another Friday night, one in a long series of Fridays that followed exactly the same routine. Phoenix would follow Blake to work in order to drink, flirt with the customers and pester the leech about the rent that was due the next morning, smiling all the while as if he didn’t know exactly how they were going to end up.
“You okay?” Phoenix asked, turning away from the mirror and heading towards the light-switch which they had miraculously found on their way in.
“Shh,” The leech didn’t even have the energy to raise a finger his lips.
Phoenix turned the light off and wandered back towards the bed. He didn’t mind being dismissed. He understood, in a way. Saturday mornings, the hours between one and four, were both the most chaotic and relaxing of his week. When it got to this point, they would usually lapse into satisfied silence and fall asleep after the necessary scuffle of Blake insisting he sleep on his side of the bed so that people didn’t get the wrong idea. Who the people were and how they wouldn’t have already got not the wrong but the incredibly right idea, Phoenix didn’t know.
“Hey,” Blake said the second he felt Phoenix climbing back onto the bed. “What’re you doin’?”
“Going to sleep?”
“Right. Have fun with that.”
Phoenix caught a flash of yellow eyes in the darkness as the leech pulled himself into a sitting position and nearly fell off of the bed. Grumbling to himself haphazardly, Blake stumbled out of the room.
“It’s too early to be sober,” he called over his shoulder as he started down the hallway. “Fix it, will you Phoe?
“It’s not my fault you sober up so quickly.” Phoenix pulled himself up with a sigh and began following the leech back into the living room.
“Have we got anythin’ else in?”
“Nothing at all.”
“No drugs or anythin’ that might do the job?”
“Of course not.”
“What kind of sex-mad escort doesn’t do drugs?”
“This one, now deal with it.”
“Not even any painkillers?”
“Give it up.”
Blake muttered to himself about what he saw as a serious flaw in Phoenix’s character until he reached the balcony, pulling open the doors with a rush of warm summer air. Phoenix left him to stare at the slowly brightening sky as if trying to stop the sun from rising through the power of bad temper alone, using the time to put the living room back into some sort of order. He flung himself on the sofa once he had shuffled things around enough to make an obvious difference.
“Is your arm okay?”
The question was spoken in such an off-hand tone that it took Phoenix a moment to realise it was a sort of apology. He should have been expecting it; if it The redhead glanced down at the open wound and shrugged.
“It should probably be bandaged or something before I go to sleep but it’s no big deal. Are you okay?”
Blake laughed, something Phoenix had come to realise was one of the leech’s nervous habits. He touched fingers to his neck and then his arms, wincing a little as he encountered bruises and cuts. It would be another few hours before they would disappear but the pain was already fading.
“Fine,” he lied.
“But I-“
“I told you not to go easy on me, right?”
“Actually, I think your exact words were-“
“The point is that I’ll heal so stop worrying about it, okay?”
Silence. Blake hadn’t really been expecting an answer and he didn’t bother turning around for one. The sky peeking between the buildings across the road was growing purple which melted into a bright pink nearer to the ground. Blake squinted into the impending sunrise, gripping the balustrade until his knuckles turned white. His skin began tingling but he didn’t turn away, expression grim as if he was determined to stare down the last sunrise on earth.
“You should go to sleep.”
Phoenix’s voice was gentle and Blake smiled regardless of the way the skin of his lips was starting to chap.
“If you’re tired go to bed, moron.”
“Not without you.”
Something grabbed a hold of Blake’s chest from the inside and pulled his heart and lungs together. That had been happening a lot lately. He didn’t want to know why it kept happening or why he understood exactly what Phoenix was saying, that the bed just felt too damn large when there was only one person lying in it.
“Don’t be stupid,” he muttered, ready to use the pain in his lips as an excuse for not smiling. “It’s not like we’re a pair of fucking newlyweds, we’re not joined at the hip. All that coupley shit makes my skin crawl.”
A hand touched his elbow and he jolted away. He hadn’t heard Phoenix move. The redhead glanced at the sky and smiled in apology, guessing at least one of the reasons Blake had shied away from his touch. The clouds were dyed red now and under this threatening light of dawn Blake’s hair was jet black, his skin too pale. In contrast, Phoenix was entirely in his element, skin seeming to glow with warmth and hair brighter than Blake had been imagining. The leech felt as if he had strayed from the monochrome world of fifties film into high-definition. He stepped away from Phoenix as the redhead smiled in a way that was far too tender.
“Do you want to be?” he asked quietly.
“What, joined at the hip? I like my body how it is, thanks.”
“You know what I meant.”
“I’m ‘fraid not.”
Phoenix leant forward on the railing and cast Blake a sideways glance. The leech felt his skin starting to burn and prayed it was only the sun.
“Do you want to be in a relationship?” the redhead asked.
“I’ve never really thou-“
“With me,” Phoenix interrupted. As soon as he had made it clear, he turned his eyes towards the distant reaching fingers of the sun. “And don’t just call me an idiot and walk away. I’m not joking, for once.”
Blake said nothing, managing only to blink and watch the man on the balcony as if he had never laid eyes on him before.
“This is a onetime offer,” Phoenix continued. “I’ve never been in an actual relationship before so I’ve got no idea how it works but I’m pretty sure we already tick most of the boxes. I’ve been thinking about it and I’m willing to give it a try.”
“Wouldn’t that be impossible for you?” Blake asked, not recognising his own voice. “You told me before that you couldn’t even imagine having to be tied to one person alone. How the hell would you manage it?”
Phoenix shrugged. “I guess we’d find out, wouldn’t we?”
Blake could feel that the skin on his upper arms and cheeks were about to start peeling. If this had been said while still lying in bed or even if Phoenix had been smiling, it would have been easier for Blake to release a torrent of insults and ignore the whole thing. As it was, he stood still, eyes fixed on the incubus as if he was waiting for the man to admit it was all a joke.
“So?” Phoenix half-turned towards the leech, lips stretched in a nervous smile. “Do you want to?”
“It’s a onetime offer, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Will you keep asking if I don’t say yes?”
“Of course not.”
Blake looked towards the sky for a long minute until his eyes started to water and he was forced to turn away.
“Then no,” he said, heading back inside.
“Do you mind me asking why?”
The leech paused, one foot inside the living room and the other still on the balcony.
“It’s fine like this, isn’t it?” he asked quietly.
Phoenix didn’t reply. Blake waved vaguely over his shoulder and went back inside, shutting the door to the hall against the light. On the balcony, Phoenix’s smile gradually faded away. He tapped his fingers against the railing for a few moments before falling still. He watched the sun rising alone, greeting the day with a whisper.
“We’ll see.”
It was always the blondes. No matter where they went, no matter what the individuals other attributes were and regardless of their attitude towards Phoenix, the redhead zeroed in on blondes like a heat-seeking missile.
Blake watched as the idiot sashayed over to an unsuspecting girl in a blue summer dress and ordered himself another drink.
When Terry had given him Friday nights off, Blake hadn’t been expecting them to be so tedious. The free time wasn’t a reward or a favour but had been given in an effort to save money, Terry’s logic being that if Blake was going to let his upstart redhead buddy come into the bar every Friday and subsequently wreck the place, they could damn well go and do it somewhere else. This meant that they had the evening free to go out and do whatever the hell they wanted. Blake was being careful not to tell Terry that they hadn’t broken so much as an ashtray since.
Only a few metres behind him, Phoenix was watching as the blonde girl surrendered to his more than natural charm, for all appearances a stranger to everyone else in the building. Blake drained his glass as quickly as he could and ordered another, leaning heavily on the bar. It was always like this, too. They hadn’t broken anything recently because it was easy not to fight when you weren’t actually speaking to the other person. Although they always went home together, Blake wasn’t an idiot and could see the numbers scrawled on scraps of paper in eyeliner. Phoenix was good at avoiding telltale signs like marks on his skin or creased clothes but Blake knew exactly what the guy was up to while the leech was at work. He was sure that Phoenix suspected he had been busy at night too, probably envisioning pale girls in alleyways and backrooms. He’d be wrong, of course. The leech had just found a more complicated route home.
A peal of laughter rippled through the air and Blake glared at one of the moth-eaten paintings on the wall until he felt better. The pub was a complete mess and in the two months they had been coming here it hadn’t risen in his affections at all. It was named ‘The Pit,’ having apparently had a longer name that had dropped off of the sign a long time ago and never been replaced. Phoenix thought it was hilarious. Blake felt a twinge of irritation each time he saw the sign. Whether this was because of the sign or because of his expectations of the evening he was unsure.
Not that it mattered, he reflected, setting his glass down a little too loudly. He had no grounds on which to feel angry. It didn’t technically compromise their agreement since he wasn’t denying Blake anything, not that the leech would ever explicitly ask. Phoenix had even invited him over to chat to one of the impending victims before but Blake had refused instantly. Whatever twisted fantasy the redhead was entertaining, it could stay in his head.
“Excuse me.”
Blake shifted aside reflexively as someone squeezed past him to order a drink. It would never cease to amaze him that such a scummy pub was so full by eleven at night and he thought fondly of his position behind the bar back at work where he could wander around without fear of bumping into someone looking for a good time. He stared into his glass and listened to the man beside him order a drink and engage the barman in idle chatter. He was enquiring about the barman’s wife it seemed. From the monosyllabic responses, Blake was willing to bet the idiot had just stepped on a landmine.
He shot the man a surreptitious glance and narrowed his eyes.
Blonde. Typical. The man was tall and lithe, dressed in clothes far too smart for a dive like The Pit. His pale hair hung a little too neatly over what Blake thought of as European cheekbones. When he turned as if feeling Blake’s irritated staring the leech found himself glaring into a pair of bright green eyes that were a little too sharp. The stranger continued talking to the barman while maintaining eye-contact with Blake, his voice a little like Phoenix’s but lighter somehow and carrying a hint of an accent Blake couldn’t place.
There was something strange about the man. Blake knew this particular kind of strange and would be able to name it just as soon as he got home and calmed down. It was a dangerous kind of strange, that he knew. He’d have to grab Phoenix and leave.
“Making friends, babe?”
Blake jumped as a heavy hand landed on his shoulder. He turned quickly, almost swinging himself off of the barstool in the process, to see the blonde girl leaving with her friends and Phoenix eyeing the green eyed man with his usual eternal enthusiasm.
“No,” Blake said quickly, stumbling to his feet. “He’s not talkin’ to me. Can we-“
“It’s a shame,” Phoenix interrupted, grinning as the blonde man turned his attention away from Blake with only a fraction of hesitation.
“My apologies,” the man replied, leaning on the bar with one elbow and looking far too relaxed.
“I’ve been meaning to talk to you both for weeks but never seem to have the time.”
Ignoring Blake’s glance of warning, Phoenix smirked.
“In that case, I’m disappointed. Want me to get your drink?” the redhead asked, gesturing at the newly filled glass as the barman put it down. “What’s your name, babe?”
Seemingly unfazed by Phoenix’s unsubtle advances, the stranger only smiled and transferred his sharp gaze back to Blake. The leech bristled and raised an eyebrow, fingers curling around his empty glass and squeezing. It felt weird being watched by the man, as if he could see right into Blake’s brain and then out the other side. The worst part was that it felt like he could do this and continue smiling as if it was only natural.
“Problem?” Blake asked when the silence threatened to snap his nerves.
“I know you have,” the stranger said, straightening up and turning away from the bar. “Another time perhaps, boys. It looks like it’s time for you to go home.”
“Slick,” Blake hissed, for once turning with Phoenix to watch the man walk away. “Very fucking slick.”
“That’s one word for it,” Phoenix murmured. He was going to say more but stopped himself as he caught Blake’s expression of distaste. The leech was staring at the floor, hand still holding his glass tightly. Phoenix squeezed his shoulder and forced his voice into a more casual tone.
“Something wrong, Blake?”
The air around the leech seemed to cool as Phoenix stopped trying to impress people. Now the atmosphere was more relaxed, the leech sighed and licked his lips. He said nothing. Phoenix slipped onto the barstool next to him and reached out with one hand which Blake slapped away.
“Did you know him?” Phoenix asked. “Randomers don’t usually piss you off this quickly.”
“Never seen him before,” Blake said, voice low. “But I don’t like him. Something was off about the way he was looking at me.”
“Well, maybe it’s because you’re hot.”
“Fuck off. I don’t expect you to understand.”
Blake stood suddenly, grabbing his jacket and setting off towards the door. By the time Phoenix had found his jacket and followed him outside, the leech was already rounding the corner.
Three in the morning. They’d been lying in bed for two hours now, having run out of conversation topics that wouldn’t start a fight. Phoenix had attempted sleep but was finding it impossible, seeing images of what he should be doing every time he closed his eyes. Beside him, lying as close to the edge of the bed as possible, Blake was pretending to be asleep.
Phoenix wanted to touch him. More than that, he wanted to pull the leech to him and hold him until he talked about whatever the hell was making him angry. Once he knew what that was, he was ready to do whatever was necessary to make things better again. If this meant conversation rather than kisses then so be it. The tension had been building for weeks and it was becoming clear that sex wasn’t solving anything which wasn’t good since Phoenix had no idea how else he was meant to solve problems.
The redhead turned onto his side and stared at the back of Blake’s head. It was dark in the bedroom but the red light from the digital alarm clock was bright enough for Phoenix to see that the leech was lying perfectly still, too tense to even be daydreaming let alone sleeping.
“I’ve noticed,” Phoenix said suddenly and wasn’t surprised when Blake’s reply was instantaneous.
“Noticed what?”
“You’re angry at me.”
“No shit.”
“Why? What have I done?”
Refusing to turn over, Blake shrugged. “Who knows? Just forget about it.”
“Is it because of the girls?”
Phoenix winced as the leech laughed loudly, turning onto his friend and muffling his voice with the cushion.
“It is, isn’t it?” Phoenix insisted.
“No.”
“I won’t think any less of-“
“Not everything is about you, Phoe. Anyway, even if I was pissed off about them, it has nothing to do with this.”
“’This’ what?”
“This. Him. The idiot you decided was worth chatting up earlier.”
“So it’s about the guys, not the girls.”
Blake groaned and rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling with bright and angry eyes.
“I should have known you’d miss the point.”
“I can’t help it,” Phoenix began explaining, confessional tone making Blake cringe. The leech fell silent and let him talk. “I really can’t. I’ve always been like this.”
“I never asked you to act any differently.”
“No you didn’t. Maybe you should have.”
“I don’t care,” Blake lied.
Phoenix flung one arm out to cover the distance between them, fingers lightly brushing against Blake’s side. He opened his mouth to speak but couldn’t think of an appropriate way to express himself. It was different for Blake, as far as Phoenix could tell. As long as he got blood it didn’t seem to matter who it was from and would always have the same effect. Routine was healthy for him. For Phoenix, a routine was suffocating. Boring. Almost painful.
Work helped a little. The managers had taken to organising themed days and so Phoenix had amused himself by putting together elaborate outfits and playing parts that were as far from his usual personality as possible. Diana was still following him around but she’d been joined by a veritable fanclub, much to Andre’s amusement. He could come home after a day like that and relax into the routine they’d created without feeling as if he was missing out on anything else but it still wasn’t enough.
He thought about explaining this to Blake. Somehow, he felt the guy would understand. But understanding wasn’t everything.
“Let’s go somewhere,” he said suddenly. “Next weekend.”
Blake snorted with laughter. “How romantic.”
“Let’s just do it, okay? I’ll sort it out.”
“Whatever. Can I sleep now?”
“Yeah. Night, babe.”
Silence filled the room. After five minutes, Blake turned away again, drawing the duvet up over his head. Phoenix saw the alarm clock display click over to five in the morning before he closed his eyes. Instead of the almost-fantasises from before, he stared back into a pair of unfamiliar green eyes until he fell asleep.
La Gouttiére de Velours.
The sign above the door was offensively elaborate, all gold filigree and swirls. Blake stood on the other side of the street with a scowl, ignoring the suspicious looks the doorman was shooting his way. The leech glanced at the scrap of paper that had been left on his pillow that morning as if it could have changed in the last thirty seconds. It hadn’t. This was definitely the right address.
“French,” he muttered as he crossed the road, dodging the traffic in the same irritated way of anyone living in London. “It had to be French, didn’t it.”
As far as Blake was concerned, French was not really a language but a way for English-speakers to make things sound more interesting. Deciding it probably meant something unspeakable, Blake wandered up to the barman as Phoenix had instructed, thrusting the scrap of paper at the man when asked if he was on the guest list.
“You’re with Phoenix?” the man asked, accent reminiscent of shoe-polish and tea parties. “Phoenix Everard?”
Blake blinked and shrugged. “I guess. Can I go in now, Jeeves?”
He pushed past the man before he had a chance to object and listened to him muttering until he reached the bottom of a dark flight of stairs which ended abruptly with a pair of elegant double doors. Blake paused and took a deep breath. All he had to do was go in, find the idiot and leave again. He wasn’t sure why he was even here since he knew his way to King’s Cross and could have met Phoenix at the bus station but the redhead had insisted they meet here. Feeling a little patronised and hoping he didn’t find out what Phoenix had told the doorman about him, Blake pushed open the doors and stepped inside.
The room was hazy with activity, some heady mix of expensive perfume, fat cigars and newly bought clothes accompanied by the musical clinking of glasses and the soft murmur of conversation. The music in the club was relatively quiet but pulsed through Blake as if he had happily stepped inside the stomach of some giant, well-decorated beast. He fought the urge to close his eyes and focussed on looking for Phoenix rather than paying attention to the black walls and low ceiling. He weaved his way through the crowd, looking at faces only. From behind the bar, a barman who was aging towards suave rather than worn watched him with a knowing expression.
It was too hot in the crush of bodies and Blake had to retreat to a corner mid-search and shrug out of his worn leather jacket. It was at this point he realised that for the first time in years he seemed to fit in with this crowd. He hadn’t known you could get so much leather in one room, for a start. Or studs and chains. Or fishnet.
“How long have you been working here?”
Blake jumped as a hand with violent purple talons landed on his shoulder. He spun to see a woman in what appeared to be a series of cunningly wound leather straps and not much else eyeing him hungrily.
“Lady, do I look like I work here?” he asked, slightly disturbed by the whole situation. No one should be dressed like this while wearing that sort of perfume.
“Definitely,” she purred, taking a step towards him and forcing him further back into the corner.
“It looks good on you, too. Were you hired for tonight? Where do you usually work?”
“I’m afraid that one’s mine, Diana.”
Emerging from behind the woman like a self-satisfied sun, Blake had to stare at the redhead for a few moments before believing what he could see. Phoenix was dressed in a white tank top, complete with aesthetically placed rips and worn over a black netted shirt that clung to his upper arms like a spider-web. His jeans were worn and ripped and his belt a little too studded to be safe to wear in company. A dogtag hung on a pewter chain around his neck and his hair had been sprayed to stick up at strange angles like some cartoon character. Black silk ribbons wound around his lower arms. Blake wasn’t sure whether he felt privileged or guilty to know what they were hiding. Strangest of all, the redhead appeared to be wearing earrings, two black studs in each lobe.
“You weren’t wearing that when you left the house,” Blake managed at length, surprised when the herd of women that seemed to be following Phoenix all turned to glare at him through kohl-lined eyes.
“Nope,” the redhead grinned. “It’s a themed night. Double-pay and all that jazz which means I don’t lose much for taking the weekend off.” He glanced around, crimson eyes scanning the buzzing crowd with interest. “I forgot how busy it gets here on Fridays.”
“No shit,” Blake replied, backing further into the corner as more women appeared from within the crush, drawn towards Phoenix like glittering moths to a particularly energetic flame. “You ready to go or what?”
The emotional temperature dropped and Blake found himself the subject of at least a dozen inquisitive stares. The woman who had approached him before was staring the hardest, even tilting her head to one side. He could practically see calculations whirring away above her head. Blake shifted his attention back to Phoenix with an expression that clearly asked the redhead what the hell he had been telling the women.
“You’re American,” the purple nailed woman stated, taking a step towards Phoenix and curling her claws into his upper arm. “Why are you here?”
“We’re going away for a few days,” Phoenix supplied. “So I’ll see you girls on Monday. Play nice while I’m gone, okay?”
Blake visibly cringed as the women broke into peals of drunken laughter and hands seemed to reach out of thin air to run over Phoenix’s skin. The redhead had been right, all those months ago. Places like this set Blake on edge.
“I’ve gotta go change,” Phoenix said, shaking himself free with difficulty and reaching for Blake’s wrist. Sidestepping this, Blake shrugged.
“Sure. Lead the way.”
Phoenix turned and began threading his way through the crowd with apparent ease, too buoyed up with egotism to make sure Blake was following. The leech managed two steps before he was pulled back and an unhappy voice hissed into his ear.
“Who are you? How come you get to go away with our Phoenix? We were told he wasn’t for sale...”
“For sale? Fuckin’ hell, what’s wrong with this place?” Blake stepped away, calling over his shoulder, “I’m his flatmate. Deal with it.”
He could hear high-pitched speculation until he reached the door that Phoenix was holding open for him.
“Wipe that smirk off your face, hotshot, and get changed.”
Blake leant against a wall and tried not to touch anything while Phoenix changed into something less likely to get them attacked. The room looked as if an alternative-fashion-bomb had exploded in the recent past. Feeling slightly threatened in his plain blue shirt and faded black jeans, Blake didn’t want to catch anything.
“Don’t look so offended,” Phoenix said, pulling the shirts over his head in one movement and tossing them to the floor. “They were only complimenting you.”
“Hah.”
“Your boots fit right in, too. They’re better than mine, actually.”
“Shut it and get dressed or we’ll miss the bus.”
“Megabus.”
“Same fuckin’ difference. Get on with it.”
Blake stared stubbornly into a corner and listened to the redhead getting dressed, taking the sound of a travel bag being zipped closed as the signal for safety. Looking slightly more casual now in a red t-shirt and black suit jacket, Phoenix would still be the object of attention on the bus. Blake rolled his eyes and anticipated hours of irritation in his immediate future.
“You ready?” he asked, hefting the bag onto his shoulder. Blake pushed himself away from the wall and headed towards the door.
“I’ve been ready all week. Let’s go.”
As they headed back out into the crush there was a flurry of movement towards them. Blake spotted the woman from before at the head of a group that was only lacking pitchforks to earn the title of ‘mob’ and raised his eyebrows.
“You’ve gotta be kiddin’ me.”
“This way.”
Phoenix grabbed his wrist and dragged him behind bar. As they rushed along, protected by the classy strip of low lighting and chrome, Blake felt cheated. He’d always wanted to be in an action-movie. The elements of romantic comedy that had crept into his life were not appreciated.
He walked into Phoenix as the redhead stopped abruptly, his stream of curses cut off as he peered around to see the barman from before blocking the way. His fingers were wrapped around Phoenix’s right forearm. Phoenix didn’t have to wince for Blake to know what the barman was holding; his expression was too serious for a simple reprimand.
“Have a good weekend, kids,” the barman said in a low voice.
“Shall do, Andre,” Phoenix said with a half-smile. “See you on Monday, yeah? If you could just-“
“And take care,” the man continued, increasing the pressure on Phoenix’s arm and turning his eyes towards Blake with a meaningful nod. “I don’t want to turn on the news sometime next week and see you all pale on the screen. Games like that are dangerous.”
He released Phoenix’s arm but neither moved for a moment, respectively too shocked and angry to speak.
“How the fuck do you-“
“C’mon, babe.”
Blake was pulled past before he could say anything else and was soon out in the cool air, cheeks flushed with indignation. He wrenched himself free from the hand on his wrist and began striding down the road, jacket flung over one shoulder.
“What kind of sick people do you work with, Phoe?”
“Andre’s a good guy,” the redhead protested. “I’m sure he didn’t mean any harm.”
“Sure, sure, so how the hell did he know?”
“Well, I haven’t been exactly subtle about my-“
“Pale he said. Like he knew. Did you tell him?”
“Tell him what?”
“What we’ve been doing.”
“He guessed that.”
“I meant what I’ve been doing. Unless he’s a horror-nut he wouldn’t think of guessing that.”
Phoenix went quiet and Blake had to glance over his shoulder to make sure he was still being followed.
“Would he?” Blake asked. “Are you part of some fucked up subculture that gets off on pain and bloodplay, you sick bastard?”
“Not anymore.”
“What?”
“Let’s talk about Andre later, okay? If we miss the bus we’re stuck eating sweetcorn out of cans for the whole weekend.”
Phoenix swept past Blake, the leech’s footsteps having slowed in surprise, and grabbed at the wrist he had been holding before. Blake followed him the rest of the way to the bus station like a bad-tempered balloon.
Oh, for non-UK people: Megabus is a super cheap bus service that goes all over ze country. Budget travel ftw. XD
It started with vodka. It always started with vodka, one way or another. This time it started in the pub, even though Blake was working. It wasn’t long before the loud insults thrown across the bar at one another started to distract the customers, other than Mr Moseby who was still asking ‘where the devil William’s young lady went’. As the argument went down the inevitable path that ended with the redhead making not-so-subtle references to the events of the night previous, a night the week before and most nights in between the customers averted their eyes and tried to deny the fact that they were all giving in to the suggestion and picturing what was being hinted at. The sudden absence of conversation only served to make the bartender angrier and it was less than ten minutes before the first punch was thrown.
There was no jukebox to break anymore but they managed to break three glasses, one ashtray and the leg of one barstool before Terry ordered them outside. Once in the alleyway outside, the damages ran to include two shirts, one tie and a long red ribbon which was this week wrapped around Phoenix’s upper arm. From there, the evening dissolved into a mess of kisses and curses that tasted of vodka and were coloured with blood. When the haze finally began to clear, the digital readout on the alarm clock Phoenix had been forced to buy read three-fifteen in the morning. Blake was lying the wrong way up on the bed, feet pressed against the headboard and arms spread wide each side of him. Phoenix stood in front of the mirror, pressing a damp cloth against the wound that had been reopened in his arm.
They hadn’t said a coherent sentence to one another since they had left the pub. There was no real need for conversation. It was just another Friday night, one in a long series of Fridays that followed exactly the same routine. Phoenix would follow Blake to work in order to drink, flirt with the customers and pester the leech about the rent that was due the next morning, smiling all the while as if he didn’t know exactly how they were going to end up.
“You okay?” Phoenix asked, turning away from the mirror and heading towards the light-switch which they had miraculously found on their way in.
“Shh,” The leech didn’t even have the energy to raise a finger his lips.
Phoenix turned the light off and wandered back towards the bed. He didn’t mind being dismissed. He understood, in a way. Saturday mornings, the hours between one and four, were both the most chaotic and relaxing of his week. When it got to this point, they would usually lapse into satisfied silence and fall asleep after the necessary scuffle of Blake insisting he sleep on his side of the bed so that people didn’t get the wrong idea. Who the people were and how they wouldn’t have already got not the wrong but the incredibly right idea, Phoenix didn’t know.
“Hey,” Blake said the second he felt Phoenix climbing back onto the bed. “What’re you doin’?”
“Going to sleep?”
“Right. Have fun with that.”
Phoenix caught a flash of yellow eyes in the darkness as the leech pulled himself into a sitting position and nearly fell off of the bed. Grumbling to himself haphazardly, Blake stumbled out of the room.
“It’s too early to be sober,” he called over his shoulder as he started down the hallway. “Fix it, will you Phoe?
“It’s not my fault you sober up so quickly.” Phoenix pulled himself up with a sigh and began following the leech back into the living room.
“Have we got anythin’ else in?”
“Nothing at all.”
“No drugs or anythin’ that might do the job?”
“Of course not.”
“What kind of sex-mad escort doesn’t do drugs?”
“This one, now deal with it.”
“Not even any painkillers?”
“Give it up.”
Blake muttered to himself about what he saw as a serious flaw in Phoenix’s character until he reached the balcony, pulling open the doors with a rush of warm summer air. Phoenix left him to stare at the slowly brightening sky as if trying to stop the sun from rising through the power of bad temper alone, using the time to put the living room back into some sort of order. He flung himself on the sofa once he had shuffled things around enough to make an obvious difference.
“Is your arm okay?”
The question was spoken in such an off-hand tone that it took Phoenix a moment to realise it was a sort of apology. He should have been expecting it; if it The redhead glanced down at the open wound and shrugged.
“It should probably be bandaged or something before I go to sleep but it’s no big deal. Are you okay?”
Blake laughed, something Phoenix had come to realise was one of the leech’s nervous habits. He touched fingers to his neck and then his arms, wincing a little as he encountered bruises and cuts. It would be another few hours before they would disappear but the pain was already fading.
“Fine,” he lied.
“But I-“
“I told you not to go easy on me, right?”
“Actually, I think your exact words were-“
“The point is that I’ll heal so stop worrying about it, okay?”
Silence. Blake hadn’t really been expecting an answer and he didn’t bother turning around for one. The sky peeking between the buildings across the road was growing purple which melted into a bright pink nearer to the ground. Blake squinted into the impending sunrise, gripping the balustrade until his knuckles turned white. His skin began tingling but he didn’t turn away, expression grim as if he was determined to stare down the last sunrise on earth.
“You should go to sleep.”
Phoenix’s voice was gentle and Blake smiled regardless of the way the skin of his lips was starting to chap.
“If you’re tired go to bed, moron.”
“Not without you.”
Something grabbed a hold of Blake’s chest from the inside and pulled his heart and lungs together. That had been happening a lot lately. He didn’t want to know why it kept happening or why he understood exactly what Phoenix was saying, that the bed just felt too damn large when there was only one person lying in it.
“Don’t be stupid,” he muttered, ready to use the pain in his lips as an excuse for not smiling. “It’s not like we’re a pair of fucking newlyweds, we’re not joined at the hip. All that coupley shit makes my skin crawl.”
A hand touched his elbow and he jolted away. He hadn’t heard Phoenix move. The redhead glanced at the sky and smiled in apology, guessing at least one of the reasons Blake had shied away from his touch. The clouds were dyed red now and under this threatening light of dawn Blake’s hair was jet black, his skin too pale. In contrast, Phoenix was entirely in his element, skin seeming to glow with warmth and hair brighter than Blake had been imagining. The leech felt as if he had strayed from the monochrome world of fifties film into high-definition. He stepped away from Phoenix as the redhead smiled in a way that was far too tender.
“Do you want to be?” he asked quietly.
“What, joined at the hip? I like my body how it is, thanks.”
“You know what I meant.”
“I’m ‘fraid not.”
Phoenix leant forward on the railing and cast Blake a sideways glance. The leech felt his skin starting to burn and prayed it was only the sun.
“Do you want to be in a relationship?” the redhead asked.
“I’ve never really thou-“
“With me,” Phoenix interrupted. As soon as he had made it clear, he turned his eyes towards the distant reaching fingers of the sun. “And don’t just call me an idiot and walk away. I’m not joking, for once.”
Blake said nothing, managing only to blink and watch the man on the balcony as if he had never laid eyes on him before.
“This is a onetime offer,” Phoenix continued. “I’ve never been in an actual relationship before so I’ve got no idea how it works but I’m pretty sure we already tick most of the boxes. I’ve been thinking about it and I’m willing to give it a try.”
“Wouldn’t that be impossible for you?” Blake asked, not recognising his own voice. “You told me before that you couldn’t even imagine having to be tied to one person alone. How the hell would you manage it?”
Phoenix shrugged. “I guess we’d find out, wouldn’t we?”
Blake could feel that the skin on his upper arms and cheeks were about to start peeling. If this had been said while still lying in bed or even if Phoenix had been smiling, it would have been easier for Blake to release a torrent of insults and ignore the whole thing. As it was, he stood still, eyes fixed on the incubus as if he was waiting for the man to admit it was all a joke.
“So?” Phoenix half-turned towards the leech, lips stretched in a nervous smile. “Do you want to?”
“It’s a onetime offer, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Will you keep asking if I don’t say yes?”
“Of course not.”
Blake looked towards the sky for a long minute until his eyes started to water and he was forced to turn away.
“Then no,” he said, heading back inside.
“Do you mind me asking why?”
The leech paused, one foot inside the living room and the other still on the balcony.
“It’s fine like this, isn’t it?” he asked quietly.
Phoenix didn’t reply. Blake waved vaguely over his shoulder and went back inside, shutting the door to the hall against the light. On the balcony, Phoenix’s smile gradually faded away. He tapped his fingers against the railing for a few moments before falling still. He watched the sun rising alone, greeting the day with a whisper.
“We’ll see.”
It was always the blondes. No matter where they went, no matter what the individuals other attributes were and regardless of their attitude towards Phoenix, the redhead zeroed in on blondes like a heat-seeking missile.
Blake watched as the idiot sashayed over to an unsuspecting girl in a blue summer dress and ordered himself another drink.
When Terry had given him Friday nights off, Blake hadn’t been expecting them to be so tedious. The free time wasn’t a reward or a favour but had been given in an effort to save money, Terry’s logic being that if Blake was going to let his upstart redhead buddy come into the bar every Friday and subsequently wreck the place, they could damn well go and do it somewhere else. This meant that they had the evening free to go out and do whatever the hell they wanted. Blake was being careful not to tell Terry that they hadn’t broken so much as an ashtray since.
Only a few metres behind him, Phoenix was watching as the blonde girl surrendered to his more than natural charm, for all appearances a stranger to everyone else in the building. Blake drained his glass as quickly as he could and ordered another, leaning heavily on the bar. It was always like this, too. They hadn’t broken anything recently because it was easy not to fight when you weren’t actually speaking to the other person. Although they always went home together, Blake wasn’t an idiot and could see the numbers scrawled on scraps of paper in eyeliner. Phoenix was good at avoiding telltale signs like marks on his skin or creased clothes but Blake knew exactly what the guy was up to while the leech was at work. He was sure that Phoenix suspected he had been busy at night too, probably envisioning pale girls in alleyways and backrooms. He’d be wrong, of course. The leech had just found a more complicated route home.
A peal of laughter rippled through the air and Blake glared at one of the moth-eaten paintings on the wall until he felt better. The pub was a complete mess and in the two months they had been coming here it hadn’t risen in his affections at all. It was named ‘The Pit,’ having apparently had a longer name that had dropped off of the sign a long time ago and never been replaced. Phoenix thought it was hilarious. Blake felt a twinge of irritation each time he saw the sign. Whether this was because of the sign or because of his expectations of the evening he was unsure.
Not that it mattered, he reflected, setting his glass down a little too loudly. He had no grounds on which to feel angry. It didn’t technically compromise their agreement since he wasn’t denying Blake anything, not that the leech would ever explicitly ask. Phoenix had even invited him over to chat to one of the impending victims before but Blake had refused instantly. Whatever twisted fantasy the redhead was entertaining, it could stay in his head.
“Excuse me.”
Blake shifted aside reflexively as someone squeezed past him to order a drink. It would never cease to amaze him that such a scummy pub was so full by eleven at night and he thought fondly of his position behind the bar back at work where he could wander around without fear of bumping into someone looking for a good time. He stared into his glass and listened to the man beside him order a drink and engage the barman in idle chatter. He was enquiring about the barman’s wife it seemed. From the monosyllabic responses, Blake was willing to bet the idiot had just stepped on a landmine.
He shot the man a surreptitious glance and narrowed his eyes.
Blonde. Typical. The man was tall and lithe, dressed in clothes far too smart for a dive like The Pit. His pale hair hung a little too neatly over what Blake thought of as European cheekbones. When he turned as if feeling Blake’s irritated staring the leech found himself glaring into a pair of bright green eyes that were a little too sharp. The stranger continued talking to the barman while maintaining eye-contact with Blake, his voice a little like Phoenix’s but lighter somehow and carrying a hint of an accent Blake couldn’t place.
There was something strange about the man. Blake knew this particular kind of strange and would be able to name it just as soon as he got home and calmed down. It was a dangerous kind of strange, that he knew. He’d have to grab Phoenix and leave.
“Making friends, babe?”
Blake jumped as a heavy hand landed on his shoulder. He turned quickly, almost swinging himself off of the barstool in the process, to see the blonde girl leaving with her friends and Phoenix eyeing the green eyed man with his usual eternal enthusiasm.
“No,” Blake said quickly, stumbling to his feet. “He’s not talkin’ to me. Can we-“
“It’s a shame,” Phoenix interrupted, grinning as the blonde man turned his attention away from Blake with only a fraction of hesitation.
“My apologies,” the man replied, leaning on the bar with one elbow and looking far too relaxed.
“I’ve been meaning to talk to you both for weeks but never seem to have the time.”
Ignoring Blake’s glance of warning, Phoenix smirked.
“In that case, I’m disappointed. Want me to get your drink?” the redhead asked, gesturing at the newly filled glass as the barman put it down. “What’s your name, babe?”
Seemingly unfazed by Phoenix’s unsubtle advances, the stranger only smiled and transferred his sharp gaze back to Blake. The leech bristled and raised an eyebrow, fingers curling around his empty glass and squeezing. It felt weird being watched by the man, as if he could see right into Blake’s brain and then out the other side. The worst part was that it felt like he could do this and continue smiling as if it was only natural.
“Problem?” Blake asked when the silence threatened to snap his nerves.
“I know you have,” the stranger said, straightening up and turning away from the bar. “Another time perhaps, boys. It looks like it’s time for you to go home.”
“Slick,” Blake hissed, for once turning with Phoenix to watch the man walk away. “Very fucking slick.”
“That’s one word for it,” Phoenix murmured. He was going to say more but stopped himself as he caught Blake’s expression of distaste. The leech was staring at the floor, hand still holding his glass tightly. Phoenix squeezed his shoulder and forced his voice into a more casual tone.
“Something wrong, Blake?”
The air around the leech seemed to cool as Phoenix stopped trying to impress people. Now the atmosphere was more relaxed, the leech sighed and licked his lips. He said nothing. Phoenix slipped onto the barstool next to him and reached out with one hand which Blake slapped away.
“Did you know him?” Phoenix asked. “Randomers don’t usually piss you off this quickly.”
“Never seen him before,” Blake said, voice low. “But I don’t like him. Something was off about the way he was looking at me.”
“Well, maybe it’s because you’re hot.”
“Fuck off. I don’t expect you to understand.”
Blake stood suddenly, grabbing his jacket and setting off towards the door. By the time Phoenix had found his jacket and followed him outside, the leech was already rounding the corner.
Three in the morning. They’d been lying in bed for two hours now, having run out of conversation topics that wouldn’t start a fight. Phoenix had attempted sleep but was finding it impossible, seeing images of what he should be doing every time he closed his eyes. Beside him, lying as close to the edge of the bed as possible, Blake was pretending to be asleep.
Phoenix wanted to touch him. More than that, he wanted to pull the leech to him and hold him until he talked about whatever the hell was making him angry. Once he knew what that was, he was ready to do whatever was necessary to make things better again. If this meant conversation rather than kisses then so be it. The tension had been building for weeks and it was becoming clear that sex wasn’t solving anything which wasn’t good since Phoenix had no idea how else he was meant to solve problems.
The redhead turned onto his side and stared at the back of Blake’s head. It was dark in the bedroom but the red light from the digital alarm clock was bright enough for Phoenix to see that the leech was lying perfectly still, too tense to even be daydreaming let alone sleeping.
“I’ve noticed,” Phoenix said suddenly and wasn’t surprised when Blake’s reply was instantaneous.
“Noticed what?”
“You’re angry at me.”
“No shit.”
“Why? What have I done?”
Refusing to turn over, Blake shrugged. “Who knows? Just forget about it.”
“Is it because of the girls?”
Phoenix winced as the leech laughed loudly, turning onto his friend and muffling his voice with the cushion.
“It is, isn’t it?” Phoenix insisted.
“No.”
“I won’t think any less of-“
“Not everything is about you, Phoe. Anyway, even if I was pissed off about them, it has nothing to do with this.”
“’This’ what?”
“This. Him. The idiot you decided was worth chatting up earlier.”
“So it’s about the guys, not the girls.”
Blake groaned and rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling with bright and angry eyes.
“I should have known you’d miss the point.”
“I can’t help it,” Phoenix began explaining, confessional tone making Blake cringe. The leech fell silent and let him talk. “I really can’t. I’ve always been like this.”
“I never asked you to act any differently.”
“No you didn’t. Maybe you should have.”
“I don’t care,” Blake lied.
Phoenix flung one arm out to cover the distance between them, fingers lightly brushing against Blake’s side. He opened his mouth to speak but couldn’t think of an appropriate way to express himself. It was different for Blake, as far as Phoenix could tell. As long as he got blood it didn’t seem to matter who it was from and would always have the same effect. Routine was healthy for him. For Phoenix, a routine was suffocating. Boring. Almost painful.
Work helped a little. The managers had taken to organising themed days and so Phoenix had amused himself by putting together elaborate outfits and playing parts that were as far from his usual personality as possible. Diana was still following him around but she’d been joined by a veritable fanclub, much to Andre’s amusement. He could come home after a day like that and relax into the routine they’d created without feeling as if he was missing out on anything else but it still wasn’t enough.
He thought about explaining this to Blake. Somehow, he felt the guy would understand. But understanding wasn’t everything.
“Let’s go somewhere,” he said suddenly. “Next weekend.”
Blake snorted with laughter. “How romantic.”
“Let’s just do it, okay? I’ll sort it out.”
“Whatever. Can I sleep now?”
“Yeah. Night, babe.”
Silence filled the room. After five minutes, Blake turned away again, drawing the duvet up over his head. Phoenix saw the alarm clock display click over to five in the morning before he closed his eyes. Instead of the almost-fantasises from before, he stared back into a pair of unfamiliar green eyes until he fell asleep.
La Gouttiére de Velours.
The sign above the door was offensively elaborate, all gold filigree and swirls. Blake stood on the other side of the street with a scowl, ignoring the suspicious looks the doorman was shooting his way. The leech glanced at the scrap of paper that had been left on his pillow that morning as if it could have changed in the last thirty seconds. It hadn’t. This was definitely the right address.
“French,” he muttered as he crossed the road, dodging the traffic in the same irritated way of anyone living in London. “It had to be French, didn’t it.”
As far as Blake was concerned, French was not really a language but a way for English-speakers to make things sound more interesting. Deciding it probably meant something unspeakable, Blake wandered up to the barman as Phoenix had instructed, thrusting the scrap of paper at the man when asked if he was on the guest list.
“You’re with Phoenix?” the man asked, accent reminiscent of shoe-polish and tea parties. “Phoenix Everard?”
Blake blinked and shrugged. “I guess. Can I go in now, Jeeves?”
He pushed past the man before he had a chance to object and listened to him muttering until he reached the bottom of a dark flight of stairs which ended abruptly with a pair of elegant double doors. Blake paused and took a deep breath. All he had to do was go in, find the idiot and leave again. He wasn’t sure why he was even here since he knew his way to King’s Cross and could have met Phoenix at the bus station but the redhead had insisted they meet here. Feeling a little patronised and hoping he didn’t find out what Phoenix had told the doorman about him, Blake pushed open the doors and stepped inside.
The room was hazy with activity, some heady mix of expensive perfume, fat cigars and newly bought clothes accompanied by the musical clinking of glasses and the soft murmur of conversation. The music in the club was relatively quiet but pulsed through Blake as if he had happily stepped inside the stomach of some giant, well-decorated beast. He fought the urge to close his eyes and focussed on looking for Phoenix rather than paying attention to the black walls and low ceiling. He weaved his way through the crowd, looking at faces only. From behind the bar, a barman who was aging towards suave rather than worn watched him with a knowing expression.
It was too hot in the crush of bodies and Blake had to retreat to a corner mid-search and shrug out of his worn leather jacket. It was at this point he realised that for the first time in years he seemed to fit in with this crowd. He hadn’t known you could get so much leather in one room, for a start. Or studs and chains. Or fishnet.
“How long have you been working here?”
Blake jumped as a hand with violent purple talons landed on his shoulder. He spun to see a woman in what appeared to be a series of cunningly wound leather straps and not much else eyeing him hungrily.
“Lady, do I look like I work here?” he asked, slightly disturbed by the whole situation. No one should be dressed like this while wearing that sort of perfume.
“Definitely,” she purred, taking a step towards him and forcing him further back into the corner.
“It looks good on you, too. Were you hired for tonight? Where do you usually work?”
“I’m afraid that one’s mine, Diana.”
Emerging from behind the woman like a self-satisfied sun, Blake had to stare at the redhead for a few moments before believing what he could see. Phoenix was dressed in a white tank top, complete with aesthetically placed rips and worn over a black netted shirt that clung to his upper arms like a spider-web. His jeans were worn and ripped and his belt a little too studded to be safe to wear in company. A dogtag hung on a pewter chain around his neck and his hair had been sprayed to stick up at strange angles like some cartoon character. Black silk ribbons wound around his lower arms. Blake wasn’t sure whether he felt privileged or guilty to know what they were hiding. Strangest of all, the redhead appeared to be wearing earrings, two black studs in each lobe.
“You weren’t wearing that when you left the house,” Blake managed at length, surprised when the herd of women that seemed to be following Phoenix all turned to glare at him through kohl-lined eyes.
“Nope,” the redhead grinned. “It’s a themed night. Double-pay and all that jazz which means I don’t lose much for taking the weekend off.” He glanced around, crimson eyes scanning the buzzing crowd with interest. “I forgot how busy it gets here on Fridays.”
“No shit,” Blake replied, backing further into the corner as more women appeared from within the crush, drawn towards Phoenix like glittering moths to a particularly energetic flame. “You ready to go or what?”
The emotional temperature dropped and Blake found himself the subject of at least a dozen inquisitive stares. The woman who had approached him before was staring the hardest, even tilting her head to one side. He could practically see calculations whirring away above her head. Blake shifted his attention back to Phoenix with an expression that clearly asked the redhead what the hell he had been telling the women.
“You’re American,” the purple nailed woman stated, taking a step towards Phoenix and curling her claws into his upper arm. “Why are you here?”
“We’re going away for a few days,” Phoenix supplied. “So I’ll see you girls on Monday. Play nice while I’m gone, okay?”
Blake visibly cringed as the women broke into peals of drunken laughter and hands seemed to reach out of thin air to run over Phoenix’s skin. The redhead had been right, all those months ago. Places like this set Blake on edge.
“I’ve gotta go change,” Phoenix said, shaking himself free with difficulty and reaching for Blake’s wrist. Sidestepping this, Blake shrugged.
“Sure. Lead the way.”
Phoenix turned and began threading his way through the crowd with apparent ease, too buoyed up with egotism to make sure Blake was following. The leech managed two steps before he was pulled back and an unhappy voice hissed into his ear.
“Who are you? How come you get to go away with our Phoenix? We were told he wasn’t for sale...”
“For sale? Fuckin’ hell, what’s wrong with this place?” Blake stepped away, calling over his shoulder, “I’m his flatmate. Deal with it.”
He could hear high-pitched speculation until he reached the door that Phoenix was holding open for him.
“Wipe that smirk off your face, hotshot, and get changed.”
Blake leant against a wall and tried not to touch anything while Phoenix changed into something less likely to get them attacked. The room looked as if an alternative-fashion-bomb had exploded in the recent past. Feeling slightly threatened in his plain blue shirt and faded black jeans, Blake didn’t want to catch anything.
“Don’t look so offended,” Phoenix said, pulling the shirts over his head in one movement and tossing them to the floor. “They were only complimenting you.”
“Hah.”
“Your boots fit right in, too. They’re better than mine, actually.”
“Shut it and get dressed or we’ll miss the bus.”
“Megabus.”
“Same fuckin’ difference. Get on with it.”
Blake stared stubbornly into a corner and listened to the redhead getting dressed, taking the sound of a travel bag being zipped closed as the signal for safety. Looking slightly more casual now in a red t-shirt and black suit jacket, Phoenix would still be the object of attention on the bus. Blake rolled his eyes and anticipated hours of irritation in his immediate future.
“You ready?” he asked, hefting the bag onto his shoulder. Blake pushed himself away from the wall and headed towards the door.
“I’ve been ready all week. Let’s go.”
As they headed back out into the crush there was a flurry of movement towards them. Blake spotted the woman from before at the head of a group that was only lacking pitchforks to earn the title of ‘mob’ and raised his eyebrows.
“You’ve gotta be kiddin’ me.”
“This way.”
Phoenix grabbed his wrist and dragged him behind bar. As they rushed along, protected by the classy strip of low lighting and chrome, Blake felt cheated. He’d always wanted to be in an action-movie. The elements of romantic comedy that had crept into his life were not appreciated.
He walked into Phoenix as the redhead stopped abruptly, his stream of curses cut off as he peered around to see the barman from before blocking the way. His fingers were wrapped around Phoenix’s right forearm. Phoenix didn’t have to wince for Blake to know what the barman was holding; his expression was too serious for a simple reprimand.
“Have a good weekend, kids,” the barman said in a low voice.
“Shall do, Andre,” Phoenix said with a half-smile. “See you on Monday, yeah? If you could just-“
“And take care,” the man continued, increasing the pressure on Phoenix’s arm and turning his eyes towards Blake with a meaningful nod. “I don’t want to turn on the news sometime next week and see you all pale on the screen. Games like that are dangerous.”
He released Phoenix’s arm but neither moved for a moment, respectively too shocked and angry to speak.
“How the fuck do you-“
“C’mon, babe.”
Blake was pulled past before he could say anything else and was soon out in the cool air, cheeks flushed with indignation. He wrenched himself free from the hand on his wrist and began striding down the road, jacket flung over one shoulder.
“What kind of sick people do you work with, Phoe?”
“Andre’s a good guy,” the redhead protested. “I’m sure he didn’t mean any harm.”
“Sure, sure, so how the hell did he know?”
“Well, I haven’t been exactly subtle about my-“
“Pale he said. Like he knew. Did you tell him?”
“Tell him what?”
“What we’ve been doing.”
“He guessed that.”
“I meant what I’ve been doing. Unless he’s a horror-nut he wouldn’t think of guessing that.”
Phoenix went quiet and Blake had to glance over his shoulder to make sure he was still being followed.
“Would he?” Blake asked. “Are you part of some fucked up subculture that gets off on pain and bloodplay, you sick bastard?”
“Not anymore.”
“What?”
“Let’s talk about Andre later, okay? If we miss the bus we’re stuck eating sweetcorn out of cans for the whole weekend.”
Phoenix swept past Blake, the leech’s footsteps having slowed in surprise, and grabbed at the wrist he had been holding before. Blake followed him the rest of the way to the bus station like a bad-tempered balloon.