[PRP] Ghosts of the Past (Micky and Pretty Boy)

[Kinu]

The door slid shut as he pressed the lobby button, watching it light up, fingers slipping away so he could press his shoulders against the cold steel of the elevator wall with his arms crossed casually over his chest. Pretty Boy tilted his head back and closed his eyes, foot tapping to some rhythm running its course through his subconscious. As the elevator started its descent toward the lobby the weight of the encounter began to finally lift. He'd done it. With each floor that passed the tension grew lighter and lighter until, finally, it subsided completely. The Sin Bin was now an Elysium establishment. It was time to ******** celebrate.

Those beautiful, mismatched eyes slid open again, scrutinizing every detail of the ceiling as he mulled over what he wanted to do after he got his a** back to Hemlock. Maybe he could get the band together, they could tear s**t up tonight, this would be good news for them too so the energy was bound to be ******** wild. If the club thrived their wallets thrived and, ultimately, their music thrived. It really was a win for the longevity of the business in the end, even if he had to strike a deal with the Camarilla to do it. He rolled his shoulders back a couple of times, followed by his neck, trying to rid himself of the residual built-up tension. Even with the actual stress of the encounter gone he felt wound up, he needed to blow off some steam. What he wouldn’t give for a smoke, or a drink, or a hot piece of a**. Maybe all three.

A quiet, almost dusky laugh sliced through the silence. When was the last time he'd really relaxed? He couldn't remember. Probably before the remodel of the club began if he stopped to think about it. He'd been knee-deep in organizing and orchestrating for months, right under the noses of the mortal residents and patrons of Hemlocks party district. A smirk lifted one corner of his lips; he'd managed it all beautifully too. Luckily the club was well hidden, it looked like just another derelict building lodged down a long side street off from the main thoroughfare. Easy enough to overlook, which many did. Almost everyone did in fact, that was the beauty of the location. He'd hired some intimidating-looking Baddies to keep curious patrons away from the alley and had work done when the area was less busy. Though, if it hadn't been for that last snowstorm, he wasn't sure how long he'd have been able to manage without someone growing suspicious. But then the snowstorm last winter had locked everyone down, so he'd just had clanless quickly help him fill the club with everything they’d needed to finish the project. The execution was flawless. The club was complete.

Pretty Boy gently knocked his head against the wall once as realization hit him. s**t. They had auditions coming up, he needed to finish the prep on those. The band was his last big project to complete, and he’d worked his a** off over time to scrounge up the talent he’d found already. Luckily, Kage’s little black book had paid off and he thanked his lucky stars the Baddie was so well connected. It had saved him a s**t load of time; he hated scouting talent. Puffing his hair out of his eyes his expression relaxed, ******** it. He could deal with it later. He deserved a night out after all the work, especially after the goddamn politics, if there was anything he hated more than scouting talent it was politics. His arms reached for the space above his head, claws curling toward the ceiling while one hand slid down over the arm opposite in a delicious stretch. The mesh shirt he was wearing glided up and over his toned stomach, not that this was some big reveal, it wasn’t exactly concealing anything, to begin with. As the bell dinged to alert him that he’d reached the Lobby just his gaze fell forward, head still leaning back into the wall, mid-stretch. There wasn’t a lot that caught Pretty Boy off guard, but what that mismatched gaze settled on as those doors opened sure as s**t did. <********.” The word, spoken quietly and in a tone of disbelief, was out before he had a chance to stop it.

Seussi

 

[Seussi]

It had been a long...what? One week? Two weeks? Micky had no way of knowing. The Prince had sent him off on a task, and it had taken him quite a long time to complete it, though this time it wasn't from lack of trying. He had gotten lost in that damned apartment complex (and complex was the right word for it!) for days. He had then gotten lost trying to get back out of the building for even more days. Of course, he probably could have just asked for directions or for somebody to escort him out, but he hadn't thought of that before he decided to wander off, and the puppies had been less than helpful.

In fact, he was confident that the one who called himself Odin had gotten him even more lost on purpose. The guy had seen miffed at him for some reason after spending several awkward moments sniffing at the pale Brujah.

Anyways, he was free now, and he needed to get back up to see the Prince, give her his report, and see if she had any other new jobs for him. He hoped that she didn't, or would be able to use the Pound Puppies (his newly acquired Hounds) to do it. He was being pressured from higher up in his clan to focus on his other responsibilities as an Elder, and his Sheriff duties were cutting into that. He was always pulled in one direction or another, never given a moment's respite. Perhaps if Sanguine spent a little more time focused on bringing fresh blood into the clan instead of on the twins? He'd need to sit down to talk with the other Elder soon. Ask him nicely, turn on the charm a little, and then maybe, maybe, Micky could actually relax for a while.

Since his little adventure through the puppies' apartments had taken such a long time, it had also taken its toll on the vampire's appetite. The Brujah had first needed a bite to eat before making his way to the Prince's high rise, though that was luckily pretty easy for him to accomplish. he just needed to dial-up his presence, smile seductively, slip into the shadows of an alleyway, and nine times out of ten, he would find himself promptly satisfied with some blood staining his lips. Thankfully, at least that part of his unlife was so simple.

Now, full and ready to take on the rest of the night, he made his way through the front lobby with haste, knowing that the Prince would likely be very upset with him for taking so long. Getting to the elevator, he pressed the up button and waited, taking a step back, his hands slipping into his jacket pockets as his lilac gaze lifted to the numbers as they ticked down. It seemed somebody was coming down from the penthouse, and he wondered if it might be the Prince herself. That would be handy. Then he wouldn't have to bother going up there at all. He smiled and waited, and when the doors slid open, he convinced himself that she would be standing there.

But she wasn't, and Micky blinked and then blinked again when his ears caught a familiar voice that familiarly uttered an expletive. Memories hit him like a train, and a confused frown furrowed his brow.

"Pretty Boy?" He said, shifting a little on his feet before a realization dawned, and purple eyes widened.

"When did you start working here?"

Kinu

 

[Kinu]

Pretty Boy’s arms lowered, crossing over his chest as he regarded the Brujah with an indecipherable look, his gaze calm. It was hard to describe exactly what he was feeling, s**t, he didn’t even know. Not weird, he guessed. Mostly just surprised, definitely in need of a smoke now. He hadn’t seen Micky in, what, forever? Yeah, forever sounded about right. Not since he’d left. When the other male said his name, it triggered something inside of him and he felt his guard raise just a little, tempering the emotion that had decided to rear its head. Whatever that was, he wasn’t going there.

The next words out of his mouth however made Pretty Boy laugh quietly under his breath. Holy s**t… he had to be joking. “Does it look like I work here, Micky?” He cocked a brow, smirking, and held his arms out to the sides, exposing his array of piercings and obviously underground club scene attire. “No, I don’t ******** work here. What the hell are you doing here?” Pretty Boy’s voice was smooth, smoky. Like velvet, with just a hint or bite of a growl. He would have left the elevator, but Micky was in the way. So he stood there, staring at him. Maybe he’d get the hint and get out of the way. Then again…

Seussi

 

[Seussi]

The sight of a vampire he had once known well had caught him by surprise. He could not clearly remember the last time he had seen him, though he knew it was sometime after he quit working at the club. They had fought, that much he had a fairly clear recollection of, even if he could not recall what that fight had been about.

And Micky had left. He remembered that part of things. He had gone but...

Pretty Boy hadn't come after him. That thought twisted uncomfortably in his gut as his brain, often slow, tried to process what was happening with more haste than it was used to.

His gaze dropped when Pretty Boy held open his arms, and since his brain was still trying to play catch up, he had no ready answer. He just bit down on his bottom lip and flicked his gaze back up with a helpless look; his brow still furrowed in thought.

"Oh." That was all he could manage. He hadn't moved because his thoughts were still organizing themselves when the elevator door began to slide closed.

Lighting fast, the Brujah's hand whipped out to grab it, his grip so sudden and intense that it actually left an indent in the door's metal.

"s**t." He said, grimacing slightly. That was going to come out of his pay. He released the door, and it slid back open, and he took a step back as a delayed stab of disappointment struck him.

"No?" He said, parroting back the word as he let his arm drop. "Ah, that's too bad. Oh me? I do work here." He said, as his brain finally caught up to the situation, and he let his gaze roam over the other vampire, really taking him in.

"Jeeze, Peebs, you look good. Really good." He said, pushing away odd feelings, pushing away the past that was so long ago it surely no longer mattered. He smiled, and it was a genuine smile, full of his usual charm, flashing just a hint of fang.

"So, what are you doing here?"

Kinu

 

[Kinu]

Pretty Boy was still waiting for him to move, his mismatched eyes taking a moment to really see him now that he didn’t feel like he’d been punched in the face by the past. He looked great, he always looked great though, that was the b***h of it. Sure, things had changed. Something was different. But it was still Micky.

He felt a stab of regret as he remembered the last time he’d seen him. The fight hadn’t been a good one, in fact, it had been pretty ******** brutal. He’d been so pissed that he’d let him go too, his pride slamming a brick wall between them. He’d just let him walk out of the club and out of his life. That was the last time he’d laid eyes on him, until now.

As the doors began to slide shut Pretty Boy jolted forward, ready to stop them, but Micky was faster. The sound of the metal as it met the force of the Brujah’s grip was impressive, reverberating loudly throughout the small space. He’d forgotten how strong he was. More memories he wasn’t digging into right now.

“s**t, Micky.” He breathed, looking at the indent. He’d really forgotten how strong he was. His gaze slid from the door to the male blocking his way, wondering if he’d ever get to leave while the other collected his thoughts. But no sooner had the question formed than he’d stepped aside to make room. “Oh yeah? I didn’t take you for an office jockey.”

Pretty Boy was moving forward to leave the elevator when it came. A nickname he hadn’t heard in a long time. Peebs. <******** PEEBS?! The brightly colored male stopped abruptly in front of him, his expression shifting to a rather flustered frown, trying to process, his gaze not shying away from the other vampire's as he did.

He felt his face flush in response to the pet-name, but his expression was so indignant it was hard to tell if he was embarrassed or pissed off. But if he was pissed it all melted away the second Micky smiled at him. He felt his fists clench at his sides involuntarily, torn between wanting to punch him in the face and kiss him. Both would probably feel about right. “I came to see the Prince about the club. I need a ********’ smoke…”

Seussi

 

[Seussi]

An office jockey. That was funny, and so, the Brujah laughed, and as he laughed, his new, pale fur seemed to glow as his lilac eyes came alight. There was something to the sound as it rang through the air, something strangely magical and otherworldly.

"No, no. Of course not. I'm the Sheriff~" He said it with a wide grin, a point of pride for a poor sap who didn't know better, who didn't realize that the Prince was using him for his ability to charm or beat any situation into submission. With his simple mind, he was easily malleable and took orders well. There was no reason for him to think; she did all that for him.

The smile slipped a little when he saw how Pretty Boy was looking at him. The pale vampire had no idea what he had done, but whatever it was, there was a real potential that it had not been good.

He held up both hands automatically, the universal sign for not wanting to start any trouble, even if he had no idea what he might have done to create it. Ya, he saw those fists at Pretty Boy's sides. Micky was pretty damn good at noticing when someone looked ready to fight if he wasn't good at catching anything else.

Luckily, at the moment, it seemed like the other vampire wasn't actually about to hit him. "The club?" Said Micky, with confusion laced in his voice. "But why?"

At the mention of needing a smoke, the Elder nodded, "Sure, let's go smoke then." He said and inclined his head slightly towards the door that would take them back outside.

Kinu

 

[Kinu]

That ethereal glow, the shimmer in those Lilac eyes, neither were lost on Pretty Boy. Had he shimmered like that before? He couldn't remember. Maybe, but maybe that was just something he'd imagined when s**t had gotten complicated. To PB he looked exactly the way he remembered, save for the whole aura business. The way he laughed was definitely the same and the sound took him right back. He hated to admit that he'd missed it, but he had.

He saw Micky's hands go up and looked away suddenly, breaking eye contact, fists relaxing as he did. s**t. He hadn’t meant to react that strongly; the pet name had just caught him off guard. It was too intimate too soon and opened the door to a lot of memories he’d been shoving down for a long time. It was a point of pride that so little really got to him and for Micky to just flip that on its ******** head immediately, well, he wasn’t prepared.

As the Brujah agreed to a cigarette, he felt a hint of relief overtake him. The promise of a smoke a siren song. Old vices and all that s**t. “Sheriff huh. How’d you get roped into that gig?” He was making conversation; he really didn’t give a ******** about the clans motivations. He knew why they’d chosen him, killer looks aside. If you wanted something handled Micky was a good choice. Even at the club he’d had a knack for settling s**t. One way or the other. Sometimes on accident. Pretty Boy wasn't always entirely certain how he'd managed to pull off some of the s**t he had in the past, however, the point was that he did it.

He headed for the entrance, leading them out as a gust of wind brushed multicolored strands of hair across his gaze once the door opened and he stepped into the night. He found a low cement wall to plop his a** on close by, the clinical light of a streetlamp beating down on them both. “I came to make the club an Elysium spot." PB started, feeling around for his cigarettes. "As much as I’d rather keep the politics out of the club I’m not dumb enough to ignore a smart business move when it presents itself.” Finally finding them, PB snagged one and tossed the pack to Micky. His gaze fell to the cigarette as he started to light his... but the lighter wasn’t working. The wick would spark but produced no flame. He held it up to his ear, unlit cigarette perched between his lips, and shook the thing. ********, out of fluid. “Nice.” He breathed.

Seussi

 

[Seussi]

Luckily, whatever he'd done to upset Pretty Boy had passed. Well, maybe not quite entirely, but the other vampire had seemed to come down to a much more chill level. Micky just wished he'd known what had caused it. Using Pretty Boy's nickname had been such a habit in days long passed that doing so now hadn't even registered with the Brujah. Pretty Boy could have explained it to him, and he still would have needed a moment to realize; he had called him Peebs, hadn't he? And then he might have just laughed it off because wasn't that a funny thing to have done after all this time? So silly. Certainly not something he would have thought would make the other vampire upset...

But Pretty Boy didn't say anything about it, and Micky wasn't so good at going back and analyzing his own words after they'd been said. So, he just smiled, a warm smile, the shine in his gaze brightening when it seemed that Pretty Boy was agreeable to having a quick cigarette together. Just a few minutes, it wouldn't take too long. The Prince could surely wait a little longer. He walked alongside the other vampire as he headed towards the entrance, his hands going back inside his pockets.

His shoulders then lifted and fell in a smooth shrug. "I don't know. The same way I get roped into every gig, I suppose." If that wasn't a non-answer, to end all non-answers. Micky had been getting pulled into clan s**t for years, always agreeable, always ready to do his part, no matter what it entailed. Somehow, over the years, he'd seemed to have built up a reputation. He got s**t done, one way or another, and somehow, even in the direst situations, he always managed to come out on the other side of it, even if just by the skin of his fangs. Some of the higher-ups had taken notice, and now here he was.

But that was too much to say. Micky was a man of much fewer words than all of that. He liked to keep things simple.

Outside, the wind pushed against them, and Micky had to reach up to push some of his hair from his eyes as they moved off to the side, finding a place out of the strong breeze. He watched Pretty Boy move to sit on the ground but stayed standing for now, gaze wandering up and down the street before settling back on the multicoloured-haired vampire near his feet.

"Elysium? No s**t." Micky said, a dulled-over look flashing across his eyes before he shook his head. Ya, he had no idea what that word meant, what it meant to the club, to the Camarilla, to anybody, or even what it meant in general. Not one single clue.

But he did understand some of the other words as he snatched the pack of cigarettes out of the air, the quickness of his reflexes effortless. He tapped a cigarette out for himself and then closed the carton, putting it in his mouth and letting it dangle there for a moment while he searched his inside pockets for a lighter. "Ah, right, politics. I remember you didn't like those much. Or the clans." Or, eventually, me. He thought the words but didn't say them out loud. They had come unbidden, and a brief sadness once again overwhelmed him before he shook it off.

Nope, that was the past, and it did not matter anymore.

Producing a lighter, he lit his cigarette and took a long drag before noticing that Pretty Boy was having difficulty. He crouched in front of him, one arm settling on his knee as he turned his head to the side and exhaled away from Pretty Boy's face. "Here." He said, leaning forward a bit and offering his lighter with his other hand, giving the vampire a crooked grin as he let his shining eyes look into Pretty Boy's split-hued gaze.

He'd always really loved Pretty Boy's eyes. The smile seemed to soften as he stared into them.

Kinu

 

[Kinu]

Yeah, that tracked. Micky had a habit of getting roped into s**t, of letting people throw him into the fray in order to be helpful, all with a smile on his face. If anything about the Brujah getting involved in clan bullshit had specifically pissed Pretty Boy off, it had been that. It threw him into a shaky balance between not being the type to tell someone how to live their unlife and having to keep his mouth shut while he watched someone he cared about be used. Or that's how he'd seen it anyway. Some of the s**t Micky had been through... If he had to guess, he was pretty sure that ended up being what started the fight that had ultimately driven them apart. Neither of them had been able to say what they wanted to say, or at least he hadn't. He didn't know about Micky.

At the time it had been harder for him to understand or relate since he himself was the exact opposite. He still was, but he'd mellowed over the years, now able to understand compromise and how to not work against his own self interest just to prove a point. But back then no one directed his life or choices, and he had historically laughed in the face of anyone who tried. Had it gotten him in deep s**t here and there? You're damn right it had. Had he sometimes made his situation harder for it? Absolutely. But he'd either fought or scraped his way out of every problem, even the ones he created for himself. He'd built his life on his own terms, with no one telling him how high to jump. Sure, it didn't afford him any safety or assurance. The clans could pick him off if they wanted, and no one would bat an eye. But he'd rather die without a collar around his neck. ******** that.

The way Micky had said the word Elysium, and the way his eyes had glazed over when the word left his mouth, PB was pretty sure he didn't have a clue what he was talking about. The vampire chuckled, letting the topic die. He didn't really think either of them were interested in going over the fine print of what had happened in the Prince's office and PB was happy to let the memory of the interaction fade the minute he'd stepped foot out of the building. "As long as they stay out of my business, I don't care what they do. If that's how Kindred want to live, go for it." Was his only response to Micky recalling his distaste for the clans and their politics.

The brightly colored male sighed and tossed the dead lighter off into the bushes, sliding one leg out in front of him while keeping the other arched, an arm draped across it as his gaze slipped to half-lidded defeat. Well, ********. But movement caught his eye and there was Micky, crouched beside him, offering his lighter. He reached across with his unsupported arm and plucked the lighter from Micky's hand, his fingers brushing the other vampires for a second, gaze lifting to meet his. "Thanks." He breathed, the corner of his lip curling in a half-smile, like it was ridiculous he'd been caught with a dud lighter to begin with. But the expression changed to something indecipherable again as he realized he couldn't stop looking at Micky's face, at his eyes. He felt that alien sensation in the pit of his stomach, like he was losing control over that iron grip he kept clamped around his personal emotions. Before he could stop himself the invitation was out of his mouth.

"Micky, do you want to get a drink?" An inward kick immediately followed the question. What the ******** was that? He sounded like a high school kid with a goddamn crush. "I mean, I was about to go for a drink anyway. You should join me." Yeah, great. Smooth as ********. He lit the cigarette, the cherry illuminating his colorful gaze as he took a deep drag and his expression shifted back to neutral. He handed Micky back his lighter, exhaling smoke through his nose, breaking the eye contact in the process as he turned his head. ******** yes. That was definitely better. His gaze focused down the street, on nothing in particular. "No pressure... if you've got important s**t to do." He lifted the cigarette up to his lips, taking another slow drag.

Seussi

 

[Seussi]

Micky's eyes followed the lighter as it was tossed off to the side, blinking once and then again before turning back towards Pretty Boy. "You know there's garbage 5 feet away from us, right?" He said with a crooked grin. "Good thing the Prince didn't hire me to do anything about litterers."

He suddenly frowned, then a hint of confusion filtered into his gaze, and he bit down on his bottom lip as his smile faded. "I'm...you don't think I'm meant to do anything about litterers, do you?" He asked as if Pretty Boy would somehow know the ins and outs of the Sheriff's job, with all the details and fine print. "Because I don't want to have to take you in, Pretty Boy."

With the lighter taken, Micky offered the other vampire a small smile once more. "It's no problem. I always have a spare or two on me, just in case." In case what was anybody's guess. He didn't often smoke, not since leaving his job at the club, and only then when it was offered. He let his hand drop back down and tried to ignore how he could still feel how Pretty Boy's fingers had brushed against his own. It was nothing. And that look in the other vampire's eyes before he asked Micky to go for a drink? Also nothing.

Never mind that it sent a particular thrill through him, and warmth blossomed in his chest, radiating outward toward his limbs and into his face. His eyes lit up more, his eyebrows raising. "Ya? A drink?" He was grinning now as he moved to sit next to Pretty Boy, taking back his lighter and slipping it into a pocket before offering the other vampire his carton of cigarettes back. He didn't answer immediately, thinking the offer over as he took a long drag off the ol' cancer stick and exhaled slowly, the tendrils of smoke drifting up into the air and away. He had sat close to Pretty Boy, close enough that his leg knocked against the others, and he leaned over to nudge him with his shoulder, head turning to look at him to give his answer finally.

"Well, I was supposed to go and check in with the Prince, but that's not really that important. A drink with you sounds a lot nicer."

A lot nicer.

Kinu

 

[Kinu]

Pretty Boy chuckled as Micky began to chastise him about tossing the lighter, his mismatched gaze sliding to the garbage in question. "Oh yeah..." He breathed the word, having absolutely no intention of retrieving the offending object and depositing it in the proper receptacle. In fact, he probably still would have tossed it in the bushes even if he had realized there was a can there. Flicking his gaze up to Micky, he gave the other vampire a cocky smirk, allowing a joke about corporal punishment to die on his lips. He wasn't sure if the Brujah would take it seriously or get the innuendo. Not that he was trying to tell Micky to... Jesus.

Pretty Boy was almost relieved when the other male actually switched and began to question his own role as Sheriff. The brightly colored vampire chuckled, his tone nearly a purr, flicking the ash from the end of his cigarette and cocking a brow up at the concerned Sheriff. "I seriously doubt the Prince has time to give a s**t about litter. I think you're safe." As the words left his mouth that smirk returned, sharp white teeth glinting in the pale glow of the streetlight. "You'd turn me in, huh? Damn, Micky. That's cold, hard, dedication."

He paused for a moment, the claws of his free hand sliding through the hair at his temple as he brushed the long strands back, exposing the crook of his neck in the process. "I'm not the begging type, though, so your Prince probably wouldn't get their jollies off slapping my hand for such a minor offense, even if they did give a s**t." He exhaled smoke through his nostrils again, his teeth holding the cigarette in place as another, almost velvet, laugh rolled up from his chest. The thought especially humorous to him for one reason or another. Who knew.

He could see the light grow slightly more intense in those lilac eyes as he asked him out, the corner of Pretty Boys lips lifting in a soft smile. But that smile faded fast, nerves overtaking him the minute Micky decided to plop down at his side. Time froze suddenly for the vampire. He was so close, their bodies practically touching. Why did he feel like he wanted to crawl out of his skin and also never unfreeze this moment at the same time? The paradox confused the hell out of him. He didn't want to crawl out of his skin to get away, however. The sudden rush of emotions being this close to Micky unearthed was just too much to process too fast. They hadn't been this close in a long time.

The offer of his smokes kind of snapped him out of his catatonia and he blinked a couple times, sliding them from the others grasp and realizing he'd checked out hard while Micky mulled over his proposal. He'd lost a little time. His eyes slipped down to the leg brushing up against his, taking a long, slow drag on the smoke, realizing he found the physical sensation comforting. But before he could relax into the moment he was being shouldered. Pretty Boy coughed abruptly, choking on the smoke. Waving his free hand in front of his face the clanless vampire laughed through the haze.

"You sure, huh? Final decision?" He couldn't help but grin, his energy practically glowing as he abruptly stood. Cigarette perched in the corner of his mouth, a hand extended down to the Brujah to help him up. "All right then, let's ******** go. You're mine for the night." He looked down at the male, the light from above shadowing his features and, at the same time, enhancing every curve of his face, neck, and chest in a flattering way. The sway of his piercings catching the light and glinting in the wake of his initial motion. He felt pumped. He could celebrate with the band tomorrow night. But catching up with Micky was something he felt like he needed to do. It was time.

Seussi

 

[Seussi]

Relief seemed to flood him at Pretty Boy's words. It was good to know that he wouldn't actually need to deal with litter, or more accurately, those who chose to do it. However, what the colourful, clanless vampire said next made Micky's brows furrow in thought again. "Well, I wouldn't want to, but if it was my job and what was expected of me, then..." He gave Pretty Boy a hopeless look and chewed on the inside of his lip for a moment. For some reason, just considering it was beginning to make him feel quite uncomfortable, almost as if choosing between his responsibility as a member of the clans, his duty as Sheriff of the Camarilla, and Pretty Boy, was not something that he wanted to think about.

There was probably an excellent reason for that.

So, he shoved the thoughts aside, ignored them, and smiled like always. That was the way he dealt with uncomfortable topics. The best way. They could move on from that question, and Micky could let his gaze instead fall on the way Pretty Boy pushed back his hair back or that suddenly exposed bit of neck that captured the Brujah's attention, a strange feeling tightening low in his belly as flashes of memory came to him, unbidden.

It was hard to draw his gaze away from that flash of something once so familiar. Still, he somehow managed, busying himself with another long inhale from the cigarette while distracting himself with feeling the sense of space, no matter how small, between himself and the other vampire. A nervous energy seemed to radiate off of Pretty Boy, but Micky did not understand it. The Brujah did not feel nervous then, so why should he? But, thankfully, that energy began to fade, and a quiet comfort between the two of them fell with it until Micky could answer Pretty Boy's question.

"Sure, I'm sure." He said, grinning himself, though he hadn't expected the other male to jump to his feet so quickly, and he looked at that offered hand before flicking his gaze toward Pretty Boy above him. Suddenly, it felt as though all of the air had been sucked out of him or like something hard had just slammed into his chest, leaving him momentarily stunned.

He was beautiful. Micky stared at him with a lilac gaze that was softer now, less bright or intense than before. His free hand reached up to brush silver-white hair from his eyes. He had already told Pretty Boy he looked good, but...damn, he looked so good.

"All yours." He agreed, sounding breathless as he exhaled slowly and reached for Pretty Boy's hand.

Kinu

 

[Kinu]

Pretty Boy couldn't shake the sense that tonight was turning out way better than he'd thought it was going to be. Sure, getting the Prince to agree to his terms had been awesome, he was already prepped to celebrate that win, but there was a kind of fire in his belly after Micky said yes to joining him. It was a definite high vibe he hadn't felt in a long time. His gaze had lowered to the male at his feet when he felt his chest suddenly tighten. Something unfamiliar stirred inside. It didn't quell the elation, but it sure as s**t tempered it a bit.

Flaring deep within his chest was a kind of pain he hadn't felt since the day they'd parted. Looking down at Micky, watching him brush that shock of hair out of his beautiful eyes, it was almost unbearable. Pretty Boy's throat suddenly tightened when that Lilac gaze rose to meet his own and one thing above all else suddenly hit him like a freight train. He'd missed him since the day he left. Yeah he knew he'd missed him, but he didn't realize until now that the dull ache he'd been carrying for years was because he had missed him every single night. The realization at how painful that emotion truly was caught him off guard. He'd been hurt when Micky didn't come back, but instead of trying to resolve the matter, he'd used it.

He used that hurt as an excuse, his reason to ignore the fact that he'd ******** up everything because he couldn't just be honest. Because he couldn't just let someone in for once. He'd been young and stupid. He'd been scared. Scared of how Micky had started to make him feel, scared that the Brujah wouldn't feel the same because they were just a casual thing, scared that the clans would send Micky out one night and he'd never come back. So, he'd pushed him away, made sure none of it could hurt him. He'd ruined everything because he'd been so ******** immature.

The light in PB's eyes dimmed a bit, but he refused to let it show in his demeanor or face. He didn't want Micky to think he wasn't happy to be spending time together. But he couldn't shake the flood of emotions that realization released. It was like someone finally turned a mirror on the mountain of excuses he provided himself, the dismissals, and finally, the refusal to see the reality of the situation. It all culminated into one hard truth. He'd been ******** wrong. And he'd apologize. He had to. They'd go for drinks, and he'd tell him the truth. Even if it meant that was it. That it was over for good. Even if he lost him again.

That thought stabbed him in the gut like a hot knife, but it would be what he deserved if it happened, he had to face that. The clanless vampire took Micky's hand in his own and pulled him to his feet while taking a step back as he did. The cold energy of purpose was driving him now. He wasn't going to let the night end unless he told him. But they could still have fun. He wanted Micky to enjoy the night without a sense of brooding hanging over their heads.

The male chuckled a little. "All mine, huh? That's dangerous." He couldn't help it. The phrase brought back memories. There were too many good ones. Too many of when Micky was his. As he got him to his feet his eyes lifted up just slightly, seeking the shimmering lilac for a moment. The two weren't much different in height, just enough that he still had to tilt his face up slightly. "Yeah, anyway. Hemlock? I know a few good spots I think you'll like. The place has really picked up lately."

Seussi

 

[Seussi]

What was this?

Micky was the type to take things in stride, to not dwell long on something, whether due to confusion or complicated emotional involvement. He preferred to keep things simple and fun, not to have to look too deeply beneath the surface. It was why nobody had tied him down over the years, why he always appeared so carefree and definitely the reason he could be moulded so easily into whatever the clans wanted him to be. An Elder. The Sheriff. Important titles that were ultimately meaningless. Just another tether keeping him bound to the Camarilla. Just another way he was being used, though he'd never understood it that way.

So when he felt that sudden ache tightening in his chest, a sudden jolt of emotion just by looking into Pretty Boy's eyes, or the sudden exhilarating charge that tingled across the surface of his skin, it gave him pause. It made him consider and question and forced him to think, though it was like pushing through a sudden haze of desperate longing. Pretty Boy had pulled him to his feet, and he smiled due to reflex, but inwardly he found himself in a confusing turmoil.

It was just like before. He realized it suddenly. This was just how he used to feel, years and years ago, whenever Pretty Boy was around. He remembered now. It was what had made everything between them so intense. It was what had made it so much more challenging to walk away. More complicated than anything he'd ever done before or since.

He shifted his gaze away momentarily as he slipped his hand free from Pretty Boy's. Easier to think if he wasn't looking directly at or touching him, though that chuckle pulled at something inside of him, warmed him, and he couldn't help but grin in response. <******** it. He thought then. He had always been the type to go with the flow, and right now, that particular tide was pulling him toward Pretty Boy.

"Ya, well, you know me. I've never been one to shy away from danger." He let his grin turn to a smirk, and his gaze drifted back toward the clanless vampire as he cocked his head to the side slightly, long hair shifting around his face with the movement, and he gave Pretty Boy a look that was laced with a desire he did not bother hiding. What would be the point of hiding it? Micky was nothing if not straightforward.

"Sure. Wherever." He casually shrugged his shoulders before bringing his cigarette back to his lips for another drag. To him, the setting didn't matter in the slightest. He was just looking forward to spending an evening with Pretty Boy.

Kinu

 

[Kinu]

Pretty Boy's mismatched eyes watched as Micky smiled but looked away, removing his hand pretty much the moment he was up on his feet again. He felt his stomach drop a little as the physical connection was lost but didn't remark, curling his fingers into his palm and lowering his hand to his side casually. They'd both been hurt by the past, and one another. He had to remember he wasn't the only one processing things. Micky was probably going through his own s**t too.

Going slow was the last thing PB wanted to do, especially when there was so much time lost already, but he wasnt the type to push people unless they wanted to be pushed. He had to know it was mutual before he amped his level of intensity. Yet the other male did something he hadn't expected, Micky gave him that look. A look he couldn't possibly have forgotten even if he tried. Even if he'd wanted to. Desire.

He felt every nerve ending in his body light up, a rush of blood sending bubbles of sensation through his skin. That look stoked a flame deep inside of him that had been dormant for so long, his body reacting in a way it hadnt in years for anyone since Micky. He wanted to kiss him so bad in that moment. It took a lot of willpower to stop himself from grabbing him and doing just that.

Pretty Boy's gaze smoldered, tilting his chin up and to the side, vibrant hair shading one of his eyes. "Yeah, I remember." He smiled charmingly, flashing those pearly white teeth and a sharp canine as he did. "Your version of fun was always a little extra exciting. We ended up in some wild s**t if I remember right." The clanless vampire reached up, brushing Mickys hair from his face. "Some of my favorite memories though."

His grin relaxed into a smirk as he turned, starting down the sidewalk towards the club district. His stomach was in knots, that look reminded him of so many nights, both in the bedroom and out of it. That feeling of loss was killer as it settled in his chest. He had to get it together or he was going to kill the ******** vibe. He thought at first he'd take Micky to The Alley which was basically a long closed off street full of food stalls and karaoke bars. The people were loud, the energy was high, and the alcohol flowed like water. But that ended up not feeling quite right.

Maybe The Silver Lounge. It felt swanky but wasn't snobbish. Great drinks, great view, the music didnt suck, and the crowd was usually entertaining. They wouldn't be bothered unless they wanted to be. He had a minute to think about it, they had a bit of a walk out of the current section of the city. He brought the cigarette up to his lips, the cherry illuminating brightly as he inhaled. Watching the smoke curl into the pale glow of the artificial lights when he exhaled. He lifted his arms again, lacing them behind his head and stretching a bit. Pretty Boy stopped to turn his torso and look over his shoulder, smiling warmly at Micky. "You comin'?"

+Seussi