[Halloween] by Julad an mprov Words: eye candy, candle wax, virgin, hydrogen, sarcophagus, girlish, American woman. I asked them to go easy for my first time; those didn't look easy to me. Apparently I'm supposed to be grateful that the words are in English. [15:49] It wasn't so much that Chris hated Halloween. He just... really *hated* Halloween. And he was the one, the dude, the guy, who was supposed to be really into it. Admitting that it pissed him off would just lead to trouble. So he bit his tongue and ignored the sick feeling in his stomach, and trickled fake blood down his chin, and showed up at Joey's. The throb of the bass hit him like a wall of water before he even got out of the car. The way the vibrations seemed to chime with his heart and divert its beat to an alien rhythm made him want to turn around and get back in the cab, but JC, with his impeccable timing, chose that moment to fling the door open and crumple down the steps and puke all over Joey's hydrangeas. He picked JC up and wiped off his mouth with his cape, and lugged him back up the steps and inside, where the noise was so loud it seemed to cancel out his hearing, and the dark house with its watery candle light and strange, twisted creatures, seemed some underwater cavern through which he floated. "CHRIS!" Justin yelled, or at least, shaped the word with his lips while his faced moved in excited contortions. A glass was shoved into his hand, and a bluish powder sprinkled across the liquid's surface, and then Justin was gone again, vanishing into the crowd with a come-here gesture and a girlish twist of his hips. Stirring his drink with his finger, watching little bubbles of... amyl? methane? nothing so harmless as hydrogen or oxygen anyway, burst up with tiny spatters. It was probably only as poisonous and debilitating as everything else on offer, so Chris gulped it down and followed. The living room was decked out with the usual halloween dreck, a huge bleeding eye and leather bats and a wall of black and white horror movie prints spattered with red paint. The room swayed and pulsed with its underwater light, and the candle flames seemed to leap menacingly towards him with every pulse of the stereo. Whatever the drink was, it was kicking in. Justin's curly head bobbed and veered as it headed up the stairs, seemingly adrift from any noticeable body, and Chris shivered. He passed through the arms of two black-haired vampires, receiving licks and the scrape of pointed teeth on the way, and ascended the stairs. Naked white bodies writhed across the tiny landing halfway up, and as he stretched his legs over them, the step seemed to slide out from under his foot. "Fuck," a girl's voice snapped, seemingly behind his ear, but nobody was there. "Chris," JC's voice, quiet and wasted and desperate, seeped up from under the blasting sound vibrating the whole house, but he couldn't see JC either. Candle wax, warm and pliant and occasionally biting, clung to his hand as he clung to the bannister, and it wasn't his imagination this time that the candelabra was leaping towards him. Stumbling back, he found himself in JC's arms. "Up we go," JC said, putting him back on his feet, kohl-rimmed eyes blank and haunted. A werewolf put another drink in his hand, and Chris gulped it gratefully. He wanted off this trip, and onto another. More stairs, and a body without a head walking towards him, and a woman with a black eye clinging to his ankle and pushing up his pantleg and biting his calf, and then blessfully, JC again by his side, looking warmer, and somehow glamourous, black hair and red lips and cheekbones which resembled nothing so much as a kind of regal architecture. Eyes sparkling like cursed jewels, iridescent with danger and fragmented colours, dancing, and a warm, confident hand on his back and they were up. Chris couldn't feel his feet any more; he was underwater, he was floating in warm thick silver fluid which caressed his beating heart. He turned and took JC's mouth in his, wanting wetness and heat, wanting pressure against his body and limbs to confine him. A tongue, snaking; a bite, vicious; a lick, long and slow and perfectly torturous, and then they were moving again. JC's hands were in the back of his pants, and Chris pushed him against a wall, liking the sound as a framed picture fell and shattered, tasted the sweat of JC's neck and the sticky oil of his face paint, shoved his hips forward and ground himself into the body which thrust back at him. More hands, that necessary covering of his needy skin, reached around him to his chest, and caressed hungrily. Another body, and teeth in his shoulder, and the stench of sex and the sweet sting of skin tearing through cloth, and JC's tongue circling his lips lewdly, and Chris reached a hand up and felt curls, moaned Justin's name as the hands on his chest insinuated themselves between his body and JC's. "Come on," Justin said, wet lips against Chris' ear, and they were still entangled, but walking. A hall, a corner, a man laughing and a woman screaming, Justin's finger sparkling with more powder and Chris sucked it down to the knuckle. It sparked through his nerves, a race of affliction until he could feel his arteries glowing in a circular pulse like fairy lights, and an uncurling edacity in his cock which had him tearing off Justin's black overcoat to expose the hard body underneath. "Nearly there, nearly there," JC said, sucking on Justin's other hand, sliding his tongue up to Justin's knuckles and then following, neck stretching, leaning over Chris as Justin brought his hand up to his own mouth. Chris was still crushed between them, JC's cock rubbing intolerably at his ass, red lips twisting against one another before his eyes, and then Justin stepped backwards, and back again, and they were against a door and Chris shoved Justin against it. JC had his shirt off too, and Chris lifted his arms as fabric drew over his own head, and left them raised until hands gripped them and pinned him. Then the door opened, and they fell like dominoes into Joey's bedroom. Chris wanted bodies touching him, reached for the faces haloed by loving light and glowing with desire; felt himself picked up, sucked another finger until the bitter taste of powder was gone, felt himself lowered onto the bed and abandoned. They were before him, now, in the single electrified frame of his entrancement. JC, thin and pale and irresistably tall, ascetic face floating above a slender tower of glistening black. Justin, oiled curls and green snakeskin pants, vines trailing sinuously along the carved lines of his arms, an apple tossed carelessly from one hand to the other, and then aside. Lance, a virgin sacrifice draped in white, face sweet and open, trails of blonde hair across his chest, cascading over his shoulders as he turned to accept a white lily from Joey's hands. Joey, smouldering eye candy, a gangster with a loaded gun; dark and brooding and leaning in to run a jealous, possessive hand over Chris' cheek. "You started without us," he growled, and then gripped his chin and jerked him upwards. His eyes, mahogany, glittered in fury. "I want you," Chris murmured, words flowing painlessly from his tongue. He could picture them, a waterfall easily flowing over the edge of a cliff. "I want you to have me." And then they were there, all of them, JC smelling bitter and Lance faintly of honey, Justin tasting of earth and Joey of steel, arms around him, bodies sliding against bodies before his eyes, the alien pulse of the bass pounding endlessly, indefatiguably through his veins and his cock. He was covered and gripped and filled, stripped and tasted and massaged and scratched. Skin and hair and muscle and bone, all his, his all theirs, and arms to hold him tight when at last, as watery sunshine lapped at the window, they settled down under the covers. Chris kissed Lance's closed eyes, ran his fingers over Joey's gently undulating chest, pressed his head back into Justin's shoulder and moved his thigh under JC's hand. Two hours, perhaps. Two hours until somebody stirred, and the stereo was turned down, and the bodies downstairs taxied home, and beer bottles collected. Two hours until they separated and parted, back to their own homes and the songs and the press and the need for an American woman and rumours of engagement, and hints, plausibly deniable, of a coming white picket fence. Chris bit his tongue. It wasn't that he hated Halloween. He just... really *hated* Halloween. [17:27] the end (Minus half an hour I was afk.)