This Is My Night

You can run if you have to, he reminded himself over and over again as he tried to keep focus on his notes. No one can hurt you here. You can shout, make a scene, flip a fucking table, and then leg it while people are still scratching their heads and asses. The decisive nod to the empty seat across from him somehow sealed the deal he’d made with himself. With this iron clad plan laid out in his mind, the muscles in the young man’s body eased to allow him to once again write freely. If he didn’t come up with something soon he’d have nothing to post and another week would pass with his fans disappointed. Not that he felt like he had many. In his mind the hits his blog got were his nosey mother and great aunt with nothing better to do once the bridge game was over. And yet there was always a demand for new observations. And so here Lorin sat, despite the near paralyzing fear, waiting for the evening crowd to join him in Garlic and Shot. His eyes lifted from the page at the sounds of the door, dancing from face to face. In his opinion, the winter was the best time to study people. Their protective layers were like designer Christmas paper, the present of who they really were deep underneath the wool and blended cotton. They wore heavy coats, scarves, gloves, and hats to shield themselves and then peeled them off layer by layer to reveal the slutty dress or favorite faded band tee.

Spidery fingers reached blindly to the shot glass that sat beside his polished dinner plate, grasping it, and bringing it to his lips without his other hand breaking stride. The warming liquid splashed down the back of his throat and into his stomach, pushing the chill of the constantly opening door and closing door away for the time being. The shudder that followed was almost nonexistent and the glass echoed the characteristic thud back onto the table. By now his earlier fears were lost to work and the buzz floating around in his brain. Maybe he should do this more often. The get mildly drunk part, not the sit in public and write part. Normally he didn’t work like this. He made little notes and wrote at home. But in the flat he shared with two of his mates…it wasn’t happening. He did not want to write while listening one fight with her boyfriend over Skype while the other had wild sex in her bedroom. Hide sight is always twenty-twenty they say. Lorin made a mental note to look into some male flat mates in the very near future.

His pen slapped down onto the page after an hour and a half’s worth of work, his body finally uncurling from the hunched position it had sunk into. Done. A sloppy grin spread to his lips, hazy eyes turning to that shot glass. How many times had it been filled? He had no fucking clue. Not that he cared. He was feeling pretty damn good right now. Maybe he would go to another bar…or maybe a club even. He could out sex Marissa and out shout Tabby tonight! Hell yeah! Who needed to be afraid of the big bad…vampire anyway? Not him, not Lorin Ainsworth! But maybe one more shot before he hit the road. Sliding from his chair a little clumsily, Lorin stuffed his notebook into his bag and sauntered over to the bar. He took a seat on the stool, unaware of anyone sitting next to him, and asked for another of…whatever he’d been having. He was partying tonight. He was free. Fucking free. No need to hide now! The ocean would protect him from those stupid bloodsuckers and…stuff.

---

"No... No, I asked for a.. whatsit. That." A lithe, pale finger wagged in the direction of the specials board behind the bar. Some kind of vodka based, dark red cocktail was pictured there, which was a far sight different from the shot of something noxious that was put down in front of him right around the time the young man arrived on the scene. He leaned forward on his barstool, propping much of his weight on his elbows. The bartender was some young woman whose hair was so bleached as to resemble candy floss run through a laundry wringer. She had a look about her face that suggested she really, really, didn't give a flying shit, even when the customer was as pretty as Newt. Newt, in turn, briefly considered what she'd look like slumped on his living room floor with a spotlight lamp over her and all the other lights off. Hundreds of miserable, dead bartenders reflected in every surface of every mirror. It was a shame she wasn't his type though, because it would be much easier to kill her now she'd irritated him. Granted, he could have taken her home for a midnight snack, as it were, but it was such a waste if he didn't want to keep them after. He felt so much worse, like when he had to throw out a perfectly good tupperware box from the Chinese down the street because he'd already collected fifty-odd of them in the cupboard next to the sink. There was always the temptation to add just one more, just in case, but a man had to know his limits. You know?

Whatever the case, the miserable bartender was safe tonight, because she was far too disposable. Far too... female, actually. She'd be little more than a can of coke, which he couldn't justify keeping around once it was empty. Into the recycling it would have to go, or in her case, the Thames. And he hated doing this anyway. Killing someone, that was. It was an unfortunate necessity, so he might as well make the most of his sacrificial lambs, and savour them for as long as possible. For as long as the neighbours don't call the cops about that s m e l l again. "Fine. You know what, fine. it's fine I'll just... Look, see?" And he downed the noxious shot with a wince and a pronounced cough. The bartender gave him a critical, unimpressed eye, and then moved off to the next customer while Newt took a moment to regard the young man who'd just taken up the stool next to him. Now, there was a keeper. A good week at least, if he was careful. He'd tried for longer than that a few times, but the old bitch upstairs seemed to have a canine sense of smell, and no amount of glade country rose could stay her from her mission to make his existence as miserable as possible.

"Hi." With his fingertips, he pushed the offensive -and now empty- shot glass away from himself and offered the young man a smile. "Wow, hey, you look-" shitfaced "- happy. What's the occasion?" It's so much easier when they're shitfaced. Maybe he's actually miserable. That would be an added bonus. "It definitely can't be because of the service." A snarky and critical eye followed the bartender for a moment before his smile rematerialised and blue eyes fixed back on the stranger. "I'm Newt, by the way."

---

The disagreement playing out next to him was almost completely lost on the young writer, save for the part that it took the bartender far too long to get the shot he asked for. Lorin was too busy with his internal celebration to care that much however. Tonight was his night! He was going to leave here and hit club, pick up some hot girl with huge boobs, and then take her home for a night of crazy sex that would make turn Marissa so green with jealousy they’d think she’d turned into a lizard person…or something. He’d make so much noise that Tabitha would have to bang on his wall to keep it down while she tried to talk her jack ass of boyfriend. Yes. This was the plan. The drunken grin only grew as glassy eyes stared through the bar and down into the earth.

Maybe he really did have nothing to fear after all. What were the odds that those guys from New York would think to look for him here? He’d never specifically said he was from London, although most Americans assumed it anyway, and the one guy was English. Shit… But there were so many people in London that the odds of bumping into any familiar faces was so low it was laughable. They had no idea where he lived and his posts never gave a location. So even if they found the new blog and figured out he was in London they wouldn’t know where to begin. Lorin really did have a reason to let loose tonight. His drunken mind had convinced him that he was completely out of the vampire shadow and bathing in bright, gleaming sunlight. The shot he’d asked for magically appeared in front of him as he imagined just how warm that sunbeam would be and his hand curled around it, throwing it back and then placing the glass back on the bar. His lips smacked together at the tingle left on them by the vodka, his head turning toward the words being spoken.

With a curious head tilt, his eyes drifted around the face of the man…boy….man seated beside him. How long had he been there? Was he talking to him? Did it matter? Lorin’s eyes brightened with excitement and he inched himself on the bar stool so that he was better facing the his new found friend. “We are celebrating! Well, I am…I’m not sure if you are. Do you want to celebrate with me? I just got back and all my friends are off with work and lives and families.” He wanted another shot but that required the mental capacity to split his attention between the disgruntled bartender and the guy he’d just met. “My freedom! Stupid fuckers don’t own me anymore! I left their asses in New York and I’m never, ever going back.” His head nodded soundly, a slight roll to the movement like his head was heavier than he’d expected it to be. “Newt? Like…the little lizard? Like...the quote “She turned me into a Newt!...I got better”?” He shook his head slightly. “Your parents must really hate you, man. I’m Lorin…”

---

"Yeah, something like that." So it was Newton, originally, somewhere way back in a history that seemed to all blur together, anyway. But he hated the name, and it wasn't really even his anyway, so why should he be stuck with it? He'd shortened it to Newt a long time ago, though he'd considered something new and different entirely. Nothing had stuck though, and he didn't think he'd wind up answering to it, so Newt it was. "Lorin, that's a weird one too." Newt and Lorin. How... unlikely. Oh well, it likely wouldn't last long anyway. It was a damned shame that Lorin was celebrating though. He hated to rain on parades. With any luck he'd be took drunk to lament it anyway. He certainly looked half in the bag, if not further.

"Celebrating sounds great, though I don't know if I wanna stay here. I think that bar maid's going to mug me if I turn my back for too long." Once again he glanced to the vile young woman, but managed a smile and a shrug for Lorin afterwards. The caustic, chemical taste of the hideous shot was still cleaving to the roof of his mouth as a reminder of the evening so far. Still, it would get better. Hopefully. Maybe this Lorin character was already drunk enough to come home with him without much of a fight. That would just be perfect. The lead-up to inviting someone back was always harrowing and time consuming, and he'd been turned down more times than he'd actually succeeded. It got depressing sometimes. Even in death, you still can't pull. Congratulations. And it had to be done at home. It had to. otherwise it was back to being a waste again, and he couldn't rightly haul a corpse up two flights of stairs without the neighbours noticing. The old body-in-the-rug trick was a bit cliched.

"Well... I don't know if you... Um..." He wasn't used to being quite this forward about it. If he invited him back now and got shot down, that was the end of their little celebration. Then again, if he waited and nursed their acquaintance all night and then got shot down, the whole evening was wasted. It was worth a shot. Probably. "I've got a bottle of greek ouzo in the flat. My flat, I mean. It's just 'round the corner. Also free. Well, it wasn't free when I bought it but you can have it for free. I'm not trying to pick you up or anything." Just a little white lie. "I mean, unless you're into that, in which case that's fine, I don't mind. I like gay people. And other people. Anyway, free booze?" Genius... Still, his blank, oblivious looking smile didn't falter. Please. Please. Please.

---

Lorin was a rather strange name if he thought about it. Most memories of teachers calling the name out and scolding him for being a smart ass had been blocked out by now. They were looking for the little girl with that name, not the scraggly haired young man who couldn’t pay attention for more than ten minutes at a time. “It does the job. Most people see it on paper and think I’m a girl just ‘cause of the way it’s pronounced.” His fingers fumbled for the shot glass again, assuming the magical drink filling fairy had already come by and topped it off for him. However, it was far too light to contain any vodka and his brow creased with disappointment. Aw, no more. The offensively empty shot glass was shoved away, his joy bubble busted for the moment. However, when his attention returned to Newt tee hee his dip in mood recovered almost immediately. It was hard to be sad when eyes like those were on you. But I’m not gay.

His chin fell into his hand, elbow supporting the weight of his head on the edge of the bar. His eyes turned down to the unpleasant looking woman before he turned back to him. “She got into it with a customer close to an hour ago and her night’s gone downhill from there. She was fine when I got here. Even gave me a shot on the house. You can’t blame her for being a little rough when she’s gotten nothing but crap for a while now.” But leaving was his plan. He had some hot chick to find and…free booze you say?

Lorin was fairly used to being picked up by guys. With the number of advances he got on a typical night out he we beginning to wonder if he had ‘likes the cock’ tattooed on his forehead. He’d experimented in college and a couple times since then but at the end of the day if he was taking someone home they would be of the female persuasion. He hadn’t had much of a choice with that vampire fellow but he didn’t count that. They play…fancy mind tricks and shit. The very idea of another vampire’s hands on him was enough to put him off his eating for the rest of the day. “I’m straight” Ish “But I could use some free booze. Moving takes it out of you and I haven’t gotten a job since coming back yet. My mates are covering for me right now.” He owed them big time. “So…lead on Newt” He waved his hand in the direction of the door as he peeled himself away from the bar, fishing out his wallet to pay for his food and drink for the evening.

---

Holy shit it actually worked! You fucking dancer, it actually worked! Oh my god! Okay... Go now.

Picking his jaw up off of the floor, Newt put a smile back on his face. It twinkled with new found enthusiasm, even if the young man did say he was straight. Dead people didn't have a gender preference, anyway. He did like to fool around beforehand sometimes, but if that wasn't possible or plausible, there was always the quiet time later, and they just didn't care at that point. You know, on account of having snuffed it. At least he hoped they didn't care, anyway. So far he hadn't heard any complaints...

"Wow, okay! Great. Let's go then!" Newt vacated his barstool perhaps a little overzealously, but no doubt the intoxication of his new friend for the evening week would mean he didn't read much into it. Newt just seemed like a upbeat, chipper young man, high in life. Or something like that. Maybe high on substances. That was always a possibility in Soho. Half the denizens were rolling or otherwise off their faces on any given night as it was. He'd even felt the second-hand intoxications from time to time, depending on how fucked up they were. He'd be lying if he said he didn't enjoy it. Just a little bit.

Not really giving much of a damn about the bartender's prior circumstances before his arrival, Newt all but ignored her on the way back up the stairs to the street level. He was careful to make sure his new friend didn't fall down the stairs and break his neck before he could get him back to the flat, and so he all but babysat him the whole way out of the bar, down the street, through the front door, and up two flights of stairs. This was just too good to be true! Unlike Christian, Newt didn't much flex his charismatic muscles when it came to personal interactions. Honestly, he didn't really know how. Christian could turn a human, or sometimes even other vampires, into a puddle of goo faster than you could say all you can eat dinner buffet. Newt had been stuck with a sort of bumbling awkwardness, even in death, that left him preferring the company of dead boys for the most part. The dead boys didn't judge, and they always listened to his conversation without laughing or rolling their eyes. Well, as long as you closed their eyelids anyway.

Once they hit the landing, Newt produced his keys to let them into the flat, and he helped the drunk young man inside, smiling the whole way. And what instantly greeted them was... a living room full to the brim with mirrors, actually. Their own faces beamed back at them from a hundred different locations and angles. Old mirrors, new mirrors, broken mirrors, elaborate antique mirrors. Almost every scrap of scraggy wallpaper was covered by reflective glass, and then there were even more of them, in the form of standing mirrors. Most people found it... disconcerting. He probably should have warned the boy first.

"Oh... um... I collect mirrors, by the way. It's nothing... weird. I just like 'em." Liar, liar, pants on fire. He beamed a friendly perfectly-normal-look-how-fucking-painfully-normal-I-am smile.

---

Lorin was a very observant person when sober and had he had any of his wit about him he may have thought twice about going home with a stranger. After the years of watching over his shoulder, checking every shadow, and questioning the motives of anyone who spoke to him he should have known better. But the thrill of actually escaping New York and returning home was more than enough to cloud his judgment for the night. He was drunk and looking to have a good time. His clear, rational mind would have assumed that Newt was working for the vampires he’d ditched and he was luring him back to a coven den where he’d be punished for running away. That very fear had almost kept Lorin in New York. What he’d been through was a cakewalk compared to what they would likely do to him if he took off. But the opportunity presented itself and he grabbed it, hopping on the next flight and making a beeline for home.

He knew very well that there would be vampires in London but none of them would be looking for him. None of them would know him as the blogger who wrote about neck sucking freaks and crazy blood play. Aside from the amount of vodka in Lorin’s system, the other thing Newt had going for him was that he didn’t look or act like a vampire. He wasn’t talk, dark or handsome nor did he walk around like he owned the world. He was a bumbling, awkward guy and to Lorin that did not equal vampire. Once his drinks and food were paid for he followed Newt out onto the street, eyes sweeping the area out of habit but not really seeing anything. People, places and things all blended into a haze and he stumbled alongside his new friend, using him to keep himself from falling face first onto the sidewalk.

His thoughts drifted to the possibility of just passing out on the couch and calling it a night as they made their way into the flat. He was really tired after all and those stairs had been brutal on drunken legs. But the moment the light flooded the apartment and he saw his face staring back dozens of times over those thoughts were banished. “Uh…Sure…” He would most certainly need that drink now. “It’s like a fun house or something.” Lorin began to shed the layers of favored hat, scarf, fingerless gloves and coat; tossing them where it was convenient. He drifted into the flat, eyes floating along the mirrors, his mind trying to signal that this was fucked up but the alcohol hushed his fears. After a moment of silent contemplation he turned back to Newt. “Free booze?”

---

"Fun house..? Yeah. I suppose it is, actually." He flashed the young man a smile over his shoulder as he stalked to the kitchen to fetch the promised bottle of ouzo and two glasses. The living room actually didn't have much other furniture aside from the mirrors. There were a couple of basic wooden dining room chairs, and that was about it aside from the numerous standing lamps littered here and there, mostly turned off. For now. Furniture just got in the way of his view, after all. Even his bed didn't have a headboard or a footboard, and it had been strategically shoved into the middle of the room. Just mattress and box spring, likewise surrounded by various mirrors and lamps. Weird was probably kind of an understatement really, but at least the kitchen had all the usual furniture it should have. And maybe a few mirrors too.

After a moment, he returned with two full glasses of the fragrant booze, and handed one of them to Lorin with another smile. If he could keep him shitfaced, maybe he wouldn't question the flat. Maybe. Probably not, but it was worth a try. They often questioned this place. Those who came back with the intention of sleeping with him didn't seem to mind as much, and found it just as kinky as he did sometimes. But those who came back for a free drink sometimes got the heebie-jeebies.

"So, Lorin, what do you do? You said you just got back. Have you been on holiday? I went to Spain last year. Lovely weather." He sipped his ouzo benignly. What could possibly go wrong? He looked so young and unassuming. He was slight enough that he looked like he might snap in half if you breathed the wrong way. "Sorry about the... um... couch. I'm getting new furniture and it hasn't gotten here yet. Obviously."

---

Newt had definitely earned himself a spot on Lorin’s list of strange people and if he remembered the night tomorrow morning it would most certainly be going on his blog. Said list consisted of ten people, one being the most off the wall and then went down from there. He would have to reread the list when he got home but he was almost certain Newt would be ranking among the top five. He’d never seen a house of mirrors such as this outside of a carnival or fun park. Would a clown pop out of a trunk or a witch lower from the ceiling whilst shrieking some horrible ripped audio file that sounded like it was being played through a fan? Who knew? Lorin would not classify anything about this evening from here on in as a typical night for him. He’d seen some strange stuff but this was taking the cake for sure.

When his odd ball of a host disappeared into the kitchen Lorin once again began wandering around, looking at each mirror and lamp with some sort of drunken curiosity. One hand reached behind him, fingers slipping below the collar of his long sleeve cotton shirt at the shoulder to scratch a rather sizeable…cut? Perhaps. The action allowed for at least part of the mark to be seen. It was rather wide to be a cut and slightly curved. It looked an awful lot like a nasty bite. Damn thing better be healing. He pulled his hand from his shirt and turned back around when Newt returned the room, accepting the drink and taking a sip of his own. “I moved to America for a while. Bounced around the east coast for a couple years…” Another sip followed immediately by another. “I’m a blogger mostly but I also wait tables, bartend, stock shelves…whatever pays the rent. What about you?”

“Spain’s nice. Haven’t been there in a while but I’d like to go back now that I’m home.” Maybe he could find a little house in the hills somewhere and just fall off the grid. He couldn’t blog anymore but at least he could keep the vampires away.

---

"Me? Oh, I-" Pocket the money of the people I kill, amongst other things. "-'m a photographer." Or something. He hoped the young man wouldn't ask any questions, because frankly and blatantly, he wasn't. Sure, he had a couple of cameras, but it was mostly point and shoot, and he always forgot they were there and then got pissed off with himself when he remembered them and thought of all the pictures he could have taken of his guests, to remember them by. "But blogging, hey? I wouldn't know the first thing about what to do. I'm not much of a writer." Blogger. America. East coast. Moving. ...Hello? Wakey-wakey. Something was gnawing incessantly on Newt's brain stem, and he couldn't quite put his finger on what it was. Oh well!

"Do you write about restaurants or something? You should try the chinese place down the street. It's nothing fancy and that but the food's good. One of those hole-in-the-wall gems, you know?" And he too sipped his ouzo. He probably could have down half the bottle in one and still been better off than Lorin though. If truth be told though, he wasn't a huge fan of Ouzo. A previous house guest had brought it over. Now it was kind of a re-gift. Waste not, want not. What was he scratching at? Pay attention Newt. Something's off But it wasn't! It couldn't be! This night was going far too perfectly for him to let the niggling doubt ruin it for him. He was finally catching a break, and just because Christian and his trained monkeys had said something about a blogger from the US showing up in town didn't mea- Ohgoddamnitalltohell!

New's eyes widened just a fraction. No. It couldn't be. There were millions of bloggers in London alone. It was just a coincidence. And he really wanted this! It wasn't fair! Maybe if it was him, Christian would never find out if he just... dumped him in the Thames a week from now. In little, unidentifiable pieces. He stared at Lorin with an obvious, defeated longing in his eyes, like a child looking a the jars of candy in a candy store after being firmly told No by a parent. But, it's not fair! This is perfect! he'll never find out anyway... Right? "Do you..? You've got a..." On his own person, he gestured to the spot on his shoulder that corresponded to the obvious bite he'd glimpsed -and ignored- on Lorin's. As if they were a mirror of one another. "I don't have a first aid kit..."

---

Lorin nodded his head slowly, attempting to signify that he was still on the same page. Photographer. Yes. He sipped his drink again, his eyes returning to studying the mirrors as they made small talk. It really was weird to have them fucking everywhere. Maybe he just really liked looking at himself. He was cute and had a right to take pride in his appearance. “I don’t think I’m that great a’ writer. I just…write whatever. If people like it, they read it. If they don’t like it they write horrible comments, call me a cocksucker, and then disappear into the internet never to be heard from again…”He paused as he thought about what he just said. “No, they typically come back post after post just to keep calling me a cocksucker.” People really were special.

“Oh, no, nothing like that. I started just writing about the crazy people I saw at work and it sort of took off from there. I go out and watch people then write about the weird shit they say and do.” The ouzo was helping grease the conversation wheels, completely turning off the side of his brain that would have shut him up. Lorin was supposed to be hiding. It was probably not a good idea to blab to every Tom, Dick, and Harry about the very thing that got him in trouble to begin with. “I will check out the Chinese place though. I’m always on the hunt for some good take away. I don’t like going out that much so if I can get something on the go it’s a lot better for me. In fact, I almost didn’t go to that bar tonight. Lucky I did. We may not have met otherwise.” With a wide grin he raised his glass to Newt before taking another sip.

Lorin blinked a bit as Newt tried to point out the cut on him without explicitly saying it. Whaa-…Oh. “It’s nothing.” He said, nearly tripping over the words as he tried to get them out before it went anywhere else. “I…knew someone back in America who liked it a little rough. It’s healing. No worries.” And he hid his face behind the glass as he took a slightly larger swallow. The room was starting to wobble and Lorin shuffled himself to sit down in one of the chairs nearby, needing to get off his feet. Thinking about that whole mess now, he really did need the drink.

---

Fuckity fuckity fuckity fuckity fuckity fuckity fucki- "Write about people, huh? Heh..." -ty fuckity fuckity. "Guess you'll be writing about me then, yeah?" He turned his head to glance around at the plethora of mirrors they were surrounded by. A time or two he caught his own eye and saw the silent mantra lurking behind it. Christian would be so pissed if Newt killed this kid before he got a chance to have a sit down with him. Wouldn't he? Probably. It didn't take all that much to incite Christian's ire. But then again, maybe he'd never know. They probably had no idea where the kid was hiding by now. London was massive, after all. So what if he turned up dead? Any number of idiots in the Greater London area could have done it. Yeah, but you're the idiot actually considering it... He'll cut you into little pieces if he finds out. If you're lucky, he'll kill you in the process. Oh look, ouzo. Newt downed his tumbler in one fell swoop, coughing and wincing awkwardly as he had done in the bar, with the awful chemical shot.

"So, you, uh, you got friends in London then? People who know you're back? You know... People who knew where you were going tonight?" What!? It's a honest and not-at-all-creepy question! He edged a step closer to Lorin, peering inquisitively into his face. He was getting a little fidgety now. He really didn't want to pass this chance up, but it could get very complicated very quickly if he didn't just send this kid packing as soon as inhumanly possible. "You know, family? Friends? Lodgers? You said your friends were helping you out, right? Do they live nearby?" Is Christian going to find them and get them to tell him where you went? Is he going to track you back to me? Fuck, that pub's just 'round the corner too... This would make or break it, he decided. If there was too much risk, he just plain shouldn't do it. But god it had been a while... His closet was currently empty and had been for three days. And worse, if he had to let him go they weren't even going to get to fool around beforehand, because the kid was self-pronounced straight. A waste of an evening. A bitter disappointment. One in a string of many, lately. He even looked disappointed. He couldn't really help it. Fate had kicked his favourite puppy.

---

Lorin tipped his head to the side at the question, eyes traveling along Newt’s body. He was self pronounced straight but he was also shitfaced and high on the fact that he’d given the New York bastards the slip. And Newt was really good looking even if he was a bit odd. Could a one night stand with a guy really hurt? Well, another one? Maybe he should just stop calling himself straight and admit that the assholes on the forums were correct. Cocksucker. “Probably. Haven’t met anyone quite like you before and it would make for a great entry. Don’t worry about names or places. I never put that stuff on my site.” Some people were funny about that kind of stuff but Lorin was careful. He either left the name out all together or made something up if he absolutely had to call a person or place something. “I kinda like you, Newt. You’re weird and…different. I like that.”

If he were at all sober the question would have raised a thousand red flags and set off hundreds of alarms. However, Lorin began chewing his lower lip in deep thought as he tried to remember. “Well…my flat mates knew I went to Garlic. I invited them both to come with but they said no. You’d have liked ‘em too I think. They can be a bit loud when they get really drunk or horny but at the end of the day they’re both sweet. We’ve been friends since before I moved to America and they’re letting me crash until I find a place of my own. You want me to phone them up? They could join us if they’re not fucking their boyfriends or each other.”

Lorin watched as Newt got a little closer, his eyes lifting to settle on his face. Now that he thought about it, Tabby and Marissa would really get in the way. “Or…it could be just us. I think that’s better.” He pushed himself back up from the chair, setting his glass aside and he took a few steps closer to Newt. “What do you think?”

---

Oh fucking fuckity fuck. Fuuuuuuck!

Newt painted on the most strained, awkward, what-a-fucking-conundrum smile that had ever come into being in the history of all human kind. At least, that's what it felt like. This young man was not fucking hitting on him now, was he? No, no! What a disaster! And they knew where he'd gone! Christian would surely track him back to here! Sure, there were a number of other vampires in Soho, but all of them were probably good at lying. Subterfuge of that sort wasn't Newt's forte. He could carry a bag of bits of house guests downstairs and get questioned about it and answer with a smile, but when it came to being drilled by Christian... Well,stronger men than Newt had folded. And now the confusing little dork was actually hitting on him!

"I... you... No..." No, no, no! Don't invite your friends! Luckily, he didn't have to worry about that for long though, because Lorin dismissed the idea before Newt was even able to stutter an idiotic I'm not prepared for more house guests! Now, newt's tongue was tying itself into knots as Lorin approached him. Maybe they could just fool around. Just that. And then he'd let him leave. Cross my heart and hope to die. "I th- think that's... that you could... That's fine." He squeaked out a little sound that tried to be a cool, casual laugh, but sounded like someone had just stepped on the cat's tail. Get a hold of yourself, man! You're... You're... However old you are! You're old! Ooooold! Stop acting like a schoolboy. "I'm... much better one-on-one anyway. I get... anxious around a lot of people." Stepping in closer even as Lorin approached, he could feel his mortal warmth emanating through the short distance between them. He basked in it languorously for a moment. Christian would never have to know. I could move to Australia... He's so... So... Keepable.

---

Loin really had no idea what he was doing anymore. He had way more to drink tonight that he’d had in some time and the mixture was probably not the best idea. Until tonight he’d been too paranoid to get drunk. He had to be on his game in case the bastards from the clubs came around and he had to give them the slip. Not that dodging a vampire was an easy feat anyway. Rarely did he get away if they’d already spotted him. But tonight was free night and so he’d gotten piss drunk and was letting it all down. He’d even have a little fun with Newt. Lorin made himself a slurred internal promise to just call himself bisexual and get it over with. He could play with guys like this if he did. Who knows? It might work out better for him with the ladies too. They liked guys willing to hook up with other guys. The whole threesome thing and all.

He stopped just short of bumping into the other man, looking up at him. Newt had a few inches on him but it wouldn’t make things too awkward if things progressed. He wouldn’t need a step stool or phonebook to stand on. “Then it’ll be just the two of us.” No need to spoil the fun with a larger crowd. “So…” He really had no idea what to say next but his body was itching to press itself into Newt’s. His hands fidgeted at his sides, wanting to reach out and pull him close. One of the many reflective surfaces caught his eye and he looked to it, once again realizing they were surrounded by mirrors. Maybe this guy liked fucking in front of mirrors. Lorin couldn’t say that he’d ever noticed a mirror for he was typically too occupied but it could be kinda kinky. He briefly wondered where all the courage had gone as his attention returned to Newt and one of those hands reached out to brush against the other man’s. “Now what?”

---

Now what? Now what? Well, don't look at me! You're the one who stayed! You're supposed to be straight! You're lucky I don't snap your... lovely... lily white... delicious throat. Stop that! Newt shrugged his shoulder helplessly before electricity shot up his arm from the brush of Lorin's fingers against his hand. He jumped slightly in his skin, feeling the static hum jar every nerve. It had been too long. Too, too long. Especially with someone living. He'd had to just keep the last two around. Like Lorin, his gaze eventually roamed to the mirrors too, as if they would afford him the answers and the courage he needed to just keep pushing on with this instead of kicking Lorin out right then and there. And they did.

In a nearby standing mirror, he watched the back of Lorin's head, and then swept his gaze down him from hair to heels. Along the way, he did pause at his backside, but he wanted to see Lorin's face in the mirrors. Amongst other things. So he reached out his hands for the young man's shoulders, and used them to gently turn him around if he was willing. If all worked out according to plan, Newt could peer over his shoulder at him, in their reflection, and smile as he slid his hands down Lorin's back, to the hem of his shirt. Don't freak out, don't freak out, don't freak out. He kept eye contact through the reflective surface, his blue eyes growing intense, almost mesmerising in a way though he didn't mean to do it and wasn't even aware he was doing it.

Cold hands trespassed under the hem and then slid upwards with fingers splayed against the contours of muscle and bone. The result was that Lorin's shirt rode up on Newt's wrists, and he slid those same fingers up through Lorin's hair, essentially popping the neckline of the shirt over his head. With that out of the way, the hands travelled down his shoulders, and down the slopes of his arms, the shed the garment entirely. A bump of his hips from behind and a sturdy grip on the young man's shoulders off-balanced him so that he had to take a step forward. He held him up, kept him from falling, but guided him closer to the mirror, watching them both in the reflection. "I thought you were straight," he murmured with his cool lips against the shell of Lorin's ear, his gaze still locked.

---

If he lived through his night he’d hate himself. If it ever came to light during course of the evening that he’d hooked up with a vampire, and one with connections to the New York group, he would forever lock himself in his flat and become a hermit. He’d figure out a source of income. Perhaps he could find a job that only had him out during the day. No vamp could get him then. He would never go to bars or clubs again, never allow himself to be picked up by beautiful strangers like the one he was currently standing with. It seemed that all those lovely, mysterious people that lurked in the dark corners were all blood sucking monsters and Lorin would not risk his neck again. But, as previously stated, he had to live through this first. He had no idea that there was every possibility he would be a skeleton in Newt’s closet by dawn.

He moved when the hands guided him, not really aware of what was going on and just rolling with it. He found himself looking into the standing mirror. It took a moment for his eyes to meet Newt’s in the reflection but the moment he did he could not look away. There was something about them, something enchanting. He’d been looking at the young man all night but it felt like he was seeing him truly for the first time right now. This should feel familiar to him but he was too lost to those eyes and the alcohol in his veins. The hands under his shirt caused him to shiver but he did not pull away. Leaving Newt was the farthest thing from his mind right now. He was also too hypnotized to think about the less than a week old bite mark in the back of his shoulder, or any of the others for that matter. There were a few here and there, six at the most, on the shoulders and near the collar bones. They were in various states of healing, from completely scarred over to the most recent on his right shoulder.

Once again Lorin moved as he was guided, taking the steps toward the mirror. His eyes hadn’t left Newt’s yet. “I say that but it’s not true. I like both.” He should figure out that he was under a vampire’s spell by now. He should have known. It had been done to him so many times before. But for the life of him he could not care right now.