.12.11.05. - unattainable [tristan]

[excalibur nightclub]

(tristan)
The music has slowed to a dull roar and there's been the infamous call made over the microphones: Last call for alcohol. While the lights are still down, the music still plays, it's the final chance to tie the edges of the massive drunk on - or get your grove on out on the floor for just a few more minutes. One prettyu boi kin is done dancing for the night, and has laid claim to a corner booth where his last shot and chaser shall soon be served. Another 30minutes, 45 tops, and they'll be herded out into the cold unforgiving streets of winter in chicago, but for now he's warm (hot) and comfortably buzzed (drunk) - and still looking a might bit prettier then the barflies hoping that someone's beer goggles have turned their way.

Another night out - and likely, another night going home alone. Damn unrequited love anyways.

(danya)
The infamous call spills balltonguechain from the speakers overhead, a miniscule addendum to the DJ's chosen set, coaxing the worn and weary towards Consumption's Altar at the holy base of clubbing Meccah. As the desperate cling towards the last of tonight's chances, they find one worshipper already hung on bar's wooden beam.

Arms outstretched fully on either side
Elbows notched as weightbearing support.
Pale throat drawn taught by skull's hazy list.
Black lashes drop half-mast stupor.
What sins confessed tonight.....

Long legs block a small portion of walkway just off the glamourized bar, strewn carelessly to cross at distant ankles. Heavy boots lace halfway up his calf but there's no break in black leather until the pale flesh peeks through just above thick belt. Black shirt disappears into the club's lowlit shadows, drawn askew by the bodyforms slipslide saunter down against the bar.

Chin slowly bobs to the dullthrob music of deep-bass trance.

(tristan)
Of all the bodies pressed here and there, there's one his gaze has come back too time and time again - the decadance of the black clad, carelessly strewn boy at the bar. It could be that he reminds him of someone, someone far away, and out of reach - or it could be simply that he looks good in black. Either way, he's noticed, and its there his dark gaze falls again, as he rests chin in hand.

There's no attempt to hide the slide of his gaze, lazily approving, over Danya's form. Nor is there any real look away even as his final drinks are delivered to his table. He pays, and the waitress goes to other tables, and his view is mainly unabstructed again.

What is it about the unatainable that is so tempting?

(danya)
Unattainable is a challenge.
Forbidden is what tempts.

The waitress walks away from delivering drinks and leaves a prettyboi with unobstructed view - just as song's end breaks the blackcladboy's apparent trance and lifts his head to draw within his surroundings.. and equally unobstructed view of Tristan's darkly gazed attentions.

Black brow lifts above eyes still too far away to discern in the clublight shadows. Jaw pivoting about some central point at the back of strongly lined skull to express the vestiges of an expression or collection of - hopefully - curious thought. The way long body moves is nothing short of the precise representation of a heavy, velvet curtain's unhindered fall. Muscle moving liquid to draw his weight from the bar, and onto boot's thick soles striding far too quickly across the distance between booth and bar.

Large hands flatten at the edge of Tristan's table. Should his attention begin there and levitate, all the way up muscular forarm and into the blackness of rolled up sleeves, it will end at the unwavering stare emerging from lagoon green eyes.

(tristan)
Somewhere, there's a lift of a brow that isn't quite scene, and perhaps a touch of curiosity. The movement of the lean form as he pulls away from the bar is watched, deciphered, and quite honestly enjoyed with that steady look that gained the attention in the first place. Lips curl into a slight grin as the dark one moves closer, and closer still, and when those large hands (...you know what they say about that, yes?) lay flat on the table, dark eyes fall, curtained by dusty dark lashes.

There's a pause, as he studies (the possibilities) the fingers, before gaze crawls just as lazily upwards, over the muscular arms, the dark sleeves, and eventually ending at those green eyes.

Lips curl farther still into lopsided grin. "Evenin."

(danya)
Whatever response the darkly clothed man may have had to decidedly lopsided grin - there is no new expression melting into stern features. Not even a humanizing blink.

"Have you found what you were searching so diligently for while across the room." Murmured phrase should have been a question. "Or need you further aid."

(tristan)
The comment breeds soft chuckle, falling from that grin that slides even wider as he leans back in his seat. Fingers collect the moisture around the beer glass as it is lifted to his lips, cool liquid sliding down his throat in one, two, three swallows. The glass finds it's way to well word ring on the wood, and tongue slides out to capture remaining taste from his lips before there is an answer.

"Not quite sure yet, but your joining me is a start. What type of aid are you offering?"

Amused, mostly. While one is darkness with no change in expression, the other is light and wears emotion on his sleave.

(danya)
"That depends entirely on the extent of your ability's deficit." While most within the club at this hour would smirk a cavalier line such as that, Danya retains a relative lack of expression. There is only the subtlest of movements on square shoulders following a new refrain coming from DJ's latest choice.

(tristan)
"Oh, there is very little deficit in my ability, sir, I assure you." He, of course, can't help the humor that slides easily through his eyes, partially hidden by the corkscrew curls that fall haphazardly across his forehead.

A slight lift of his brow, as he continues to lock gaze with the dark, expressionless one.

(danya)
Deep lagoon green eyes drop, finally, to the emptied beer glass sitting on coaster's throne. It draws back, unhurriedly and unobtrusively, to the bridged gazes once again. "Only in your vision, it seems."

(tristan)
Soft the chuckle as he shakes his head. "Not particularly. I siumply enjoyed looking at you. You remind me very much of someone I once knew, the way you stand, the way you devour the music. He would have me play for him for hours - the violin - until I thought my arms would fall off - only to be rejuvinated by other, mutual, activities. Watching you reminded me of my nights with him. If you are offended, I apologize. If you are not, then, well, I'll continue watching."

A pause, and that every goodnatured grin. "And perhaps hoping there are even more similarities."

(danya)
Danya quietly stands and listens to the confessions drawn so easily from Tristan's jovial grin, showing neither humor nor distaste to what facts fall openly between them.

"Such as?" It comes only after silence spreads several seconds beyond the prettyboi's unabashed speech, and were they any further apart the words would have drowned in speaker's heavy tonal rain. It is nothing more than another soft murmur. Too soft, perhaps, for complete translation to fall solely on Tristan's ears. Pale lips form words without hesitation or doubt, easily read by the practiced.
Makes one wonder how sharply other words could strike from that same mouth.

(tristan)
Such as? He asks, and that brow hitches again, and a soft chuckle falls easily between them. A breath, a tingle that memory alone can bring, intensified by the careless precision of one like him (Ah, but never equaled... while there is intensity, there is no rage) so close.

Such as....

He leans forward, again, closer to the pale lips and green eyes, and enticing intensity that lingers with a sense of danger behind emotionless exchange [he's been beaten senseless for much less then this] "Such as fucking until we could hardly move, doing his best to break me, while I screamed only for more."

(danya)
Prettyboi's lean is allowed to draw as close as he dares upon this first acquaintance. If his proposition was meant to shock - it doesn't. It's allowed to fall until lost in the floor-shaking music.

One second.
Five seconds.
Twelve seconds.

Twenty seconds later the music ebbs far enough so that the darker, taller man grants flickering smile. That is the type of smile that could bear deadly fangs half a heartbeat later. Low chuckle unheard yet the tremble of larynx betrays amusement's sigh. "I regret to say there is little more than passing similarities between your long-lost someone and myself."

This would be the cue for tall, dark stranger to withdraw, and disappear into the shadowed club.

Instead, Danya leans forward, inviting himself beyond the boundaries of casual space, so that his teeth click just shy of curls covering Tristan's ear. His voice softens. The words clip. Assuring that the prettyboi unquestionably understands acid whisper.

"If you were to make it into my bed, you would be the first to find he could not move, and could not scream for more, because I would be sure to break you completely." That spoken, only then does Danya draw away to stand once again, and perhaps finally move away. "How unfortunate."

(tristan)
sweet dreams are made of this...

Unbidden the lyrics that lead to (swallow) a slower, darker (temptation) smile. A slow inhalation breathing in every moment of Danya's closeness within acid whisper, making absolutely no attempt to hide the tremor that shimmies under his skin at the promises that linger within reach - if he but could make it to his bed.

He stands, and lean form follows, as if drawn by invisible connection to the darkened one, if only wishing to put sound to the seen yet unheard tease [promise]...

A moment, a breath or two, and then. "Unfortunate, how?" Curious, perhaps, as to what it would take to get into such a broken position... tempted to see if this dark god could possibly match (or surpass) his Fianna King in his past...

(danya)
A moment, a breath or two, and then....
Danya neither move away nor draws the lean prettyboi closer. Levelly looking down at the curious man - even if it could not be more than an inch or so his stature makes it miles.

"By your own words, Mr. Stern."
Do you remember when we met before?
"You hoped to find similarities between the memory I inspire, and the night I portent. Clearly - there are none."
There is none equal to the blood I carry.
"I hope you accept my gracious apologies for such disappointment."

There was no sorrow in the apology. No delay in his parting steps. Above all, no clue what he expected Tristan to next.

(tristan)
A blink - as he struggles to remember if they've met before (obviously they have) and when and where. When it simply doesn't appear - he simply shrugs, and grins easily enough, his hand breeching the space between them to rest briefly on Danya's abdoman.

"Pity, that."

A slight pat, and the pretty boi kin steps aside, and around, moving toward the door and the wicked winter cold beyond.

Posted by danya at December 11, 2005 12:00 AM