Hey down in splendour, take a bow,
Blinded in the white light And the crowd,
Dies slowly in your arms, Better lie alone
And to save your face from changing colour, and your smile all fading yellow,
'Cause you'll never have another, Who will give you ever after...

Down in Splendour.... Straightjacket Fits 

Angelo smiled to himself as he lay like a lazy cat on the couch, posing for Keb. He had to admit, the breather definitely had great talent. Angelo would have to remember to take the painting with him when he and Weasel left later. It was as close to a mirror as he was going to get anytime soon. 

Talent, yes. As for Keb and Aleron being fellow gamers, please!

It pissed Angelo off greatly that they ruined a perfectly good bottle of Metaxa. The drugs they spiked it with were probably tasteless to Joe Norm, but not to Angelo, they made it taste disgusting, but to prove the point that he was unaffected, Angelo downed the entire bottle.

Ti krima, he'd been looking forward to it too. It would've brought back memories of when he had really been a teenager, just old enough to drink, and he and Dimitri would go to the taverna-- Tarpon Springs was Greektown after all -- and knock back a some glasses, then Dimitri would get so drunk he would start to dance to the bouzoukia music, balancing the glass on his head, ever so carefully bending his knees, then slowly getting back up, the glass staying in place.

Angelo had also wanted to see how the brandy would have tasted mixed with Keb's blood. It was one cocktail he'd never had. 

The two breathers were so pathetic. Angelo had almost been tempted to tell them that if they wanted him drugged, all they had to do is drug themselves and he'd be fucked up by the first few droughts. 

It wouldn't be the first time. When Angelo was in one of those moods, moods he had not let Weasel see yet, and if he had his way, Weasel would never see, he and Dimitri would go to the Sargot City drug market, buy whatever drug they fancied and feed it to their pick-up. As soon as it hit him, always him, Dimitri didn't care for girls, they juiced the boy. Any drug but Emerald Dust. Too many trackers in that drug, and even their speeded up metabolisms couldn't break it down. Never junkies. Their tolerances were too high, so the effects were not as great. It worked best on an occasional user, or even better, a novice.

Sometimes they were willing. Other times, they weren't. It didn't matter. Dimitri didn't care and at that point, Angelo didn't either. He didn't really care about anything. He just wanted to get high. To feel something, anything other than bored and empty. 

Like a few nights ago. Angelo was in a very black mood and he felt nothing, his eyes flat as he injected the junk in the pick-up's veins, Dimtiri easily holding him down.

For some reason, his cousin brought out the worst in Angelo, and those nights were like one long drunken, destructive bacchanal. Sex and lots and lots of blood. And by the time they were done, there was no body to get rid of, or if there was, it was so unrecognizable it made no difference. 

It wasn't that he didn't enjoy it, he did, he just wished he had more control over the part of himself that seemed determined to destroy. 

Destroy his victims. Destroy Dimitri. Destroy himself. 

There were big risks, which was why Angelo only did it with Dimitri and didn't do it that often, though more often than he cared to admit. The main reason was that when their minds were scrambled, they were unpredictable, which excited the hell out of Angelo but also scared him because he couldn't Persuade them in the least and if one of them freaked out totally and turned on him.... 

He could always kill them, of course. But he knew that there would be one night where he'd make that fatal miscalculation and the thought gave him a thrill that even he didn't understand. 

Just lying there was getting boring, so he let his mind drift, recalling a conversation he'd had with Weasel. "Why did you accept my offer," Angelo remembered asking him, not too long after he Changed him, "When you knew what it meant and you knew you'd hate it?" 

"Because it was the only way I could have you," had been Weasel's answer. 

And it was true. It may have been a stupid reason, but Angelo made Weasel for the same reason he made any other offspring. To have sex with him without killing him. 

But Weasel wasn't just any other Child. Angelo put up with things he'd never ever put up with before and never would have tolerated from anyone else. 

What was it about him? Could it be that Angelo was falling in love with him? 

Tonight could be a test of that. Finally, Weasel had owned up to his nature, though when that door closed a sick feeling pierced through the pit of Angelo's stomach. 

Not out of fear for Weasel, one look at his eyes told Angelo that Weasel was in no danger whatsoever.

He couldn't say the same for Aleron. Served the fucker right. 

He was more than aware that this was his beloved's way of getting even with both him and Aleron, and was impressed with how much Weasel had learned in such a short time. 

Tonight he'd have Weasel on his terms, he should be ecstatic, all his plans came to fruition.

But that was tonight. 

Weasel was enraged and feral, the loathing of his victim would drive him to do the thing he most abhorred. 

And he would do it for Angelo, thinking that was what he had to do to keep him. 

Afterwards, when the two of them were juiced up and had other hungers to be sated, the Sharing of Pleasure would be intense. Almost euphoric. And everything would end up with the two Children sleeping in each other's arms. 

Until Weasel woke up the next night hating himself. And hating Angelo for creating the very conditions that compelled him to do the very thing he most wanted to avoid. 

Angelo had actually thought he was doing his beloved a favor. Take away the responsibility, take away the guilt, let Weasel enjoy things for once without regret. After all, Weasel liked the kill. He just didn't like the fact that he actually had to kill somebody. 

Even the pricks Angelo purposely chose most nights. 

Instead, Weasel would enjoy it, he was wired that way. Then he would blame Angelo. 

A tune Angelo was getting a bit tired of hearing. 

Still, Weasel was special to him, he cared deeply for him, more than he ever cared for anyone before, even Dimitri. Deeper than he wished to confess. 

But was that love? Was he even capable of such an emotion after all this time? Did he want to be? 

He'd gone to Dimitri's bed this week to teach Weasel a lesson, and because, frankly, he was more than a little disgusted with his lover's attitude. But, even though, as usual, the sex with Dimitri was great, that was all it was and he'd been miserable. 

Angelo loathed anything he couldn't control. And these growing feelings for Weasel were sneaking into his heart no matter how hard he tried to squelch them. 

Wanting to protect Weasel. To save him from himself. To comfort him. To make love to him. Feelings that went beyond just sex. 

Just exactly what they were, Angelo didn't know, it was all new. 

What he did know that as nice as they felt, they also hurt like a bitch. Because as much as he ...loved? Yes, loved, Weasel, Angelo honestly couldn't say if he didn't love the kill more. A different kind of love, perhaps, more of a need, but Angelo wouldn't give it up. 

He couldn't give it up. 

By the same token, it might even be possible that Weasel loved him. A concept that Angelo found unfathomable. People lusted after Angelo. Nobody loved him. 

Even if Weasel loved him, he couldn't deal with the fact that Angelo was unrepentant when it came to killing. Rejecting that part of Angelo was like rejecting Angelo himself. 

It should have been the two of them against their prey, not one against the other. Why the hell couldn't Weasel understand that? 

Why didn't that Child understand that when he made that choice, he was choosing them over him? 

Theé mou! Weasel didn't have to kill at all. Angelo had taught him several tricks, including how to drink from several in staggered intervals. I

n fact, that was what Angelo did quite often. A few dates, a drink from each and he was good to go. Killing meant bodies to get rid of, and the number one rule in the juicer code to follow was to get rid of your empties. Besides, if he left them alive, he could use them again. 

But Weasel had a problem about that as well. That had been what their latest row had been over. (They're not your dates,) Weasel complained, (They're your thralls. You use them once or twice, and after that they don't even know their own name, forget about having free will.) Not Angelo's fault or anything he consciously did. It happened automatically, after he juiced them more than just a few times. Not that Angelo counted. 

And Weasel wasn't finished. (You use them up. By the time you're done, there's nothing left of them.) Okay, that was Angelo's fault. But not his problem. 

Angelo argued that this way was kinder than just killing them in cold blood. Of course, Weasel didn't see it that way. By the end of the night, Angelo was in Dimitri's bed. 

Angelo sighed. That was Weasel and it was a no-win situation. One of the things Angelo loved about him was his strong sense of right and wrong. What got on his nerves was when it was turned towards him. 

"Angelo." Keb's voice snapped Angelo out of his reverie. He'd been sketching at the easel, now he was stroking Angelo's hair, radiating lust and passion and all thoughts of Weasel were pushed to the back of his head as he dealt with something he was more familiar with. 

Shit, he could do it in his sleep. Part of him just wanted to kill the breather already, but that would ruin the game and if Angelo got nothing else out of tonight, he would get the game.

Angelo turned on the charm. "You want to play now? I thought you wanted to paint."

"Later." Keb sat down beside Angelo and leaned over, touching his lips to Angelo's. Not quite a kiss. Angelo was bored already. He cupped Keb's face in his hands and gave him a real kiss, kissing him so intensely, Keb's lust went into overdrive. Strange. Very strange. He tasted blood, but it wasn't Keb's. Angelo smiled wickedly. This might turn out to be interesting after all. He bit his own lips, then kissed Keb deeper, knowing the taste of his blood would excite Keb even more. 

It did. So much that Keb pulled him roughly from the couch and pressed his body against his, furious rubbing his hard-on into Angelo's. "I was right about you," Keb breathed.

"Were you?" 

"You're a wolf like me, like Aleron, not a sheep like your boyfriend." 

Angelo laughed. "Oh, Weasel is a wolf in sheep's clothing, he just won't admit it to himself. And he's more wolf than your blond himbo will ever be." 

Keb's fist shot out, yes, violence was the solution to everything with Supes, but Angelo caught it mid-swing. "One warning. The next time you try that you're dead. Both you and your lover." He squeezed hard enough to almost break Keb's hand, then let it go. 

Keb immediately became contrite, saying something Angelo wasn't sure he quite heard right. "You're right, my angel. I don't know about Weasel, but Aleron is definitely a sheep in wolf's clothing." Keb's eyes rolled in disgust. "Sex with him has become bloody boring, and I have to come up with all the ideas." 

"Ideas?" 

"Oh, the painting and the dolls." 

Angelo was confused. He didn't like being confused. "What dolls?" 

Keb laughed. "I'll show you." 

They walked to the back of the apartment, where Keb pushed a spot against the wall. The wall swung around and Keb motioned for him to come inside. 

Angelo was immediately broadsided with the smell of formaldehyde, and other very familiar scents that didn't belong there. He looked straight ahead and saw dolls. Very pretty, lifelike boy dolls. Then why did he smell old blood and flesh? 

Angelo took a closer look at the dolls. Their faces were cast from a porcelain-like material, but the eyes looked very lifelike. Very lifelike. In fact, that was where the majority of the formaldehyde smell was coming from. 

They didn't. 

Keb didn't seem concerned enough to stop him, so Angelo walked over towards the dolls and looked very carefully. Oh yes. He didn't know if they had been glued somehow to keep them from drooping but the eyes were real and preserved. And if they used real eyes... Angelo eyes scanned the room, taking in the long table, covered with butcher block paper, the shine of a scalpel and series of catheters and needles. He looked again at the dolls, and did the math in his head. 

"So, you specialize in real-life dolls, mmm," he asked Keb. 

Keb seemed proud. Angelo was disgusted. This was extreme, even for him. 

"Yes. I paint them, then use the painting to form the features." 

There was more. Even though Angelo could smell the alcohol the scalpel had been sterilized with, there was still the stench of old blood that clung to the table. Not that old. A few days old at the most. Was that when the last doll had been made? 

"I take it, you take their bodies and dip them in this liquid form of whatever this material is, and let it dry." Angelo looked around. "I don't see a kiln though. Wouldn't it be too big?"

Keb smiled. "We have a factory, and it's specifically for that purpose." This was obscene, but ever curious, Angelo just wanted to know how and what was done. "How do you stop the flesh from burning?" As soon as the words left his lips, he knew. But he wanted to hear Keb admit it. 

Keb didn't disappoint him. "Oh we strip the surface flesh and desanguinate the bodies first, silly. We dip it in after that. It would stink otherwise." Angelo remembered the taste in Keb's mouth. That must have been where it came from. And something told him that the flesh was not wasted. He didn't bother asking though. He'd heard enough. 

Killing was one thing. Murder was wasting life, or, killing without eating. Eating with no need whatsoever was a different story. 

Aleron was Weasel's kill, therefore, he'd leave it up to Weasel, but wouldn't tell him about this just yet, he was in enough of a frenzy. Keb, however, was Angelo's. And as they left the room and the secret door closed behind them, a plan was formulating in his evil little brain. Oh, he had something very fitting planned for this breather. Very fitting indeed.