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smokingmirrorSeries: Chalk And Charcoal
Author: Avarice
Rating: PG
Pairing: Mikhael/Tybalt, Tybalt/OC
Spoilers: pre BMB
Summary: The boys attend a halloween party. October 1994.
Word Count: 4695
Date First Posted: 11-12-2001
Date Revised: 22-05-2011
Beta: Tink, Brandon.
Awards: -
Notes: Aeons ago there was an accompanying piece of art to this. It was hot. That is all. It was just a happy coincidence that IWAV came out in this period of time, as it fitted the situation and characters early. Also, added that touch of TiH to BMB Tybalt. Of course he likes vampire movies :D
Feedback: always welcome, as is constructive criticism.
Also Archived At: LJ
"Come on!"
"No."
"Oh, don't be such a goddamn baby."
Sullen. "I'm not."
"Bullshit. Come out so I can see you."
"I look fucking ridiculous."
"Probably. But how will I know unless I see first?"
Silence.
"I'm getting changed."
"For Christ's sake, Mikhael, get your ass out here."
More silence.
".....I look stupid, Ty."
Cajoling. "I don't know that... you won't show me..."
"I don't think-"
Annoyance. "I didn't shell out good money for these costumes for you to whine about them."
"I'm not whining! I just have reservations as to being seen in public like... this."
Low, steady voice. "If you don't come out here right now, I'm going to the party on my own."
A pause, a sigh. Shuffling of feet.
Tybalt looked down at his nails and hissed impatiently. He hadn't anticipated this much resistance. And quite frankly, he couldn't understand it. They had discussed this for weeks, and while not overly enthusiastic, Mikhael had agreed, and he was going to hold his boyfriend to it come hell or high water.
It had started about 2 months ago, when they had gone to see Interview With A Vampire at the cinema. Tybalt was immediately enraptured. He was notoriously hard to please, but the film seemed to have all the elements that he enjoyed in spades -- sex, death, blood and eroticism.
Something about vampires fascinated him, so when he had suggested in the lead-up to Halloween that they attend one of the many campus parties in costume, Mikhael had relented in favour of pleasing his boyfriend. Even though the thought of attending a party made him more nervous than his last round of finals.
Tybalt walked over to the small wardrobe and opened it, studying himself in the full-length mirror attached to the inside of the door. A long-sleeved white shirt with large ruffles at the cuffs hung loosely on his torso. It hung open, showing off his pale, muscled chest, and was tucked into dark brown pants that hugged his legs. A pair of battered brown riding boots encased his legs from knee to toe. Long red hair was tied with a plain black band that rested at the base of his neck, a few copper strands coming out to frame his face haphazardly. Finally, to complete the look, two fang caps covered his eyeteeth, transforming his already charming white smile into something more dangerous.
"Tom Cruise never made him look this good," Tybalt murmured, smiling at his fangy reflection. He turned to look at the clock and frowned.
"Screw this. I am not going to be late. Seeya, Mi-" His mouth suddenly dried out as he saw his boyfriend standing nervously in the bedroom doorway, looking imminently uncomfortable.
"I still think I look ridiculous," Mikhael commented, shifting nervously from foot to foot.
The brunet's large frame was encased in a royal blue velvet jacket with matching breeches. An off-white shirt that came to just under his chin, with slightly frilled cuffs that rested on the backs of his hands. A gold brocade waistcoat peeked through his crossed arms, delicately stitched with beautiful patterns. A pair of dark brown boots similar to Tybalt's fit his feet perfectly. Mikhael's mouth was closed, but judging by the manner in which his jaw was working, the redhead guessed he'd put the caps on his teeth as well.
A smile slower than molasses started in Tybalt's eyes and ended with a large, sharp-toothed expression of pleasure. "Wow," Tybalt gestured in a circular pattern with his finger, prompting Mikhael to turn around slowly. By the time he had moved 360 degrees, Tybalt had closed the gap between them, encircling his arms around the brunet's waist. "Just... wow." Hands moved down over Mikhael's velvet covered behind.
Mik squirmed, but a faint blush tinted his cheeks. "I look alright?"
Tybalt's lips curved up in a rakish grin and stood on his toes so that their noses met. "I want to eat. You. Alive." Each word was punctuated by a lingering kiss, in which he dragged his tongue over each one of Mikhael's fangs.
"Now c'mon, 'Louis'," Tybalt winked and snagged his hand, pulling him out the door. "We're going to be late."
***
It was a ten minute walk to the dorm block where their party was being held, although gatherings were planned all over campus -- evident by the number of students running around making idiots of themselves. There was a chill in the air and Tybalt was wearing quite an open costume, but adrenalin kept him warm. That and wrapping his hands around the velvet-clad Russian's arm.
The sound of thumping music and general party noise got louder as they approached block 'D'. Mikhael's steps slowed considerably. He'd never had any reason to go near this dorm until recently, and only then because Tybalt lived in 'C'. Even so, the brunet couldn't help feeling nervous. He was very much a one-on-one person -- if that -- and didn't react well to large social gatherings.
Particularly when they were as large and as social as this.
Tybalt spied the large life-size skeleton 'borrowed' from the biology labs hanging by a noose from the fourth floor and grinned. He rubbed Mikhael's arm.
"Eric throws the best parties on campus, bar none," Tybalt informed him. "Anything worth happening tonight is going to happen here." Mikhael just nodded dumbly. The nod became an almost manic spasm of the neck by the time they reached the door of the building.
Tybalt glanced at him as they walked up the stairs, a frown marring his brow. "Mik, just relax and you'll be fine. It's a party. You have been to them before, right?"
Mikhael's cheeks coloured slightly and he coughed. Tybalt studied the brunet's profile for a moment before slipping his arm down from Mikhael's bicep to his hand, giving it a small squeeze.
"It's just a party. Nothing to worry about," he affirmed in a voice that oozed authority and experience. The corner of Mikhael's lips turned up a bit. Tybalt's confidence never failed to reassure him.
They ascended the flights of stairs in comfortable silence in which Mikhael actually started to talk himself into being relaxed. But as soon as they were in sight of the landing on the fourth floor, his anxieties were back tenfold.
It didn't help that they hit a palpable wall of music. Mikhael cringed even as Tybalt focused on the entrance. There was a nun in a mini-skirt at the door (on closer inspection, a male nun) blessing people as they entered. Tybalt smiled reassuringly at Mik before stepping up to the threshold, waiting to be noticed. The nun's face lit up in a huge grin.
"Tybalt! You made it!"
"As if I'd miss out," he smirked.
Eric was a few centimetres shorter than Tybalt with bright blue eyes behind a pair of oval glasses. Balanced on the edge of his nose, they seemed to be worn more for fashion than any great need. Under the wimple, his hair was a light brown. He leant towards Tybalt earnestly. "You should keep your eyes open, man. Lots of tail on offer. Not that it's ever hard for you to pick up, but tonight should be a cakewalk."
Mikhael went rigid, but the redhead didn't seem concerned. Tybalt's wide smile looked much larger with the fangs. He tugged on Mikhael's hand, forcing him to step forward. "Thanks for the tip, but I brought my own."
A grin that looked inherently wrong on a nun with a five o'clock shadow was directed up towards Mikhael. Eric nodded knowingly, making the brunet fidget.
"So this is the guy who's taken you off the market? Not what I expected," Eric quickly broke eye contact at Mikhael's glare, turning to Tybalt. "But taste prevails, as always."
"Have you ever doubted me?" Tybalt raised an eyebrow.
"Never," Eric grinned, "I value my balls right where they are." He gestured for them to go inside.
Tybalt took a step forward, tugging sharply on Mikhael's hand again when the brunet didn't immediately follow. Mikhael acutely felt the scrutiny of their host as he stepped inside.
"Nice skirt," the Russian commented to Eric as he passed.
Mikhael's hand reflexively tightened on Tybalt's as they waded into the sea of people, lights, sights, sounds and smells. Mixed shouts of recognition greeted Tybalt as they entered. Mikhael looked around at all the faces gazing on his boyfriend with recognition.
"Do you know all of these people?" he whispered as loudly as he could over the music.
"About half. The rest... no fucking idea," Tybalt answered, teeth clenched in a smile.
"But, they know you, right?"
"I guess so. Seen me around campus, or something."
Mikhael looked down at his boyfriend, a feel of unease settling in his stomach. He knew Tybalt was attempting to play down his popularity for his sake, but the brunet had seen first hand. He'd had a front row seat to the steady queue of guys and girls who fawned over the redhead at any opportunity for the past 6 months. From just wanting to hang out, to full on propositions, Mikhael had seen it all.
And he didn't like it.
The brunet studied their surroundings. It was wall-to-wall students. There was always a steady movement somewhere, people jostling each other with drinks in hand, trying to move to one section or another. In fact, the only two places with any bare floor visible were near the entrance, and near the makeshift dance floor -- nothing more than a space cleared of all furniture.
There it seemed the crowd writhed and undulated in time with the music. Mikhael didn't find anything attractive about it at all. It looked cramped, hot and uncomfortable. Plus a shark's large foam dorsal fin had a habit of smacking a lot of dancers in the head as he got down and funky.
If there was one thing he wasn't going to do it was--
"Dance?" Tybalt had grabbed his other hand and began backing towards the dancefloor. Panic stations.
"No," he said quickly, loud enough to be heard over the noise.
Tybalt stopped, brows furrowing slightly. "No?"
"No."
The redhead looked at him a moment longer, before shrugging, an appeased smile on his face. "Later then," he drew closer, wrapping Mikhael's arms around his waist. "Let's mingle."
Mingling seemed to consist of moving around in the crush of people until someone invariably stopped Tybalt to have an involved and meaningful conversation while Mik stood behind him and tried not to look suicidal.
Tybalt, on the other hand, was having a great time. He felt completely comfortable leaning back into Mikhael's arms as he conversed with other students. He'd attended many parties before, and often left with people, but it was a rare occasion that he actually arrived with anyone.
There was something very easy and sheltered about the action. It did slightly stem the flow of propositions he received as well. All Tybalt had to do was to tilt his head back and place a kiss on the underside of Mikhael's chin, even as the brunet fiercely glared his disapproval, and his would-be admirer backed right off. He found the scenario perversely pleasurable.
Eventually they gravitated over to a table with an array of exotic looking drinks on it. Tybalt mused over the selection, before picking up two.
"Don't ask what's in it, just accept the taste and move on," Tybalt said as he picked up one red and one green one, and handed it to Mik. Mikhael looked down into the plastic cup for a long moment, before lifting the drink to his lips.
He was ready to experience the worst, but it seemed his fears were unfounded. The beverage had a strong fruity flavour with a nice kick of alcohol. Not making an attempt on his own, Tybalt watched his boyfriend drink with interest.
"Nice?"
Mikhael nodded, accepting the only pleasant thing to have experienced all evening.
"Can I have a taste?"
The brunet nodded again, holding his cup out to Tybalt. The redhead brushed the proffered hand aside, pressing his body flush against Mikhael's instead. Mikhael jumped, startled. With a predatory charm, Tybalt brought each hand up to cradle the side of the Russian's face and pressed their lips together in a passionate, lingering kiss. He licked away all evidence of the sweet drink.
Mikhael closed his eyes and did his best to pretend they were alone in his dorm and not in the middle of a crowded party where he felt about as comfortable as he would wearing leather studded underwear with the studs on the inside. His make believe world was shattered when he was jostled from behind, nearly dropping his drink.
Reluctantly, Mikhael pried himself away from Tybalt. The redhead opened his eyes languidly, bemused. Mik fidgeted and looked around nervously. He could see no one looking at them, but that didn't alleviate his paranoia.
Tybalt gazed out onto the dance floor longingly. He loved to dance, and was starting to get bored. There wasn't any point being at a party with great music and having a boyfriend when dancing wasn't factored into the equation.
"Let's go out on the floor," Tybalt grabbed Mikhael's sleeve and began walking in the direction of the dancing bodies. He turned around irritably when Mikhael hadn't moved.
"I think I'll just stay here," Mik responded, planting his heels firmly into the ground.
The redhead frowned, eyes boring into Mikhael's.
"I want to dance," he stated slowly, clearly displeased.
"I want to stay," Mikhael countered. He loathed conflict, especially with Tybalt, but this was something he desperately didn't want to do.
Tybalt opened his mouth to reply when a black and white blur appeared at his side out of nowhere.
"Ty, dude, there is someone you have to meet," Eric gave Mikhael a semi-apologetic look, "you don't mind if I steal him for a while, do you?"
"He won't mind," Tybalt confirmed, face unreadable.
"Great!" With that, Eric disappeared into the miasma of people.
Tybalt locked eyes with Mikhael for a moment before turning away and following Eric.
Mikhael cursed audibly. This was going from bad to worse. He sighed dejectedly and looked at the table of drinks, before picking up a cup full of fluorescent orange liquid, downing it in one gulp.
***
Tybalt worked the crowd like a pro. Without Mikhael's looming presence behind him, the offers of... companionship picked up once again. Not that he gave them more than a passing thought this time around.
The redhead cruised through smoothly, talking, laughing, doing all the things he usually did at a party. The amount of attention he received was gratifying. To be charming, popular, talented and good looking in this institution was akin to achieving godhood.
He glanced around the room for a moment, brow furrowed. He hadn't seen Mikhael since Eric had led him off. It was possible the Russian had departed, but Tybalt doubted it.
Sure enough, he located the broody brunet a few feet from where he had been left. From the amount of empty cups, it seemed he was racking up quite the cocktail total. He also had an utterly miserable look on his face.
Tybalt sighed exasperatedly. It was a party, for Christ's sake. Why couldn't he just try to enjoy himself for a while? Was it too much to ask to want to go out, have a few drinks, socialise and dance with your lover before going to have obscenely great sex? His demands were not at all unreasonable.
Mikhael finished off his seventh drink and eyed the dwindling number of glasses on the table next to him in the hopes of snagging another. At least, he thought it was his seventh. Counting was sort of an issue for the moment seeing as he couldn't get past five.
But if his eyes weren't trained on the bottom of the cup, they followed his boyfriend around the room. Mikhael found himself deeply resentful and jealous of each and every single person the redhead spoke to. It was with a grace and a charisma that was undeniable, palpable. No one whom he spoke to allowed themselves to be distracted by anything... they watched his face laugh and smirk with cartoon-proportioned adoration, happy to even share a moment of his time.
If that wasn't bad enough, their faces when he reached out and touched them... Mikhael bit down on his lip. These weren't malicious actions. As a matter of fact, it was very much Tybalt. He was very physically demonstrative by nature, no matter what he did. Taking someone aside by cupping their elbow, leaning forward and briefly touching their forearm... they were automatic and meaningless gestures to the redhead, but drove Mikhael out of his mind in the half-drunk state he was in.
On another level completely, he envied Tybalt. He was totally comfortable in the crush, talking to as many people as would listen at once. Mikhael didn't like crowds. He didn't like small talk, or social situations, or -- pulling uncomfortably at the high collar of his shirt -- costumes outside the confines of one's home.
Over the thudding music and party noise he heard Tybalt's amused laugh, the kind where he threw his head back and grabbed your shoulder to brace himself. Mikhael's sad expression hardened, and he reached for his eighth drink.
***
"Careful..." he murmured to himself, focusing on his hand. Slowly, Mikhael began to lift the newly filled cup to his mouth. The liquid sloshed over a bit, but there was a negligible amount of spillage. He was just in the middle of congratulating himself and well on his way to a victory toast when it was deftly removed from his hands from behind.
Mik spun around, meeting Tybalt's amused expression with a sullen pout as the redhead drained the contents of his glass. Once finished, he put the plastic upside down on the table like a shot glass, and turned his emerald gaze on the brunet.
"Well, if it isn't my heart's desire and the life of this little shindig."
Mikhael turned back around and grunted a response.
"Cat got your tongue, Precious?"
There was a pause while Mikhael cleared his alcohol-roughened throat. "When are we leaving?" he asked, staring straight ahead.
Tybalt raised his eyebrows incredulously. "Leaving? We've been here barely 2 hours!"
"So?" Mik's mouth felt like he'd tried to gargle a possum.
"So," Tybalt touched Mikhael's arm in a beguiling gesture, "I haven't danced yet."
"Who's stopping you?"
Silence.
After a pregnant pause, the brunet turned to look at Tybalt. Full mouth was set in a hard line, cheeks slightly pulled in, accentuating the curve of his cheekbones. It was a carefully neutral expression, ruined only by the blazing annoyance and disappointment in his eyes.
"Obviously no one," the redhead answered caustically. Mikhael fidgeted and turned away, unable to keep looking into that face. He felt Tybalt's eyes burn holes into the sides of his head for a few more moments. A copper blur flashed in his peripheral vision, as Tybalt turned on his heel and stalked out to the dance floor.
Mikhael drowned out the sound of the small cheer when Tybalt reached his destination with more alcohol.
***
The beat of the music vibrated up through the floor, making Tybalt's feet tingle. He danced with a sinuous grace, bitterness radiating off him in waves.
He was angry. Angry that his boyfriend was having a miserable time at a great party. Angry that he didn't want to dance with him.
Angry that he was so angry about it.
He hated the uncertainty, loathed the vulnerability Mikhael made him feel. Tybalt was all too aware how painfully antisocial and incredibly stubborn the brunet could be. He felt obliged to attempt to get Mikhael participating in the human race -- and at the very least, his social life -- a bit more. Some days seemed harder than others, though. And having Mik out and out refuse him in public like that...
And so he danced.
He moved into the thick of the dancing mass, always gently jostled by other people, their touches fleeting and ephemeral. Somewhere along the way his hair had come out of its band, so it fell about his shoulders in a crimson wave. Tybalt's eyes slid shut and just felt. It was an incredibly sensory experience for someone so tactile... and once again he tried to forget why he wanted to share it with someone.
The redhead lost track of how long he'd been dancing when a pair of arms encircled his waist from behind. For a split second, his heart jumped as he had faith that Mikhael had stepped out of his self imposed brood isolation. Tybalt's eyes snapped open and he looked down.
The arms were slim, feminine and tanned. One bright blue nail from the hands interlocked over his belt wormed its way into the billowing folds of his shirt to lightly scrape over his stomach. Tybalt's hands clamped over the foreign pair, halting their movement.
"Ow."
Tybalt gave a wry grin as he turned around, hands still in a tight grip. "If you don't like it rough, you shouldn't play with me. You of all people know that, Kit."
The girl was dressed in a short short pale blue eskimo outfit, trimmed with white fur. The hood was down, so her chin-length jaggedly cut honey-blonde hair was visible. Long blonde lashes framed a pair of swirling blue-grey eyes.
Tybalt loosened his hold on her hands and took a moment to look her up and down.
"You look good," he nodded.
"I look a damn sight better than 'good' and you know it. Don't patronise me," her blunt response was diluted by the tilt of her head, coupled with a pleasant smile. She slid her arms around his waist from the front this time, pressing her body up against his. Tybalt raised an eyebrow imperceptibly, but acquiesced with her slow movements and allowed her to lead their dance. After all, it wasn't as if he had plans to spend time with anyone else...
The blonde reached a hand up, smoothing ruffled hair and pushing a lock behind Tybalt's ear in an intimate gesture before clasping the back of his neck.
"Ah, I've missed you, Zippers. Where have you been hiding?"
Tybalt's cheeks coloured at the name, even as she grinned naughtily.
"Kathleen," his voice was low and dangerous as he placed his hands on her waist, "I thought you weren't going to call me that anymore."
"That's what you thought. I never made such a promise," she responded airily. The redhead looked into her eyes. He knew which battles he could win, and which weren't even worth fighting. This was most definitely one of the latter.
Kathleen's hands traveled down to Tybalt's shoulders as the music picked up once again. Her hips pressed forward into his on every off beat. Tybalt frowned slightly and pulled back on one of her thrusts forward. She looked up at him, eyes clear and penetrating.
"What is it with you tonight? I haven't seen you in forever."
"Kit," Tybalt began, taking a moment to think of the right words. But he didn't have to say them. The blonde gave a quizzical little smirk.
"So the rumour's true, then? You're a kept man," her face and voice betrayed no emotion.
"Since when do you listen to any rumours that weren't about you?"
"If you recall, all the rumours about me usually involved you too, and what scandalous things we did to each other."
"Touchè," Tybalt murmured.
"But hey, we were just a casual thing, right?" she continued before the redhead had a chance to answer. "So, where is the lucky soul that's caught the infamous Mister O'Donnel?"
"Just leaving."
Two heads snapped around at the new voice.
"Speak of the devil," Tybalt pointedly ignored Mikhael's words and turned to the blonde girl once again. "Kit, this is Mikhael. You'll have to trust me on the fact that he's usually a lot more charming."
Mikhael stayed stonily silent, staring at Kathleen intensely. Or more importantly, the masculine hand on her shapely hip. The girl began to fidget under his gaze, surreptitiously looking up to Tybalt to rescue her.
"Hello, Mikhael," she said politely, if not sincerely, "Zippers has told me... well, not nearly enough about you."
The Russian looked flummoxed for a moment, mouthing the redhead's unwanted nickname.
"'Zippers'?" he asked incredulously before turning back to the blonde. "And Kit. Zippers and Kit, Kit and Zippers," he mused on different combinations of the names. "Sounds like a television show about a boy and his pet kangaroo."
Tybalt's eyes narrowed, face set in a blank mask. "Did you come over to say something?" he asked, tone transparently fake.
Mikhael dropped all bemusement. "I'm going home. Seems you're having a good enough time without me."
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"It means you were too busy wanting to grind against anything that had four limbs and a head to actually give a thought to me," Mikhael said, voice rising slightly in bitterness.
"Would you like help being nailed to the cross, or can you manage on your own? Don't talk to me about who's thinking about whom here. If you weren't half-tanked, you would have seen me dance by myself most of the night because someone refused to dance with me."
"I-"
"Three. Times."
Mikhael glared. "That's not the point."
Tybalt's voice began to attract attention from dancers in the immediate vicinity. They stopped moving and listened curiously.
"Then what is, Precious? I'd really like to know."
The Russian jabbed an accusing finger at Kathleen. "You were dancing with... her," he spat as if it were a vile taste in his mouth.
"You know damn well Kit has nothing to do with this. It's about us. It's about you not living outside the box."
"I don't live in a box," Mikhael replied indignantly.
"Yes you do," Tybalt took a step closer, gesturing emphatically. "I thought tonight was the perfect opportunity to be out together in public, but you just couldn't deal. Anything I tried to do, you shot me down."
"You went and left me alone, and then danced with other people," he said, giving his blonde scapegoat another dark glare. "Wouldn't even know I was your boyfriend," he added resentfully.
"Bullshit!" Tybalt barked, drawing more than a bit of attention to himself. The redhead stepped forward, not noticing the way spectators backed off, giving him ample room. His normally smooth voice became louder and more incensed with each slow measured step.
"I introduced you to people; you just stood there. I asked you to dance; you refused. I wanted to hang out with you in a fun place; you made it as difficult as you fucking well could. I did everything possible to help you loosen up, but you didn't even make an effort, so you don't have the fucking right to lecture me on what does and doesn't make a good boyfriend!"
The whole room went silent, watching the pair. Even the music had been turned down. A few hundred pairs of eyes were trained on the two men, waiting for some movement from either.
Tybalt's fists were clenched so tight his knuckles had turned white. His hair was untidy, cheeks flushed with rage, eyes sparkling rancorous energy.
Mikhael turned and headed to the door without comment. The party guests parted silently, clearing a path to the exit.
Tybalt ground his teeth together, attempting to rein his anger in. He felt an arm slip around his waist and give him a reassuring pat.
"I wouldn't worry too much. Enjoy the rest of the party. Let him sober up," the blonde said.
Mikhael reached the door and turned around for one last look. He saw that girl's arm around Tybalt's waist, obviously 'consoling' him. The alcohol cloud on his brain lifted just enough so that he caught the implications of the happy little picture. An expression of utter devastation etched on his face, Mikhael left alone.
~finis
