unholy | drakiel (-18)

Draken walks on stage, lights on him, the music so loud it’s blaring in his ears. It’s on purpose, to avoid any type of unwanting sounds from being heard, so clients forget that there are other people in the room and only think about the person on stage. Like they are here only for them, dancing only for them. The thought always makes Draken smile, luscious and wanting, because all the stares on him make him feel more powerful than a whole lot of things. And tonight, it feels even more this way. It feels like a complete victory, because the man he invited is right here. He’s not supposed to be able to tell the identity of clients of course, the charmed delicate masks that they all wear make sure that no one is recognizable, in here or outside. It goes the same for him, and it is why he dares doing this, when the backlash could be much too grand for him to handle. It would send him back to his parents and under close care in a second, and Draken doesn’t want that. He loves to play with fire and defy the rules, but not to the point of losing his freedom. He lost it for a year. He is never doing that again. So, Draken is not supposed to recognize clients, and clients are not supposed to recognize him. Except.

What makes him do it? He doesn’t know. It’s been months. Months of catching stares, of feeling them. It’s not often, of course not, because Adriel Dunn is much too smart for that. But it’s there. It is impossible to completely refrain from desires, wants. And Draken completely believes he is a walking fantasy. The little slip-ups were bound to happen, from time to time, and once Draken caught on to them, he never let them go. He was curious. Curious to see if Adriel would even act on them ; if it was just plain curiosity on his part too, if in the end he would decide he wasn’t interested at all. At first Draken thought he wasn’t, but then it changed. The American had always flirted with him, because he flirted with everybody, even girls. It was just his way of being. And it was so good to see Adriel get even more riled up when Draken aggressively flirted with him when they were having an argument. Thinking back on it, that was probably why it worked so well. Anyway, Draken flirted because that was what he did, but it was more for fun and annoyance than anything else. There were enough men available to not waste his time on straight ones. Except there was one glance, and then one look, and then one slip-up towards his lips when he annoyingly came into Adriel’s space to talk to him, and there was the barest of shivers when he touched his neck sometimes. So of course Draken knew, but told nothing and played for a while, waiting. Patience wasn’t his strongest suit, however. Today, he has just decided to go for it. He supposes he could have just go in for a kiss ; they were alone after all, hanging out in Hogwart’s park, away from prying eyes thanks to some thick trees. He could have, but Draken did not wish to plainly ruin their friendship if Adriel rejected him somehow. So he went for his Slytherin side. “Have I ever told you I do pole dancing?” As if it was nothing, he changes the subject of their conversation abruptly. Laying on the grass, he wiggles a little to grab his wallet. “You should come and see me, Saturday night.” He fishes out a small card, black with golden embroidery. With his wand, he taps on it three times. It glows for a second. Then, he hands it to Adriel. “Go to this address, and give it at the entrance. There are a lot of privacy spells and I’d hate to not be able to recognize you.” He had never brought a guest to one of his shows. He knew fellow performers did sometimes, and so he knew the new settings of the privacy spells worked. If Adriel went it with his card infused with his magic, they’d give him a special mask so they could recognize each other. “I dance at nine.” He looks at him, finally, a teasing smile on his lips. “Don’t be late.” He stands up, suddenly, not willing to continue the conversation. However, he stills bends down, catching himself on the trunk behind Adriel. He comes close enough to whisper into his ear. “Don’t worry, the audience is full of guys with pretty girlfriends waiting for them at home. Just like you.” And he’s off in a breeze.

Adriel could not have come. He could say he was busy, and they would both forget the incident and Draken would never ask again. He had other things to do than to chase after his best friend if he didn’t want to be chased. It was a one-time bet. And the bet paid off. He always smiles Draken when he performs, but tonight it has a victorious edge to it. His moves are deepened, his whole show even more lascive than he usually does. His gaze goes across the audience, from one small single table to another, but it always comes back to Adriel. He is always there to catch his gaze, to watch directly into his eyes as he moves his body a certain way, gives the barest hint of tongue sliding across his lips. It’s probably his best show yet. No, he knows it, as he goes off stage and hears the clapping lasting and lasting, but he doesn’t come back out. Not yet. First, he takes a quick shower, and changes into a new outfit. He fixes back the black mask with bunny ears on his face – the one that gives him the nickname of Black Bunny – and enters the room once more. Immediately, clients turn his way, clearly hoping to pay a hefty price for a private show. But there is only one man he is interested in tonight, and Draken slides towards him, his inviting smile never leaving his lips. He bends towards Adriel, and whispers into his ear once more. “Come and chat with me.” He pulls back, looking into his eyes, a fire burning there that he has never shown him before.

He’d never thought he would do it. Not today, not in a million years. It’s been a long time since the moment Adriel Dunn decided to ignore a part of him, and buried him so deeply he could almost convince himself it didn’t exist. Almost. That was before he met Draken. It was easier to be in denial when surrounded by people like him, in a world that has been designed in a certain way, rules by antique diktats that everyone would observe. But then he crashed into his existence. That hasn’t been immediate, for habits die hard and the will of the one who wants to be heir is strong. But there  is something in the way he walks that would attract the eye to the feline quality of it. There is a gleam in his eye when he jokes that would capture your attention for a few seconds. There is a quality to the smirk adorning his lips when he provokes that would draw you in instantly. And a few times, the Slytherin could feel himself slipping. It only lasted for a few seconds, and then he got control back. But the Sterling is no mere fire. And as talented a fireman the Dunn thought it was, nothing prepared him for the burning pit of hell that seemed to open just for him every time they were together. So when the card got slipped, when the murmur in his ear drew shivers from him, part of him knew he was doomed. There has still been this strength, for a moment, willing to tear the little carton in a dozen pieces to make sure he doesn’t go. But the warmth that radiates from it has been very difficult to ignore. He could just go and see. This is all he said, after all. He mentioned his skill that he doesn’t know about. He could just show up to prove his interest and support. This meant nothing. That’s what he has been repeating himself, picking the most discreet black outfit he owned. Making his way to the place. Arriving in advance. Putting the mask on his face. Entering there. And discovering the previous show before his friend’s. This is just a performance.

And then he appeared. And holding on to his glass has been a necessity. This is not what I like. The outfit is tacky. This is not my taste. This is what he focuses on. Tries to. It lasts a few seconds. Before his gaze holds on to the rest. The exposed part of the body he already had glimpses of, in the Quidditch restrooms. The motions, that soon enough dry his mouth, rendering him extremely thirsty. And even downing the whisky doesn’t quench it. There are no more thoughts, nothing flowing in his brain. The only thing he can feel it what this does to his body. How fast the blood in his veins is pulsating. How hot it is in the room, all of a sudden. How tingly his fingers are. How light-headed he feels. As it ends, as everybody is applauding, he doesn’t. He cannot move, cannot take his eyes from that pole, from that stage, from that curtain that swallowed… Desire personified. This is what he feels. And this is a whole other level, when going back to whatever happened to him before. To the girls he bedded. He wanted them, sure. He enjoyed them, obviously. But lust seems to be burning, in every artery, every vein. And he is still inert, when Draken appears. He knows it’s him. He knows he is the only one able to know it. He doesn’t even question this. Nor anything. Because he is so close. They often are. But this time, it is different. “Come and chat with me.” The whisper is soft and raw at the same time. There is a nod, the only thing he can produce. And this is like something lights up in the background, a door that appears. He doesn’t question it. Doesn’t question anything. Magic is at play; and sanity and reality have been left at the door. He is the first to rise, and to go there. To under the little salon. The black couches are barely noticed. For Adriel turns around immediately. The entrance has disappeared. They are alone. “I don’t want to chat.” His voice is low and a bit broken. This is a sound he doesn’t know. But there is not much he knows, right now. He moves. Launching himself forward. Letting his body get the one he has been admiring for the past minutes. Walking. Trapping it against the wall. The sensation brings him back. And his mouth lunges forward, to capture Draken’s in a swift, avid motion. Like the thirsty throwing himself into the well.

Adriel nods, and it is all that he needs. The smile never leaving his face, Draken leads them towards his private room. He knows the black couches by heart, he has climbed the sole pole in the middle of the room a lot of times. There is a private bar on the right corner, and the lights are all dimmed and intimate, made for private shows and anything else he’d want. There is magic protecting the place, protecting its inhabitants and so Draken has never been scared once in here, not even with too handsy patrons larger and stronger than him. Tonight, there is not one hint of fear. There is only want, desire, burning bright in his body for the man before him. There is a bit of smugness too, of pride, because he figured him out and he made him break. “I don’t want to chat.” Oh, this voice. The lion wins over the snake tonight. Draken smirks. For once, he is not interested in chatting either, even thought the Gryffindor is an endless chatting box on a daily basis. Oh, he will probably talk again, simply because he can’t help it, but for now… for now the body against his and the lips that find his are more than enough. A sound escapes him as they kiss, a mixture of relief and desire. He lets himself be pressed against the wall, undulating his body against the other one. Both his hands come to grab his neck, encircling the back of his head, brushing along his face. He forces Adriel to slow down, forces him to follow his tempo. His tongue tastes his lips slowly, explores his mouth, his piercing clicking against his lips and rolling on Adriel’s tongue. He wants him melting down, wants him mad with desire, wants to bring out the most secret parts of him, the darkest places. He digs his fingers in his neck like claws. His left hand comes to push away one mask then the other, so they aren’t bothered by them. Then it slides along his body, feeling his chest for the first time, reaching behind to grab his backside, bringing his hips closer. He moves his own, curls his leg along his to angle himself just right and pushes against him, an appreciative sound at the back of his throat. This is going to be good. So, so good.