brushoff | dorian & godric

dorian & godric

Christ, how Dorian hated Texas.

It was the best and worst of America. There still was so much space, plenty of towns barely hanging on, hardscrabble little places that were trying to make their move, the drive and determination and chutzpah that Dorian adored of the America in the past. America in the 1920s was great. A feisty nation, determined to prove itself on the world's stage, bright and brilliant and ready to take on the challenge.

But the Texas cities? The cities were horrible. Large, ugly things almost crushed under the weight of their own self-importance and overpasses. Forgotten centers where all residents fled to cookie-cutter nigh identical houses set in towns created solely for the purpose of commuting. People didn't thrive in places like that, with their subdivisions and big box stores and fucking Targets. You lived there, but you didn't thrive. And Dorian Gray was always looking for something new, something bright and breathing and alive.

Granted, a shitty little dive bar wasn't exactly what most people thought of when they thought of 'alive.' But Dorian had been lingering around Dallas long enough that a few things had gained his interest. The coming out of the closet, so to speak, of vampires had been the big one. Idly, he wondered what Toby would have thought of it all—he felt so alone for so long. Would vampire advocacy groups or these cute little pamphlets have changed anything? Or would the Sunday morning cable news services about how all vampires are damned have made things worse? There's no way of knowing. But Dorian wanted to learn more about this himself.

Try as he may to fit in, it's obvious that Dorian is here for something. He flirts with the waitress and casually asks a few questions about vampire activity in the area. He loses a game of pool but presses his competition whenever they bring up 'fangs.' This is the third day in a row he's made some not-so-subtle inquiries about vampires, something's got to give eventually. He's British as hell, the accent is a dead giveaway, so might as well lean into the obviousness and see what happens.

And as he slips out of the back door of the dive bar, stepping outside to light up a cigarette, Dorian's certain that something will happen. What precisely? He doesn't know.

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"You're talking about war, Dorian." He heaves a very big sigh. "I will need to take it to the Authority."

He would literally rather cut off his own head.

There's a small pause before,

"Aaand the Authority is....?"

The last time he dealt with vampire nonsense was the 1980s! And it was British vampire bullshit! Fill a man in!

Godric sighs. Oh, this will take a moment. He takes his hand and leads him to another room, letting the others work in the main room. He turns on the music to drown it out and sits on one of the couches.

"They are the vampire government here," he explains. "They are the ones who...convinced...me to take this position."

Convinced. Forced. Either way.

Dorian flops down on the couch, sitting right next to Godric as he listens to the explanation. Alright. Vampire government. Sure, that's a thing! Apparently there's enough vampires out there to form a fucking government.

Dorian isn't entirely sure how he feels about that. The vampires he's encountered are few and far between. Maybe this is an America thing.

"And if you go scorched earth, then you'll inevitably be dragged into the worst thing of all worlds: red tape."

"They are a semi-religious organization bent on ensuring that there is a smooth transition out," he explains. "And keeping control."

He reaches out and toys with Dorian's hair. "And yes. Red tape. I have to keep you away from them."

Semi-religious? Ew. Dorian's nose wrinkles as he points out,

"Trying to keep me away from something means I'm inevitably going to end up dealing with it. That's my lot in life, as it were."

"That is, I fear, something you do to yourself," he grumbles. "So try and restrain yourself."

He isn't really upset about it. But he does tap his nose.

"No religion you have ever heard of," he says, assuming that was what the reason for the face was.

"I'll try," Dorian points out, with a wry little smirk. "But I'm a fabulously attractive immortal currently fucking someone who's apparently in the high echelons of vampire politics. They'll figure me out sooner rather than later."

Which Dorian doesn't seem to mind. But he's not sure if he doesn't mind because this isn't something to worry about or if because he just doesn't know the true extent of how much in danger he might be.

"And good. I'm the sort of person Christians hate, I'd rather not deal with that."

He gently rakes his fingers through Dorian's hair again, thoughtful as he watches the door. He can hear them working on the windows out there and he feels that immense, painful guilt in his chest.

"I am exactly where they want me to be," he corrects him instead of dwelling. "Dorian. I am the oldest vampire in existence. I could lead the Authority. My daughter is a high ranking member of it. But - I won't. And that makes them nervous. They forced me into this position."

Dorian's eyes bug out a little at that realization. The oldest vampire in existence. Logically speaking, that makes sense. But practically speaking, that's not something that crossed his mind until now.

"How can they force you into this? If you're the oldest vampire in existence, that seems like the sort of thing that would give you leeway to do whatever you want."

He chuckles softly. "I used to roam the forests, but now there's no more forests. My territory is shrinking. I cannot roam and hunt like I did before. I had to - face reality," he explains.

Dorian can't help but laugh at that—though it's a sympathetic laugh as he points out, "You are preaching to the choir, darling. It's so damn hard to do a little identity fraud these days."

Vampires might be out in the open, but some immortals are still trying to keep their immortality a relative secret! And sometimes those immortals get hit with 'estate tax' and that's a whole set of bullshit.

"I'll just have to find you something close to a forest then. We'll fuck off there and leave all this behind." A small pause before, "Except that won't happen, will it. You might loathe this job but you have people under your wing now."

"And you will hate it," he points out softly. "No soft feather beds?" He chuckles. "No laundry service? No warm water and oils for your bath? How would you survive?"

"I can be hardy if I wish," teases the man who would bitch and moan the entire time they were in the wilderness (and they both know he would bitch and moan the entire time they were in the wilderness.)

"The problem, of course, is that most of the time I don't wish for that."

Godric just cups his face and leans over to kiss him. "Dorian. I have only just found you. Pledged myself to you. I will not take you from what you know and love for my own selfish purposes."

And Godric is still convinced he will outlast Dorian. The thought is devastating.

Dorian lingers in the embrace and kiss, letting Godric’s hands stay on his face as long as he likes. Because inwardly, he doesn’t want to deal with roughing it in some cabin. He hates it. He’d loathe it. So if Godric wants him to be selfish, then he’ll be selfish!

But inwardly, Dorian can’t help but hate how selfish he is. This is obviously hurting Godric and obviously he’d be better off making a clean break from it all. But it’s same old Dorian, focusing on his own wants and needs at the expense of others.

Pathetic.

“If we are going to be here, if you are still going to be wrapped up in vampire politics, then please let me help. It doesn’t take a psychic to see how much you hate all this."

"Dorian," he says softly, leaning down to brush fangs across his neck. "Don't you see how much you are helping now? Don't you see how quickly you have come into my confidence?"

He doesn't care how selfish he is. He wants to be with Dorian.

Dorian badly represses a groan as he feels Godric's fangs brush across his neck. Fuck, that's intoxicating.

"I can still do more," he points out, as he steps closer to Godric, indulging in the vampire's presence. "Let me."

He holds him tighter on the couch. "What do you want to do, Dorian? Say it explicitly."

"I want to help you out," Dorian answers. "I want to see this problem, to see all the bullshit you have to deal with, and find a way to cut through it so you don't look as stressed as you do right now."

He just closes his eyes and leans back.

"Right now, we need to deal with the cult. We thought we got rid of them, but they obviously have another faction or a leader. We didn't pull out the root. So. That's what we need to do first."

"I can help in the daytime," Dorian muses. "They probably nknow I'm affiliated with you lot now, but I doubt they know all I can do. We can find a way to use that to our advantage."

"Do you think you could - listen for them? Find where they congregate? No one who was there knows your face. And unless I have an informant in my nest, no one from the outside knows you're with me," he says softly.

Dorian can't help but give Godric a wry smile. Be a nosy little shit and find out information about the cult? Easy peasy. And frankly, something that he knows he'll be good at. After all, Dorian isn't the sort of person to leave stones unturned.

"Consider it done. Give me a few hours to have a quick little power nap and I can start this morning."

Let's be real, it'll be this afternoon.

"I'm going to help out there," he tells Dorian. "If you want to spent the rest of the evening resting, then you should. And - " He pauses. "We really should bring your things here."

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