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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.
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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Annoyingly, it's working. Dorian has always been far too curious for his own good—this doesn't change that. Why not poke around and ask questions and learn about this interesting man?
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He puts a hand over Dorian's. "I admit that I have no interest in seeing you go elsewhere."
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Toby’s proof of that. Alyssa was proof as well.
“The thing is, you’ve got to hold my attention. And frankly? You’re doing a grand job right now. Stop worrying.”
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They’re coming up on their exit. For a moment, it seems like Dorian absolutely isn’t going to use the turn signal and is going to continue driving like an asshole. But he signals, slows down, then takes their exit.
“I wonder what will happen when we learn enough about each other that we become bored—or if we’ll even become bored in the first place.”
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He knows, but it sounds nicer when he pretends to be humble.
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Or who knows. Maybe Dorian’s being an overdramatic little shit and this time will be different. Maybe they’ll live together in happy post-coital bliss for the rest of eternity.
Maybe. But there’s enough of Toby in Godric that Dorian isn’t so sure.
“So, do we have a game plan? Shall we go in, guns blazing tonight or wait until tomorrow evening? No matter what, I suggest that afterwards we find a hotel with a shower big enough that I can fuck you in it.”
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He pats Dorian's hand affectionately.
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“You have me doing recon? How James Bond of you. Put me in a tuxedo next time, you’ll be able to see how grand I look.”
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"I'll have to do that then. Because already you're making me hot."
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A hand strays towards Godric’s crotch, lightly resting on it, before Dorian brings his hands to himself and starts to step out of the car.
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"Go on, then."
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A burly man with a beard, arms the size of a bear's, stands at the entrance.
"Can I help you?"
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"My car broke down a few kilometers back. I've already called a mate to pick me up, but he'll take a bit and I'd prefer not to wait alone, outside, in the dark. Mind if I pop inside until he shows up? I shan't be a bother."
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There's the sound of the door opening behind him and a woman, beautiful and dark haired, steps out with a smile. "Hey, who's the new guy?"
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“I'm Oscar. My car broke down, I’ve got to wait for my mate to show up, would really prefer to wait inside. I promise I won’t be a bother. Quiet as a mouse.”
And don’t mind Dorian as he just casually gives the woman a once-over, very much flirting and taking in the sights.
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She gives "Oscar" a small, questioning smile.
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Because of course they’ll go poorly. They always go poorly. But better they go poorly for him than poorly for Godric. He can take it.
Dorian keeps the vapid, dumb, tourist smile on his face as he gives the woman a little shrug. “Whatever this meeting is, it’ll be more interesting than sitting around, twiddling my thumbs. Lead the way!”
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"Well, you can wait for your friend with cookies," she laughs. "And a little weed, if that's something you're into. We always have the good stuff here," she coos to him, reaching over to take his hand.
"My name's Cindy," she murmurs.
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"Mine's Oscar," Dorian grins, as he give Cindy's hand a little squeeze. "And I will happily partake in those cookies and weed."
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