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The Dragon's Lair

Victor shifted his fingers around the bottom of the mug, then pushed it away altogether. The coffee already settling in a stagnant pool at the pit of his stomach was suddenly more than enough to pass for breakfast. Lunch might be off the table too, come to think of it. What time was it now?


He nodded, slowly, though his head was kept low, almost tucked into his collar. It was a foreign sensation, this fresh vulnerability. He was about as used to receiving advice as he was asking for it. And Nicolas--despite Victor's lowly expectations--had provided him with quite a thorough input.


"Yeah." He figured he should have offered more than that, but he wasn't quite sure what kind of standards one had to meet in thanking someone for telling them how to deal with their shit. It had brought him some relief, if anything. Should he tell him that? No. He didn't think he could go so far as to say "thanks kid, that really took some weight off my shoulders", so he left it to be implied. Hell, he couldn't recall anytime he'd ever openly thanked Nicolas for anything. Hopefully the guy could pick up on invisible gratitude.


As he recovered from the general awkwardness of this strange experience, Victor turned over these words carefully in his head. His own paranoia clashed consistently with Mathias' generally cool, detached demeanor, and this was, indeed, not the first time he'd been called out on his hypochondriac tendencies. But it was hard not to be anxious about illness when illness could very well claim the one person on earth you had left to yourself.


Because--truthfully--if he lost Mat, he lost a pretty fucking huge anchor.


Victor leaned back and peered at Nicolas from the corner of his eye. The kid was awfully calm, considering all their previous interactions. Hell, he hadn't been this empathetic since they were both shitfaced. Maybe because there was no one around to protect. Maybe because Victor was acting a little more human than usual.


Either way, he was unsettled.


"You're bein' awfully fuckin' sweet." There was a hint of a challenge in his tone, but it was edged with confusion. He couldn't wrap his head around the idea that Nicolas--or anyone, really--had openly tried to solve his problems without wanting anything in return. Maybe he did want something. Victor narrowed his eyes somewhat, his shoulders tensing as if he were prepared to move. Was that it? Did he want something?
 
For a moment, Nicolas wasn't sure why he had been so nice to Victor for the last however long amount of time. Victor didn't deserve his advice in the slightest, and still Nicolas was offering it to him like it was the only thing he could give. Like a hungry man as he gives his last meal away to someone else because they needed it just that bit more. He didn't Victor to think that he was being nice for some weird reason that he couldn't exactly understand. He wanted the upperhand.


"You asked," he said pointedly, fingers gripping the mug's handle hard as he stared back at Victor. "It's not like I jumped at the chance to help you with your problems."


He wanted to snap back "You brought it up" but he was the one who kept asking Victor why he was there and what was wrong. He was the one who kept pushing for some kind of answer when it was clear that Victor didn't want to say anything about whatever was occupying his mind.


Nicolas didn't want to be enthralled with Victor whatsoever, but the fact that he knew next to nothing about the other man made him that much more interesting. He wanted to know even if he wouldn't admit it aloud. Victor was like a giant elephant in every room he entered - it was ignored but everyone knew it was there and wanted answers, even if everyone in this case was just Nicolas. He didn't want to like Victor but there was just something so disturbing charismatic about him that Nicolas couldn't let it go.


It was stupid, really. He wished the feeling would go away.


"You normally don't talk about yourself," Nicolas said after a moment, and he took another sip of his cold coffee. It tasted shitty now, but it was better than the staleness of his mouth. "So if you're tellin' me what's going on now it's probably 'cause you're real worried about it. If it didn't matter you wouldn't have said anythin'." He shrugged against the back of the chair and leaned forward to rest his elbow on the table and his face in the warmth of his palm.


I guess I just wanted to help went left unsaid and stuck in his teeth.


In his life, Nicolas didn't have a lot of unknowns. He understood most of his coursework at school, knew that he was making a paycheck each week, knew that he didn't have to worry about where his next meal was coming from, and had people he could depend on. Most of his life was laid out in front of him and had been that way since he was young. But now, with Victor, there was this huge thing in his life that he just couldn't grasp. Like a fucking cloud, Victor always seemed to drift away whenever Nicolas got close enough to figure him out. Victor talking now made him feel like they were more than just acquaintances at this point.


"If you wanted snark, I would've given it to ya. But you wanted to know how to handle your friend's sickness. That's a little more serious than what I normally mess with you about."
 
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Victor shook his head, eyebrows pinched together. I would've appreciated more snark. He'd expected it too, but the lack of had turned out to be one hell of an unpleasant surprise.


Not that he didn't like being spoken to politely. If anything he preferred it, considering most people he spoke to freely were well aware of why he deserved their respect, even if it was only out of fear that they gave it to him. He was accustomed to politeness.


But he'd never anticipated that Nicolas would be the one to give him anything close to his client's esteem, let alone out of intimidation. Victor gave him snark and expected snark in return--wanted snark in return, in a weird, kind of masochistic way. Rarely did anyone speak to him the way this kid had throughout most of the time they'd spent together. And he liked it. It was a change of pace. Sure, it was usually better to be feared than loved, but he liked a good challenge every once in a while, and Nicolas could provide that in a way Victor had never experienced.


He glanced toward his coffee, then thought better of it.


"Well--" Again, the gratitude was stuck on his tongue. He didn't want to say "thank you", because he didn't want this kind of relationship with Nicolas. He hated the politeness here. It was like a cardboard cutout of what they really felt towards each other, a convention of public courtesy, a monotone "how are you?" when no one really gives a shit and everyone knows it. It wasn't real.


Victor didn't hate the insincerity of average strangers, but he didn't want to find it in Nicolas. Hell, this kid was the last person he wanted to small talk with.


And he supposed he knew why. Sort of.


"I appreciate the concern," he ground out at last. Again, his eyes were averted. "But you don't have to bullshit with me, kiddo. Ya don't like me, let's keep it real."
 
Nicolas opened his mouth a couple times before closing it again and glancing away from Victor. He knew that the other man was right - that he didn't like Victor - but that didn't seem relevant anymore. No matter if either of them liked the other or not, they kept appearing in each other's lives. Nicolas wanted to keep thinking that today was a coincidence and there wasn't an ulterior motive for Victor to be there. It was a long shot, really, but it was easier to hope that it was to ask.


And he knew it was stupid, but he didn't want to dislike Victor. He did, of course, but the more he thought about why he did the more he realized it was due to the lack of understanding he had when he was around him. If Nicolas picked up on Victor's personality and quirks as Victor to him, he probably wouldn't have been so irate by their continuous exchanges.


"Fine," he said after a moment, and he gathered the courage to look back at Victor. Their eyes didn't meet but still. "I don't like you. Honestly, I really don't like you. So maybe instead of getting mad at my advice you should just keep your mouth shut and stay outta my life."


He huffed and glared back down at his coffee cup before looking at the side of Victor's head. "Is that what you want? You want me to be a dick even when I have no reason to just so you have a reason to be rude back at me? 'Cause I can do it, y'know. I've done it so far and I can keep going if ya want.


"You have no idea how angry you make me, okay? You keep showing up in my life and making everything so goddamn complicated and I want you to go away. It's not like I'm asking for much, really. I'm not asking for your money - though you made it clear you would give it if I asked. I'm not even asking for some kind of weird connection to make some of my problems go away. I just want you to stay the fuck away from me and my family and my friends and just get the hell outta my life. But you won't. And if you keep popping your head in I'm going to have to accept it at some point, and better now than later, since I don't see you leaving anytime soon."


Nicolas growled most of the words out between clenched teeth, but he knew Victor would get the message. "If you don't want my help and you don't want my attitude, just leave me alone. You have better things to do than annoying me. Deals to make, people to take care off, tools to deliver." He rolled his neck around and drew his shoulders together. "This is the last place you need to be, and if you were smart, you'd stop hanging around. At some point someone's going to look into this" - he gestured between them - "as far as I looked into you, so if you'd like to stay off the NYPD radar for a little while longer you should probably keep your distance."


He grabbed his bookbag from the spot next to him and slung it over his shoulder before sitting at the edge of his seat. "You have anything to say? If not, I'm going home."
 
Victor didn't try to justify to himself why he was so taken aback. The truth was, his taking any offense whatsoever to the honesty in Nicolas' response was entirely, disgustingly uncalled for--yet he was vexed all the same.


He didn't retaliate, however. He leaned back in his booth and let the kid talk without interruption, his eyes leveling with Nicolas' and his expression pulled into a cautiously neutral slate. When he'd finished, Victor nodded, slow and careful, without really knowing why he'd done it. He looked as if he were delicately considering something when in reality his mind was racing like squirrels on speed.


Jesus, am I that bad? Yes, yes he absolutely was. Victor wasn't blind to the type of sadistic asshole he could be. There was a reason why so few people could tolerate him for extended periods of time, and he got that. But the basis of his relationship with the people who couldn't stood on the fact that he didn't really need those people around for extended periods of time. He didn't rely on them as much, and he certainly wasn't as invested in them.


They could usually come to terms with that.


Nicolas was a peculiar case. Victor was not the type to deny his own emotions--he knew he had some kind of thing for the kid, whether it was romantic or paternal or something even stranger, if that was possible. He knew that he found him inherently interesting and that he did have some--urge, vague and complicated though it was--to keep him out of shitty situations. He knew these things. And there was no point in denying them when they were already there.


He knew Nic didn't feel the same. And why should he? Resilient though he was, that didn't change the fact that he'd technically been the victim in this borderline abusive relationship since minute one, and had since made it very clear that he was well aware of and considerably displeased with those circumstances.


But he did have some kind of Stockholm Syndrome. Not the kind that just any idiot could see, but a very subtle type, masked with malice and that general bitchiness that Victor constantly dodged back and forth between loving and loathing. Nicolas was a brave kid. He could have gone to the cops if he wanted to. He could have made a scene on campus if he'd wanted to. He could have kicked Victor out of his house when he'd invited himself in to have a drink, if he'd wanted to.


And, hell, he probably could've gotten away with it too. If he'd wanted to.


So Nicolas had less of a "thing" for Victor than in the vice versa, and he certainly wasn't as prepared to come to terms with it, but it was there. Something was. Victor wasn't hurt by what the kid had said about him, because it was all true. But he was shocked at the sudden hostility. No love to be found, even in its vaguest form.


But he kind of liked that.


When the offer was extended to speak his own mind, Victor briefly considered pinning him with the fact that he knew Nicolas was far too invested in him to make any real threat against his livelihood. But that'd be coming on too strong. Besides, the mood wasn't quite right. They had to be a little more pissed at each other before he could whip that out.


Instead he smiled, a tight little smirk of a thing that settled perfectly on his lips, and settled his eyes on Nicolas as if he were the last thing left on Earth. "Yeah. I like it when ya speak your mind."
 
All at once the tension in Nicolas's body coiled out and smeared itself across his face. He wanted Victor to stop baiting him for once and say more than the little he gave away. What was the point of having this conversation if Nicolas was the only one actually talking?


He couldn't keep letting Victor get to him like this. It was obvious that he was irritated easily when it came to Victor, and Victor himself had clearly picked up on that by now, but if he played it off as nothing he might he able to increase the distance between them again. Victor liked to get a rise out of him, and if Nicolas stopped giving him that, he might just go away.


It was easier said than done when it came down to it. Nicolas was too proud to let Victor walk all over him and would continue to explode even if he wanted this little part of his life to calm down. There had to be other tactics to keeping Victor at bay, and hopefully he had time to explore them before Victor appeared in his life again.


Nicolas wasn't an angry person, per se, but Victor always pushed him over the edge far enough that he was left scrambling for something to say or do in return. Nothing exasperated him more than the ignorance he embodied when he was around Victor. He couldn't push it away, couldn't let it go. It continued to build until he finally had enough and made a scene. He hated not knowing what was going on in his own life, and this fucking man proceeded to bemuse and irk him to that edge every single time they met.


It was maddening to say in the least.


But if he wanted Victor to leave him alone - he still wasn't really sure if that was what he wanted - he would have to play him like he was playing Nicolas. He didn't see this working out any other way.


The entire situation kind of sucked, really. Nicolas was confused beyond belief to what he actually wanted to happen about this recurring circumstance. Sure, Victor annoyed the fuck out of him and putting his friends in danger wasn't something that he wanted to happen again, but Victor was more interesting than anything else (or anyone else) in his entire life. Nicolas would never talk about his wavering out loud, but if he didn't contemplate it alone he would go crazy. Perhaps as crazy as Victor pretended to be.


Nic knew that Victor wanted people to think that he was a little off his rocker, but it was hard for him to really believe that Victor was actually as deranged as he appeared. He was demented of course - the guy was a fucking serial killer, for Christ's sake - but Victor was just too smart to be a lunatic.


And Nicolas didn't really know what to think about that.


He huffed out a large audible breath and rose from the chair, one had gripped the shoulder strap of his bookbag and the other flat on the glass table. He hated the way Victor looked at him like some kind of conquest, so he squared back a glare as he leaned in towards the man's face.





"What are you even gettin' out of this?" he asked, face pinched. His voice was low, hushed, enough that another table wouldn't have heard him. "You have to know that I'm not gonna jeopardize your killing industry or whatever. I'm not gonna be your delivery boy. So what is it? You get off by fuckin' with people's heads, is that it? I'm not gonna be part of your little shit show, Victor, okay? Just stay away from me."


Nicolas grabbed his cold coffee from the tabletop and dropped in a garbage can on the way out, and he turned around for a final glance to Victor. He lifted up his middle finger and the door chimed as he stepped outside with his arms crossed across his chest.
 
Aww. Though his smirk vanished when Nicolas returned with a reply laced in harsh severity (he didn't want to piss him off too badly; he wasn't stupid, and he wasn't the kind of asshole to condescend with a simple look), Victor was rather endeared by the rising tension. The kid's emotional expression--his anger in particular--was perpetually entertaining. It made him genuine. A little hotter, truth be told. Christ, is that weird? To think that way about a kid who was just a year or two off from putting Victor on a list?


Reasonably he would have to say yes, it was, but he didn't have time to think about that. By the time Nicolas made it clear that he wasn't going to waste any more time hanging around him, Victor had just begun to feel a pang of genuine guilt.


If they'd known each other better, he might have said "You're cute when you're angry," which was true. But even if they'd been married thirty fine, lovely years, Victor had his doubts that Nicolas would appreciate such a backward compliment. So he didn't try it.


Instead he paused a minute, feeling bad in the strangest of ways, biting his lip so as not to smile again when Nicolas flipped him the bird. God, he really does hate me, doesn't he?





Christ, he loved that.


But he did feel bad. He wasn't quite sure why, considering the pleasure he took in Nicolas' loathing for him, but he felt the need to say something. Like he'd felt the need to offer support when the kid implied he was depressed, or help him out financially when he needed it. He needed to offer some compensation every once in a while, or things just wouldn't balance out.


Even if it meant implying Nicolas had Victor just as wrapped around his finger as in the vice versa.


He hauled himself out of the booth (clearly unaware of the stiffness in his limbs--ouch) and traipsed to the door, mentally preparing himself to apologize to Nicolas without giving away the fact that he actually felt guilty for making him feel like his life was coming apart at the seams because some fucking serial killer wouldn't leave him alone for more than a month at a time.


He caught the kid looking sour as ever (though within reason) just outside the building, a clear displeasure in his body language. Victor didn't allow any hesitation to steel himself. He threw his arm around Nicolas' shoulders and prodded him off down the sidewalk.


"Listen, Sherlock, I don't want you feelin' shitty because of me, okay? You got enough on your plate, I get that, and you're right, I shouldn't be pushin' you around the way I do. I like that about you, Cardou. You can stand up for yourself." Which is more than I can say for a lot of SOBs. He kept his chin high, eyes straying to Nicolas only every now and then, and his voice as gruff and casual as if they were discussing a business deal or last week's Yankee game. There was nothing tender or heartfelt in his outward display. Again, he needed some sort of balance.


"The thing is, I need someone to do this shit for me, and--well, you're the only kid I know who can get away with it. Think about it. You think a kid like you, rich daddy and all, is gonna get as much time as a sketchy motherfucker like me?" He raised his eyebrows. "Not that I'd make ya do it if I thought you were gonna get caught, but...y'know, can never be too careful.


"Anyway, the point is you're capable. So yeah, I use you to my advantage, and I ain't gonna say that I'll stop just 'cause you're gettin' pissy about it. Welcome to the real world, kiddo. Now I like ya, I do. I think you're cute as hell, and you got a nice mouth on you." He nudged Nicolas' jaw, the first shadow of a smile twitching at the corners of his lips. "And I don't want you hurt either. But lemme ask you this--and I want you to listen now--" He dragged Nicolas to the edge of the sidewalk, a good distance away from the flow of the crowd, and locked eyes with him for the first time in a solid hour. His expression was shaded with a degree of intensity that was rare in Victor--perhaps a type he'd never even revealed to the kid. "If I told you, honestly, that I wouldn't hurt you, your friends, or your family--would you call the cops right now?"
 
No matter how many times Victor tried to pull something over on him, Nicolas let it happen. He didn't leave the cafe as quickly as he could because he wanted to be stopped even if he flinched when Victor's arm slung over his shoulder and pulled him in tight. He wouldn't talk about it aloud, or even in his own mind, but Nicolas knew deep down that he was somehow so enthralled by this man that everything he knew about him was thrown out the window each time they interacted. Nicolas wanted to hate Victor more than he hated his parents, more than he hated being alone for most of his life and more than he hated having to interact in social situations. But it just wasn't working. Some other part of him wanted to give in and just let go everything that had previously happened between them. He was't sure how strong that part of his mind was, but it was strong enough not to shove Victor away.


He hated being called Sherlock more than anything else Victor had done so far in their meetings, and that was saying something, but he didn't show it. It wasn't that big of a deal anyway, and he didn't want to add wood to the fire. He kept on walking, neck snug in the crook of Victor's arms as they marched down the sidewalk.


Nicolas could have pushed Victor away. He could have and he should have, but no matter how much part of him wanted to the other half liked the attention. Liked the nagging. Like the physical contact. Nicolas wanted to feel gross by admitting it to himself that he was thriving on their synergy, but it couldn't be helped. There was something so primal in the way he reacted towards Victor's physical interactions - something so intrinsic that he didn't want to go against it.


Truth be told, if Nicolas was forced to jot out a list of things that irritated him about Victor, he wouldn't have to worry about running out of ideas. The annoyance was practically neverending, and after the name-calling and nagging, Nicolas hated the way Victor pointed out the truth. He hated being proved wrong without even trying to prove himself right, he hated that Victor just knew how to get to him without really trying, and he hated that he always seemed to fall for it time and time again, burying deep inside to overthink later when he was alone in bed with the lights out. It drove him crazy.


They made eye contact multiple times as Victor paraded him down the concrete, Nicolas's eyes verging away each time the glance lasted longer than a second.


If Victor knew that he was under duress with everything that he had been putting him through, wouldn't he have stopped by now? He didn't want to continue being used by him, but it was so easy just to let Victor have his way. His shoulders trembled at Victor's regards to his face and he couldn't help but retort with flushed cheek and eyes averted downward. It went against everything that Nicolas had ever thought regarding Victor, but if the man was going to guarantee the safety of those he cared about, he had to give him the benefit of doubt.


As he was pulled out of foot traffic, Nicolas let himself get sucked into the vast hazel that was Victor's eyes.


Victor stared at him so far that he swore the man could see down into his soul - eyes cold and overbearingly focused. It made Nicolas want to pull away more than anything else. The concentration in his eyes relayed the truth of the matter: no matter what Nicolas said, he'd end up doing whatever Victor wanted in the end. It was slowly becoming part of their MO - Victor said, Nicolas did. There were a lot of questions and failed negotiations, sure, but Nicolas hadn't really fought back on anything yet when it came to Victor. He let the other man walk all over him so that he could get what he wanted. It was kind of pathetic, really.


But Nicolas said what any sane person would say: "No." Of course, if he knew that he was going to be fine, he would listen to Victor. Hell, he had listened to Victor even when Will's and Clayton's lives were on the line. He was too subordinate to say no, too concerned to agree right away, but the end product was always the same.


And it would be until Nicolas got ahold of himself.


He stepped toward Victor. "I don't want to hurt anyone," he said. Their bodies remained close and in their own world as people continued to pass by them. "But if - Well - I mean," he stammered, and then stopped. He needed to collect his thoughts before he tried to make any deals. One huge breath later, he made eye contact with Victor again. "I'll keep doin' stuff for you if you keep them outta it. Nothin' too illegal, though. I don't - I don't know what you want from me."


It was true. The more they interacted, the more Nicolas was confused with what was happening in his life. He was thrown off each time Victor came along.


"But if you keep your word, that you don't do anything to them, I'll stop askin' questions so much. Or whatever, I don't know. I'll do whatever you want, just leave them alone."
 
"I know. I know." His hands fell from Nicolas' shoulders and fumbled for a moment in front of him. A sudden desperation for a cigarette burned at the back of his mind. He needed something, something--there. One hand found the car keys in his pocket, and his fingers dove in eagerly to play on the engraved metal. Shameless though he seemed, talking to people this way--with such disgusting sincerity--was far more taxing when he had nothing else to do to make it seem like he didn't care.


"Listen." Victor fixed his attention on the sidewalk and bit his lips, an excessively vulnerable move that he didn't appreciate coming from himself. But he didn't fix it. Not right away. "I'm not gonna hurt you, or your buddies, or your parents, but that's because I trust you. Even though you're a pain in my ass. But if you ever give me any reason to think I shouldn't--" He looked up and straightened his posture, again locking eyes with Nicolas in the deathly serious manner that he'd grown so attached to. "Then I will do something about it. You get that? Now, I like ya, I do, really. I do. You remind me 'a me, kinda." It was the first time he'd ever considered such a thing. There were some similarities, sure: a white hot temper and shitty rich parents, just to name a couple. "But I gotta look after me first, you understand? You're at the bottom of the list. I don't want to hurt you, but I will."


He'd have to make good on that promise, too. If their trust was upset, even in the slightest, he would have to hurt the kid. And Victor wasn't blind--if it came to that, it'd be one of the most difficult things he'd ever done. He was attached. He wasn't even certain he could bring himself to enact physical suffering on the kid, because there was a twisted, confusing part of him that wanted more trust from Nicolas than just "I do this and you won't kill me". He saw him as something akin to a little brother or, God forbid, a son, despite the fact that Victor knew his "affections" ran much deeper than that.


Christ, this was weird. They were at least a decade apart (technically) and every time Mat made an offhand comment about whether he'd been "getting any action" lately, Victor's mind always strayed to that drunken incident in Nic's kitchen. Shit, was he a pervert? It wasn't his fault he found Nicolas attractive, and he supposed it could be worse--much, much worse--but--God, what did that mean for him? What if this didn't just fade away?


On top of that, this whole situation had fallen so incredibly off track from what he'd planned. What had his original intentions been? Had he even meant to kill the little bastard? No--no, he was going to wait, let him off the hook because his parents were rich and everyone suddenly gave a shit when the murdered child had a shit ton of money. He was going to wait until Nicolas forgot about him entirely. God, if he never fucked up a job this badly again, it'd be too soon.


"Truth is--" He cut himself short. There were a lot of ways he could continue that sentence--more than he ever intended to, in fact--but he has his doubts whether this was the time or the place for it.


He gazed at Nicolas from the corners of his eyes, his expression set as if nothing had happened. "You're ditchin' your mom anyway, right?" He turned on his heel and gestured again for Nicolas to tag along. "So we're gonna go have a drink and talk this stupid shit out, you and me. Come on."
 
A flutter of relief soared through him when Victor said "because I trust you". The part of him that had the certain attraction towards Victor had wanted to hear something of the sort since the moment they met, and he almost cherished the honesty coming from his mouth when Victor added that he would hurt him if necessary. He didn't want to be special or anything in Victor's mind - wanted to pushed around like he did to everyone else. But Victor liked him, and he said so himself


It was some weird kind of growing presence in his mind that made him like the attention, like the novelty of their relationship.


Nicolas wasn't sure exactly where he stood in Victor's mind, but deeming him last in importance seemed like an oversight. Victor wouldn't trust the least important person to him, wouldn't have saved that person if that person posed a threat to his safety, wouldn't keep showing up in that person's life just to rock the waters. And because of that, Nicolas knew there was something there that he didn't understand yet. Maybe Victor didn't either. But Victor did know just how to get him to comply - threats and promises to continue their meeting.


He scooted forward after him and fell into step next to Victor as they made a pathway down the sidewalk. "If I help you, you should answer some of my questions." Nicolas pulled his bookbag further up his shoulders, tightened the straps, and slouched into himself. He knew it wasn't something he should be asking for: answers. Victor was giving him enough at the moment just by keeping him alive. Nicolas didn't have the right to ask for anything else, but he didn't want to let it go so easily. He wanted, more than anything, to have a better view of who Victor was aside from their little reunions. He knew that Victor killed people from time to time, why he did it was still at large, and he lived underground, but mostly everything else was up in the air. Nicolas didn't have much to level their playing fields to the same score. Victor was always ahead of him.


"I mean, ya don't havta, but it would be nice. Kinda. To have an idea, I mean, about you. You're kinda a mystery." Nicolas swayed as he walked, bumping into Victor as foot traffic grew more crowded. It was a long shot to ask for anything, but he had to try. "'Cos y'know, y'know everything 'bout me, kinda. I'dunno what you haven't already figured out."


Weird as it was, Nicolas was relieved he wouldn't have to spend extra time with his mother than morning. Victor might have been harder to read, but he didn't throw adult-sized temper tantrums to get his way. He also didn't smell like the base floor of Macy's - perfume and shit everywhere. Nasty, really. When it came down to it, Victor was easier to deal with than his family, and sometimes even his friends. They all wanted him to be normal and spend time with them without offering anything in return, but Victor just bossed him around and pretended that they were friends. It was almost too easy to be around him and, as time passed, Nicolas stopped worrying about that so much. If he was comfortable around Victor, that said a lot about him he didn't want to acknowledge just yet. He could make it through a few more months or so before admitting to himself that it was easier because Victor in general was easier. Victor didn't nag him, didn't make him feel like a worthless patch of skin. He might have put him in his place from time to time, but that was different. Nicolas let that happen.





"Or at least something," he added after a second. "Like, two questions, maybe. I don't care. I just feel like I'm in the dark on everything, right? Kinda want some reassurance."
 
Victor drew in a deep breath, thick with apprehension, and held it. Every possible extent of Nicolas' curiosity occurred to him in a matter of seconds. How far back would he go? How much did he suspect already? What exactly was he so interested in? There was essentially no end to what he'd ask of Victor, and the latter hadn't shared the honest answers to such potential questions in years. There were things Nicolas could say that he hadn't even thought about in years. And, of course, there were those ambiguous but ever-nagging uncertainties that were sort of scraped off the table for the sake of time; things that Victor couldn't answer because he himself was still unclear on the truth.


But it was a fair exchange. He'd put the kid through hell, so what did it matter if he wanted to know why he lived under the State Building, or why he looked so damn young for his age? This wasn't a police interrogation--Victor would manage the situation like he had every situation before it. He'd be in control, as he always was. It was he who would be granting the opportunity for questions in the first place.


"Fair enough." He exhaled with the words, and was silent after that. Nicolas' brief contact with him every now and again as the NY sidewalk traffic swept furiously onward went without regard. He'd become rather accustomed to it, actually, to the point where the absence of physical contact between them left something to be desired--never mind the fact that Victor was usually the one to incite it.


A roughly ten minute stroll led them down an alley set between a grandiose Barnes & Noble and another hole-in-the-wall eatery by the neon-lit name of Mario's. Unlike the last establishment he'd encountered classically named after its owner, Victor was not particularly familiar with Mario--at least, not familiar enough to chat him up about the open bar his son was running under his restaurant.


The entrance to the place was conveniently located behind a Dumpster that overflowed with the reek of month-old marinara sauce. Victor shifted his hand to the small of Nicolas' back as they passed it. "Listen. You find a lot of weird places in New York, okay, you know that, right? So these guys, they uh--they don't discriminate. So if one of 'em looks at you or says somethin' or whatevah, just ignore 'em, okay? Act like you're with me."


He shifted to Nicolas' side as they descended the small flight of concrete steps. Dirty light filtered through the open door, thick with rivers of blue smoke that obscured the glow of what little luminescence the age-old florescent lights struggled to provide. The room was small and exceptionally (but intentionally) dark--a scuffed wooden bar on one side, a row of booths on the other. Some old country song that Victor vaguely recalled rolled on lazily in the background. The walls were plastered with posters and pictures of every kind, from every generation--a Fast & Furious 4 promo; a likeness of some well-known porn star or other; a Richard Nixon campaign ad ("Nation Needs Nixon." Victor wrinkled his nose). The ceiling was heavy with dust and tiles were missing from the unswept floor. It was about ten times worse than any dive he'd ever been in, and Victor loved it.


The clientele was--unusual, to say the least. Aside from a sharp young man clad in a forty dollar suit who looked up from his briefcase surely only to assure himself that Victor was not a member of his opponent's campaign, and the unsuspecting bartender who stood at the back of the room in a heated argument with someone who must have understood livid Italian, the place was occupied by a sparse three. At one end of the bar sat an Elvis-looking fella hunched over his beer, staring ravenously at the two other customers, both leather-clad, black-haired men who seemed to have no trouble with showing their affections in public, if the audible lip-chewing was any indication.


Victor's close proximity did not hinder Elvis' interest in Nicolas as soon as he laid eyes on him. The former stiffened, his expression warping into a solid scowl as he hooked an arm urgently around the boy's waist and tucked him close. "Don't look at 'em," he mumbled. He pulled them both to the nearest end of the bar, snatched a bottle of whiskey and two glasses from behind it, and left a fifty in their place. He wasn't about to interrupt an Italian-based argument for the sake of alcohol.


He made sure to keep Nicolas on the opposite side of Elvis' hungry gaze as they swept past. Victor eyeballed him with sharp hostility and was granted cold detachment in return. God, if there was any kind of man who genuinely unnerved him, it was that kind of man. He didn't have to worry about being a pervert next to guys like that.


He settled into the booth farthest from the others, comfortable with the partial wall surrounding it. Not that anyone would be actively listening to them, but with great aesthetic came a very nerve-inducing atmosphere. He didn't trust anyone in this place--he trusted the fact that they were too wrapped up in their own business to give a shit about his.


He filled both glasses just shy of the brim with whiskey, set the bottle at the end of the table, and tapped a finger thoughtfully on its edge. He seemed to be lost in his own head for that brief moment before he looked up at Nicolas, and almost smiled. "So, you got some shit you wanna know or what?"
 
As they walked, Nicolas let himself delve into all the thoughts he had about the questions he had been wanting to ask. He was obviously still curious about Victor's choice of pastime, but there some more personal things he'd love to explore given the chance. He wanted to know how old Victor was even after the conversation had been moot for so long. He was intrigued when it came to anything about Victor, and really, any question that he pulled together would give him a better idea of who this man really was.


There were a lot of questions he could press, but Nicolas needed to find the right ones that would give him something tangible without him ending up with fingers taut around his neck. He had to think. There were so many choices, it was hard to decide on just a few. His family, his friends, his personal life. Nicolas didn't let himself think of all the intimate questions he wanted answers to. If he let himself dig too deep, he might end up falling farther into in lust with Victor than he already was.


Of course, he was barely charmed at this point in time. (At least that's what he told himself.)


Nicolas shouldn't have been surprised when Victor pulled him into the rinky-dink of a bar. And behind a dumpster, for God's sake. Nicolas remembered being down in Victor's library, beneath the bedrock, and how unsurly his home seemed to be. The dust still took house in his nose and garnered the beginnings of seasonal allergies.


This place, the pub, reminded him of the substructure more than he wanted it to, and before Victor wrapped himself around Nicolas's waist he stayed close. Victor might not have been a safe option for cover, but in this establishment he was always going to be Nicolas's number one. Especially over the creeper at the opposing end of the bar, watching Nicolas like a hawk ready to strike. Nicolas could smell the man's poignant arousal from across the room, and he was glad to be kept safe nestled in the care of Victor's arm.


He tried not to shake as he sat in the booth across from Victor, hesitant to leave his grip as he slunk down into the seat. It was comforting to have Victor's arm around him. He didn't want to overthink it, though, so he let the feeling fade away as Victor's warmth on his side did the same.


Nicolas reached out and downed his whiskey before meeting Victor's gaze again, glass thumping down on the table and head maneuvering so that the fucker at the other end of the room would keep him out of sight. It was a quandary: Nicolas liked to be wanted, liked to be touched as if he belonged to someone, but the gaze that swept over him from the unknown man made him more nervous than waking up in the library that first night. Hungover, tired, with a dead phone. There had never been a moment that Nicolas had thought that Victor would take his body out from under him, use him, fuck him against his will. Sure, he thought about it when he got himself off in the middle of the night, but it was never nonconsensual. Nicolas always wanted it. Victor always asked.


Instead of worrying about the man passed Victor's head, Nicolas's focused on his eyes, pools of copper with carefully placed flecks of worn-out gold. It was easy to get lost in the view.


"How many people have you killed?" Why he started with a bombshell was beyond him. He hadn't planned on spitting out those kind of questions ever, so throwing it out there at the first chance was definitely a bad move. But, fuck it. Nicolas didn't know if he'd ever get a chance like this again. Better take advantage of it. "How old are you? And, uh, is that teacher guy your boyfriend?"
 
"Jesus. Cuttin' straight to the hardballs, yeah?" He followed Nicolas' lead and choked back a quarter of his drink, grimacing at the unfamiliar bite in the back of his throat. I hate you. He almost said it out loud. I hate you for making me do this again. He knew, somewhere in the far back of his mind, that the only way he could have a decent, relaxed conversation with Nicolas was if they were both drinking. All his ambitions of staying sober for the rest of his life after that daunting evening in Cardou's kitchen had vanished. He wanted to talk to the kid. He wanted to be able to talk to kid.


And, in all honesty, he wanted to see if he could stay true to his bullshit about his allegedly spontaneous below-the-belt situations occurring only when he drank. It would be entertaining, if nothing else.


"Alright, let's see." He did have to think it over for a minute. Truthfully, there was no answering the first question without compromising his age, but he supposed they'd be covering that anyway. Victor pursed his lips and drummed his fingers on the side of the glass. "Okay. So I guess, you could say--I had a little training, beforehand, but I didn't really kill anyone until about forty years ago.


"Since then it's been--I dunno. More than four hundred, definitely. I get about ten jobs in a year, give or take." He glanced down at the pool of amber glaring up from his glass, and swallowed harshly. "The first job I had involved a very--" He paused. "--prominent politician. I didn't hurt 'im, but I was with the guy who did. That's when he was teachin' me how to shoot. I was a little kid back then, 'bout your age, actually." He nodded at Nicolas, eyebrows raised as if he were warding him off some juvenile behavior. "And I cleaned up the mess afterwards, because it was--messy. And I...gave my condolences to his wife."


His expression had slipped beneath the misty mask of a man who'd been forced to dig up memories that were all but repressed. His lips had grown tighter, each word harder to force out than the last, his eyes blank and fixed above Nicolas' shoulder, staring through the wall rather than at it. A pang of sickness squirmed in the pit of his belly. Victor swallowed. Perhaps this hadn't been such a good idea.


But he shook it off. Nicolas didn't need to see him at his worst, not now, when things were going so well between them. He drank again, and the ache disappeared beneath the burn.


"I am seventy-eight years old." There was no hesitation in that answer; he said it out loud, plain and straightforward. His eyes had returned to Nicolas'. "Born in forty-two. Don't look like it, don't feel like it, and the reason why is a story for another day, because ya got me ready to get wasted already and it's all too damn complicated to explain." He drank again. "I am human. Just--under special circumstances."


"And--" A chuckle bubbled up through his lips. "No. No, that teacher guy is not my boyfriend. Mat and I've known each other for a long-ass time but--no, I don't think of him like that." Well--I'd be lying if I said I never have. But he didn't think that was necessary to include. "We met after my first job. He's uh--the illegitimate grandson of that politician. Kinda. That's how we met. Which is also a complicated story." He smirked. "Marcus likes to feed ya bullshit because he's as goddamn homophobic as they get, and he likes to think that any guys spendin' time with each other outside of a yearly drink and the occasional football game are suckin' each other off every chance they get. So, no, he's not my boyfriend. I don't have a boyfriend."


Any reasonable person would have thought that last statement was just a follow-up to the answer, but Victor was kicking himself for it. Why would Nicolas care whether or not he had a boyfriend?


He looked at the kid from across the table, taking note of his mild discomfort. He would admit, he was pleasantly surprised when Nicolas hadn't stiffened up or struggled when he'd pulled him in, but he never would have guessed that he actually wanted it, let alone needed it. As far as he knew, Cardou still found him about as charming as a rattlesnake. He nudged Nicolas' knee beneath the table with his own. "Y'okay?"
 
Nicolas allowed himself to relax back into the cheap leather covering the hardened plush seat. The building probably looked remarkable at one point in time, but now it was in shambles.The tables were coated in signatures and drunken permanent scrawlings. The fabric under him had gathered in a few different bumpy spots that he cool feel each time he moved a single centimetre on the seat. It ached, kind of, but not as much as the pain evident on Victor's face.


Maybe he shouldn't have gone with the tough questions first. He didn't to give two solitary fucks about the other man, but the more they exchanged responses, glances, it was harder to pretend that he didn't think about Victor in his spare time.


In the month that they hadn't seen each other, there hadn't been a day that Nicolas wished Victor had gone back on his word. There hadn't been a day that he wished he had popped up unannounced again just to rid Nicolas's life of the monotony. But it didn't happen, obviously. If it had, they probably wouldn't be where they were right then - sitting down in the dark dusty bar pressed tight between two alleyways like it didn't belong there.


At the telling of Victor's story, Nicolas tensed. As much as he wanted to know everything about the other man, he hadn't realized that he wasn't ready to hear it. Wasn't ready to hear about Victor's various assignments. His kills. His accomplishments. It almost made him sick to want to hear more about the experiences he had. He pictured the wife's grief stricken face, poised yet unafraid, as a young Victor approached her with a caring hand - the hand that most likely murdered her husband. Nicolas wondered if Victor relished the way the blood felt in his hands, the sound screams made as their were pulled straight out of a person's lungs, the emptiness is someone's eye right before they were closed for good.


His pants stirred and he focused back on Victor's words; not his mouth. "Don't look like it, don't feel like." Becoming stimulated by talks of death wasn't how he wanted to spend his afternoon even if it was because Victor told the story so well.


Victor had told him a few time, if Nicolas remembered correctly, that he reminded Victor of himself. That they were practically one in the same. Nicolas wondered if that was what the man that taught Victor to kill told him during their time together, wondered if Victor felt the same conflicting emotions about that man that Nicolas did about him. Perpetual fear, involuntary arousal, complex fear. It was maddening to only know snippets of information about Victor, and now that he was actually answering questions, he wasn't too sure on what he wanted next.


Seventy-eight years old. The number flipped and twisted in Nicolas's mind. Unbelievable. There's no way he can be that old. The fifty-nine year age gap complicated everything. His mild and puzzling attraction to Victor became creepier in a split second. The special circumstances didn't sound too promising, either


Instead of focusing on his confusion, Nicolas reached forward and poured more liquor into each other their glasses before taking another gulp and downing half of his own.


Nicolas didn't want Victor to be seeing Mathias, so the answer was satisfying enough that he zoned out a little. Is Victor even into guys? He probably won't mention it on his own, anyway. I could get him to talk about it, maybe, but he might see right through it, and then we'd be in the same place as we were back at the condo.And Nicolas didn't want to be back there just yet. He liked to rush of feeling cornered, but the exploitation was different when Victor didn't understand what he was thinking. What he wanted.


He felt the nudge under the table and jerked his head up from the glass, face still pinched from thought. "Oh, yeah," he said slowly. It tended to take a minute to pull out of his head. "Just thinking." Nicolas paused for a moment before averting his eyes back down and then up again, quick. He was still half-hard in his pants, but he hadn't drank enough to pull the same thing over on Victor again. Hopefully it would take a while to notice the awkward fidgeting.


Nicolas chugged the rest of his glass.


"Sorry I made you talk about it. Y'know, the first thing." It was obvious that Victor had some skeletons in his closet, and most of them probably regarded his profession as their source. "You looked uncomfortable, and, well, that's not exactly what I wanted." He paused to take a deep breath and focused on Victor's chin instead of his eyes. "I mean, I'dunno. I just wanted to know something 'bout you since you pretty much know everythin' 'bout me. So yeah, sorry I asked."


He looked away again and felt a vibration in his pocket, and that didn't help things. Nicolas fetched his phone out of his pants and scowled down at the message: "Where are you? We were supposed to meet this morning for brunch. Did you forget?" His mother, the bitch that she was, would never accept that she was the reason he had left, so he silenced the phone and pushed it away.


"Anyway," he said, eyes back on Victor. "You said you wanna sort some shit out? The stuff about your sick friend or stuff about you not being friends with Marcus anymore?"
 
Victor nodded as he knocked back another quarter of his drink, playing as if he understood completely. He did, really, but they both knew very well that discussing the initial question had left some effect on him that he wasn't particularly excited about. Nevertheless, he couldn't blame the kid for asking. Usually the most common question that popped up when interviewing someone like a serial killer was, "How many people have you killed?", and Victor had anticipated it far more than he'd actually prepared himself to answer.


He watched Nicolas tend to his phone with mild interest. Naturally nosy, he almost caught himself asking who it was--then stopped at the last minute. No. He didn't want to screw things up between them. Christ, is this a fucking date we're on now? His lips twitched upward into a mild half-sneer at his own desperation to keep things at peace. He didn't need to know who it was, anyway. Hell, if it really bothered him that much, he could find out when he got back home.


His fingers went back to tapping restlessly at the edge of the table, and he frowned in response to Nicolas' suggestion. Now that had caught him off guard. "What? Ha, no, no, I don't care about Marcus. He'll come around. And like I said, if he doesn't, I'll just find someone else." He resisted the urge to glance at his Nokia-brand hunk of junk, knowing full well that he hadn't received another message since their departure from the cafe. Mat's fine, he assured himself. And fuck Marcus.





"And Mat's...fine. He'll be fine." There wasn't much confidence in his tone, but he flashed Nicolas a shrug and a "what are you gonna do" expression to balance it out. "If he's not, then--"


Fuck.





"He will be." He shifted in the booth until he was sitting upright again, heaving a great sigh that swelled in his chest until it hurt. He ran a hand briefly through his hair, looked at his glass, denied the urge, and looked back at Nicolas. Again, he stared the boy up and down as if he might fade away if Victor's gaze wasn't intrusive enough. Damn, he was cute. These thoughts were starting to become devilishly desirable. Every time he looked at the kid, he found something else to admire--even if it wasn't always perfectly visible.


It had occurred to him again and again that the age gap between them was absolutely yawning. God knew they all but burned girls at the stake for hooking up with older men, so what would they do to Nicolas? More importantly, why the fuck was he concerned about that?


Then again, he supposed hooking up with a thirty-four-year-old was better than hooking up with a seventy-eight-year-old.


A crooked smile turned the corners of his lips. "When I said I wanted to sort this shit out, I meant you." He drank again. "You're a pain in my ass and you try to make it pretty clear you hate me, but we both know you wouldn't be here in this shithole if you did." He raised his eyebrows. "So don't bullshit me, Sherlock, what is it with you? What's your problem?"
 
There wasn't much conviction in Victor's attempt to tell Nicolas that his friend was fine - that Mat was fine. Nicolas should have put it together earlier that the friend he had met was the one that was sick. He knew Victor wasn't speaking in hypotheticals, but didn't want it to seem so close. Mathias worked at his university, had met him on that one occasion, and probably knew more about Nicolas than what Victor had vocalized himself just from being around him often.


Victor's outright denial about Marcus was to be expected, but Nicolas still glanced away and took another sip of his liquor. Warmth settled in his chest, in his back, in his thighs, and he leaned back against the parchment disguised as a "comfortable seating arrangement".


Nicolas looked back up at the question. "I don't have a problem," he argued, and he crossed his arms over his chest with a huff. "And I'm allowed to hate you, okay? You abducted me from a rave and brought me to your house, know practically everything about, and won't seem to leave me alone. If anyone here has a problem, it's you or that creepy fucker at the bar."


It wasn't easy for him to pretend that he meant something when he didn't, but he tried nevertheless. Nicolas knew that he had a problem, and slowly Victor was moving out of that category and his own psyche was moving in. He was the problem. He was the one enjoying the meetings more than he should. He was the one that continued to get hard around Victor, not the other way around. Nicolas was the one that needed sorting out, but he wouldn't say it.


At least not yet.


"Who are you to tell me that I have a problem, anyway?" He poured more alcohol into his glass and sucked it down fast and leaned back again. It was easy for him to drink his ambitions away, his thoughts, his life issues. That was the reason he could go out every weekend and party his life away. Once he started drinking, it was kind of hard to stop until he had a real concrete reason to. He was too young to be an alcoholic anyway, or at least that's what he told himself. He didn't want to become his father, and admitting that that was one of his personal issues was almost settling the fact that they were more alike that Nicolas ever wanted them to be.


Nicolas snorted. "You sit there and try to act all cool like you have me all figured out, but you don't. You don't even have yourself figured out, okay? You think 'cause you read so many things 'bout me that you know my life? Know my family, my friends? Know what gets me going? But you're wrong. You don't have a fucking clue who I am, Victor." He stretched his arms out over his torso and adjusted his butt on the seat, coarse fabric rubbing against his legs (and everything else). He splashed another douse of whiskey into his glass and sipped at it, head tilted back.


When he fixed his eyes back on Victor, he pressed a hand hard on his thigh and kept the other tight around the cup. "Why don'tcha tell me what your problem is? You're the one getting conflicted over all this shit, y'know." Not true, I'm conflicted too. "You're the one with issues to sort out."
 
"First of all, you need to slow down." It occurred to him faintly that Nicolas was still two years shy of legal drinking age. Lightweight though he was, even Victor was just barely scraping the border between sober and vaguely disoriented. Sherlock was on a roll. Impressive, but he'd hate to have the kid give out on him from alcohol poisoning, of all things, so he moved the bottle to his end of the table and regarded Nicolas with a look of warning.


"And secondly--" He shifted again, visibly uncomfortable with their choice of seating. Hell, if the assumed pedophile at the counter wasn't there, he wouldn't have minded sharing a bar with two eager lovers who apparently couldn't afford to spend as much on a room as they could on alcohol. At least then they could focus more on the argument at hand than the poor choice of booth material. "--you need to calm the hell down. I'm not out to get you, do you get that?" His voice was kept low, strung with mild irritation but no anger. He wouldn't lose it on the kid. If Nicolas needed to be emotional, so be it. Whatever. "The only reason I push you around is because you let me. So why d'ya let me?"


He had him there, Victor was certain. It was a somewhat childish thought. He already knew he had the upper hand. He didn't need to pin the kid down this way.


But he wanted to. For all the shit that Nicolas had given him over the last month or two, Victor wanted to put him in one situation where he couldn't lash back with intelligent snark.


And more than anything else, he wanted to know the answer.


Victor leaned forward on his elbows. "I know you've got some kinda thing for me, kid. I dunno what the fuck it is or where it came from, but I would suggest you come clean about it sooner rather than later." He hadn't wanted to put on such a threatening facade when it came time to break the news that he was already fairly suspicious of Nicolas' little crush--or whatever the hell it was, because he doubted it was that--but the alcohol together with his increasing emotion formed a deadly combination.


Fortunately, he had more control of himself than Cardou did. He liked to think so, anyway.


A gentle sigh slipped through his parted lips. Don't get worked up over him.





"It's not gonna matter to me either way." Lie. He shrugged, hoping against hope that his newly relaxed posture would put the kid somewhat at ease. "But if you trust me, you'll tell me what's goin' on with you. Because a kid your age shouldn't be this eager to get wasted, Nicolas."
 
Nicolas opened his mouth to snap something back in retort, but he had nothing to say that would leave Victor without the upperhand. No matter the real story behind whatever he was doing with Victor, which was nothing, really, there was nothing to be said about it that wouldn't end up helping Victor in the long run. Nicolas was the one that made their encounters a big deal each time they happened. Nicolas was the one who continued to overthink everything when it came to their so-called relationship. Nicolas was the one with a hard cock in his pants. Not Victor. It was never Victor.


And when Victor pointed that out, Nicolas's external demeanor seemed to almost crumble. His expression changed from one of saturated confusion and repressed anger to almost a kind of disappointed distress. For a few moments, he felt younger than his measly nineteen years of life. He felt like child being reprimanded for doing something he couldn't control. Nicolas could control the way he acted around Victor, and that was really the problem. He chose to given in so easily and just go with whatever Victor wanted. He put up a fight here and there, but it never really meant anything. Time and time again, he wished he could do something more aside from waiting for a reaction, but he thrived on them. Needed them.


"You-" Nicolas started, and he ran a hand over his face. "I don't have a thing for you, okay? I mean, sure, you're attractive, and you actually pay attention to me when my friends and family don't, but that doesn't mean I'm interested in you." Saying the truth at this point was easier than pretending that Victor was pulling shit out of his ass. If the other man had noticed it, it had to be obvious, really. Nicolas wasn't exactly good at hiding his feelings. Around his parents, it was easy, but they weren't ever around.


Telling Victor his own opinions on the topic didn't help assure him that he was right. Really, it just sounded like he did have some kind of crush on Victor, and Christ, maybe he did.


(He knew that he did. It couldn't have been anything else.)


"Okay, so maybe I let you take advantage of me or whatever, but it doesn't mean anything. And my drinking doesn't either. It's like I'm drinking to forgettin' somethin'. Drinking makes everything easier, everyone knows that. Don't let yourself overthink it." Nicolas leaned to the side and rested his chin in his palm, head still faced towards Victor. "And hey," he drawled, words beginning to slur. Maybe he shouldn't have thrown back those shots so fast. "You were the one who kissed me, remember? That was allllllllll you."
 
"Hey," he mocked, words etched in silver but sober all the same. He'd taken note of the drunken wobble in Nicolas' voice and wondered whether he should stop drinking himself. He owed the kid a reliable way to get home, at the very least. If they both got shitfaced tonight, God only knew where they would end up, and being found together in any one of those potential situations could only make the consequences that much worse. Even if they were dead. Especially if they were dead.


Victor topped off his glass.


"That was a spur of the moment thing." He knew it didn't sound genuine, though he supposed it was. Excuses aside, his original intentions hadn't involved Nicolas putting on a show for his friends in order to cover up such a brash and unexpected show of endearment--he'd just wanted to do it. To see how Nicolas reacted--to see how he reacted--had been a treat worthy of its own means. It was exciting. And God, it felt good.





Again, he was mildly disgusted with himself. He'd tried to see Nicolas as unattractive, he really had. Nineteen years old, still a baby, practically. Three years ago he'd been sixteen. Four years ago, he'd been fifteen. Respectively, Victor had been seventy-five and seventy-four years old. But as much as he tried to get himself to comprehend this--that falling in love or lust or anything in between with a child was horrific on so many levels--there were parts of him that were not particularly eager to accept it.


He may not have loved Nicolas (not the way couples did, at least), but he was most certainly attracted to him.


"And don't act like you weren't all about it." There was a heavy note to his words, a thickening in his dialect. Christ, he really was a lightweight. But there was no dizziness, so, being the ignorant fool that he was, Victor took himself to be perfectly in control of his verbal skills. For now.


"Listen. Just listen to me." He'd been saying that a damn lot lately. "I kissed you because I wanted to. I can own up to that. I did it because I wanted to." He lifted a finger, but didn't point it at Nicolas. He was still intelligent enough not to make any accusations. He'd had a knife pulled on him the last time he made that mistake. "And that's the difference between you and me. I know what I want, and I don't try to hide shit from myself. There's no room for this kinda bullshit, sweetheart."


He paused, frowned a little, and hauled himself up out of his seat, feeling heavier than when he'd first sat down. He shifted to the other side of the booth and dropped right next to Nicolas, crossing his legs beneath the table with one pressed right up against his company's. His arm shifted tight around the boy's shoulders, head inclined so he could keep his tone at a low murmur. "Maybe it's just me. I dunno if you love or hate this, y'know?" He shrugged. "So just make it easier for the both of us, huh kid? For me?"
 
Want was a weird word these days. Nicolas knew what he wanted in his head but never talked about it, never mentioned it to anyone. Wanting something from yourself was one thing, and expressing that want to someone else, especially when you wanted something from them, was an entirely different story. If he told Victor what he thought, what he wanted, he'd be even more vulnerable than he already was, and that was complicated. He didn't want this to get weird, to get awkward so fast that Victor turned away and left him alone for good. That was so far from the truth, he hated himself for even thinking it. If Victor left, he'd surely go bonkers. Then again, if he said, there was no telling how long he'd stay sane.


And Victor wanting to kiss him? That was weird. And unexpected. And a whole bunch of other emotions that he really didn't want to get into with a good amount of liquor in his system, but he couldn't stop his brain from rushing in a million and two different directions. The fact that Victor had admitted he wanted to kiss Nicolas, at least in that moment, gave Nicolas that little bit of extra gusto that he had been needing to come clean to himself (and to Victor).


Nicolas shied away from Victor as he plopped down next to him, arm cascading across his upper back in a firm grip. His pants were still tight, and he kept himself from moving too much. He felt the warm breath leave Victor's mouth as he spoke lowly next to him, and he relaxed into the hold. Remaining tense and on edge was only making his situation worse. He needed to be calm more than anything else, and staying that way would keep his other feelings at bay. He needed to unwind, he decided. No more pinched shoulders. No more hairs standing up at the back of his neck. No more rigid arm movements. He needed to chill out.


"I'm not really sure myself," he muttered back after a moment, voice wavering from a low hum to a falsetto whisper. The arm slung over him felt more comforting that it should have. "You- God, I mean, how I explain any of this?"


Nicolas moved his hand to his face, fingers pressing hard into the bridge of his nose and then a fist against his forehead. "You annoy the fuck outta me," he said. If he kept saying the first thing that came to his head, he wasn't going to get anywhere with this. "You're controlling and manipulative and impulsive, but you're kinda the only person in my life that's actively lookin' out for me?" He lowered his hand again and reclined into Victor's arm and the cheap seating.


Fuck, this is easier said than done.


"I'dunno what I want or exactly what I feel," he added, closing his eyes. Maybe Victor was right about him not needing to drink so much. "You're just in my life and then outta my life, and it's confusing. I can't figure you out."
 
"Well that's somethin'." At this point he figured it best to give the kid the benefit of the doubt.


As Nicolas relaxed, so did Victor. He supported the weight on his arm without complaint, and rested his cheek lightly on the side of Nicolas' head in return. It wasn't cuddling, per se, but they were certainly much closer than what a standard rich white household with "stable morals" (like, say, the Cardous) would feel comfortable with. Fortunately, there were none within a thirty foot radius who would go out of their way to point out such an atrocity as a young man and an older man (technically just an old man) getting cozy with each other in an underground bar with a presumed rapist well within their sights.


The presumed rapist in question was the only thing that put Victor on edge. The guy had been shooting them looks every five minutes or so--fleeting, but hungry. If Victor wasn't so reluctant to disrupt this weird moment they were having, he'd have gone over and decked the guy a long time ago.


He kept one eye on him anyway, when it wasn't trained on Nicolas. "It's okay," he murmured, trying to keep his voice at a level that constituted "soothing", or as close as he could get to it. He knew the kid was uncomfortable, and why shouldn't he be? How many times did someone really get forced to confess their emotions for another person? It was fucking horrible, undoubtedly.


And he had to consider the fact that Nicolas probably led quite the sheltered life before all this. Given, he'd tried to spice up his existence with wild goose chases and drugs and parties and whatever the hell else kids did these days, but he did have a choice. And, like most people who had a choice, he chose the privileged life where it mattered most. He paid for his own shit without issue, studied at a college with a nerve-wracking acceptance rate, and he probably didn't actively approach serial killers either, when faced with the choice.


Of course he was nervous, scared, uncomfortable, whatever else. He hadn't really wanted this.


But--as Victor was so adamant about--he hadn't really made much of an effort to get himself out of it either.


His arm dropped to Nicolas' waist. "Christ, you're skinny." The words were spoken in a slurred concoction of concern, disgust, and drunk. His thumb curved around the light indentation of Nicolas' hip as he spoke, and his eyebrows furrowed somewhat.


He was stalling.


Or, fuck, maybe he just wanted to touch the kid.


"'S not your fault if you're attached to me because I pay attention to you." It's not healthy. The thought emerged from the farthest reaches of his mind, and Victor was almost startled by it. No, he supposed it wasn't very healthy at all. Hell, if he knew anything, it was that situations like these were usually the beginning of an abusive relationship. But as far as he could tell, he had no intentions to abuse Nicolas.


"And hell, it's fine if you can't figure me out. I can barely figure you out." His hand had shifted from Nicolas' hip to his thigh, fingertips tracing circles in the middle of it. He raised his eyebrows and nodded at Nicolas' lap. "Somethin' about me must make you awfully happy, though. There's no hidin' that shame, kid."
 
As the touches narrowed in on his legs, Nicolas felt his entire body tense. His back inched away from the warmth of Victor's arm, and he sat up straight to (hopefully) desensitize his body. Otherwise, there wasn't much he could do - stuck in the booth between a rock and a hard place, and where scooting away from Victor would only make the entire situation scream uncomfortable. Nicolas knew that it was obvious that he was already as trouble as he could be, but he didn't want to add any kindle to the fire.


He proceeded to act like everything was normal and fine and expected as the fingers grew closer to his twitching groin before he went rigid again.


Two deep breaths later, Nicolas pulled Victor's hand off of his lap and closed his eyes, licked his lips, and started to stare straight ahead. What the fuck is wrong with me? He cursed inwardly at himself, large and angry puffs of air coming from his nose. I keep letting myself think with my dick, and it's gonna get me fuckin' killed. If this keeps happening, well...





"I told you before," Nicolas corrected, voice low. He knew that the creepy fuck at the end of the bar was still watching them by the way Victor kept glancing away, and that made everything a million and two times worse. Going through the process of embarrassment around Victor was something that had already suffered through, so he knew kind of what to expect, but knowing that an unknown spectator was glowering towards them with unbounded lust, well, that made him want to jump out of his skin. "It happens when I'm drinking."


And it was becoming even more of a lie each time he drank with friends or alone when it didn't happen, when he got drunk but didn't go through that stiff period, that it only happened when he was drinking. For the last few weeks at least Nicolas worked himself over with thoughts of the ordeal with Marcus or Victor showing up at campus or the two of them sifting through liquor like water in his kitchen or Nicolas being at the sublevel of Victor's home with no idea how he got there because Victor gave him a rush that he couldn't understand and couldn't find anywhere else. It was infuriating to say the least, but that didn't mean he was going to stop having such thoughts or let the situation go like it didn't mean anything. Nicolas obsessed about it to the point where he almost knew why he wanted what he wanted. Figuring out why Victor made him feel like this was going to give him a goddamn aneurysm.


Nicolas knew that it wasn't normal or really okay to enjoy the attention Victor paid him, but it wasn't something that he could ignore. All of his life, his parents had prioritized their time around everything but him, and now that he was technically out of the house and ready to figure out his life on his own, he was thriving. He didn't want to attest any of that to Victor, though. There was no way he could know if the man had anything to do with him learning to give less fucks about everything.


Now that he wasn't being caressed, it was easier for Nicolas to get his head straight. He rolled his shoulders and sighed again, unsure of exactly what to see. He wanted to keep their business in the booth and away from the pedophiliac man at the bar, but he also wanted to shove Victor away for a reaction, and he felt conflicted.


"I'm attracted to you," he spoke again, whisper harsh. "We already established that. But that doesn't mean I want anything like that from you, it's just the alcohol. And even if I did, you're over three times my age, okay? Not interested."


The age gap did make Nicolas more wary than he was before Victor told him, though those fifty-nine years between them didn't matter to the rest of his body. His mind might have realized how fucked up his attraction was to Victor. however everything belong the neckline hadn't receiving the memo yet. The tightness of denim against skin only intensified as seconds followed, and Nicolas found himself sweating at the back of his neck.


"And I'm not stupid. Not getting my hopes up or anything ridiculous, so don't think I'mma jump you or some shit. It's an involuntary reaction toward fear. Don't get too cocky."
 
He snickered, lips twisted upward into the lopsided half-sneer that exposed a flawless top row of pearly whites--a crook's expression, a salesman's smile. He maneuvered his arm away from Nicolas' body and draped it over the partition behind his shoulders. Being pushed away hadn't offended him, so it seemed; Victor was perfectly aware of Nicolas' need for space, and he wasn't going to bitch about not being able to grope him.


He did, however, for half a second or so, shoot him a dubious look. A "come on, have a little fun, because you're ruining mine" sort of thing that played on the mischievous light in the far back of his molten eyes. He supposed he could have kept on with if it he really wanted to. He was considerably less drunk than Nicolas, and even if he hadn't been, it wasn't like Elvis over there was going to do anything but watch it happen.


It was the "considerably less drunk" part that stopped him. Two guys getting into it drunkenly was a complicated story, a sober younger guy getting into a drunk older guy probably went without major consequence, but an older guy getting into a drunk younger guy was something that would get you put on a list in a heartbeat. Besides, he didn't need that extra weight on his conscious.


And he hoped that it was more than just legal matters that stopped him from essentially hurting the kid. Much as he found himself loving to touch Cardou, he felt the discomfort that resulted in being pushed away, and felt guilty for having incited it. The part of him that wanted to hurt Nicolas was contending harshly with the part that wanted nothing more than to protect him. Beyond the bitchiness that he loathed so much, he found a certain vulnerability, and over the course of the last hour he'd been very careful about avoiding it until just now.


"Listen." He'd distanced himself from Nicolas per his silent request, but his voice was kept low and soft, still close enough to be considered "intimate". "Like I said, it doesn't really matter if you're interested in me or not. I don't need you to be interested in me to get what I want. You don't really make those decisions, you get me?"


He couldn't imagine doing anything without Nicolas' decision. Again, he would not lie to himself. Cardou was an isolated kid with a shitty home life and the goddamn biggest brown eyes he'd ever seen on a kid, and underneath all the anger that resulted from that was a sensitivity that Victor found himself striving to protect more often than provoke as of late. The kid fucking melted him. The thought of hurting him in any way, shape or form was becoming increasingly hard to come to terms with.


But he did need the upper hand.


"I trust you, though. I told you that. And I'm not interested in you either, to be fair." Lie. But what else was he supposed to do?


His lips twitched impulsively. He needed a damn cigarette. He should have snatched a straw from the counter before they sat down, but he feared Nicolas might bolt if he got up now.


"Are you okay?" The question was out before he'd even turned his head to look at Nicolas. "And I want you to be honest, because most people aren't. Are you feeling okay? Are you okay with this? You want me to take you home?"
 
Nicolas wasn't an idiot, and he already knew that it was a long-shot to think that Victor thought to rival his own thoughts. Being reasonably open with someone wasn't exactly easy for him, and when he was things typically worked out in his favor, but this time he was shot down so fast that his heart almost halted in his chest. He knew it was dumb to wish for anything to be easier - for Victor to be younger, for Victor to not be a serial killer, for Victor to be normal - and that's what he got in return. What a fucking dumbass. Stupid, stupid, stupid.


He was the one saying that he wasn't interested, so there was always that off chance that Victor wasn't saying anything because Nicolas wasn't, and what a trip that would be. They'd be dancing around each other like a fucking seventeenth century couple, both moving too quickly to stop the other in their tracks.


All he really wanted was to close his eyes and sleep. Unless he was at a party or a concert or something equally body-moving, alcohol tended to turn him into a sluggish toddler only waiting to be put down for a nap. But he didn't want to leave the bar because that might mean he'd be forced to leave Victor, and god knew how long it would take for them to run into each other again.


"Yes, no, I mean, yeah, I'm okay." He brought a sweaty hand to his forehead and blinked a couple times slowly. How to say what he wanted was slowly escaping him, and he had to blame the alcohol. Sober, Nicolas never really had a time vocalizing his wishes (but then again he had always had a problem telling the truth when it came to Victor). What the real issue concerning Victor was knowing that what he wanted was okay, which it wasn't, and then talking about it to himself. He was going to have to start forcing himself to get all his thoughts out in the open or Victor was going to realize that he wasn't as interesting as he seemed. His life was nothing to brag about. Sure, he might have grown up with the lavishes of a perfect life, but all of that fell apart the moment someone really got into his head (or really, his house). There were no family pictures, no hand-crafted presents from school that his parents kept, nothing with familial value. Everything was calculated and placed like it was a fucking art exhibit.


And he really was okay. The guy at the bar made him edgy, but that wasn't important. Not now, anyway.


"We can stay or whateva, if ya want," he said, hand falling back down to his side, fingers lingering on the cheap plastic lining of the bench. "The only thing that's making this weird is that guy." He nudged his head in the man's direction but didn't give him a glance. "He hasn't stopped watching us since we came in, and now we're drinking, and that's not good. He could, like, attack us, and we'd have shit reaction time, and I don't feel like getting hit today."


Nicolas shifted in the seat and moved instinctively closer toward Victor. He was still hard and anxious, and even though Victor was still so close to him, it was becoming more of a fear-boner than it was before. If they left the bar, they'd be away from the creep, but Victor might make them part ways, and he didn't want to deal with his mom or his friends or anyone. He was tired of the usual life interactions. Victor changed that. Made everything different. Made him think.


"We could leave, but I really don't want to go back. Next time I go there, I'mma pack all my shit up and not come back, so I kinda wanna avoid it until I figure out my game plan."
 
Victor nodded, slow and thoughtful. "Alright."


He prepared himself to get up again, biting his lips as he shifted to the edge of his seat and prompted a menacing pop from his lower back in the process. He may not have felt his age, but--among aching joints, trembling hands and shitty eyesight--he certainly had his moments.


He turned to look at Nicolas from the corner of one eye, a hand on his hip and a shadow of a grimace on his lips. "We'll go to Mat's place." He stepped out of the booth and shot a wary glance over his shoulder. "He's got a big-ass house outside the city, and I don't want that jackass lookin' at you the way he has been." His eyes darkened with the thought. "You can stay the night there if you want, because I'm sure as hell not going back to my place."


The suggestion came partly because he didn't want to deal with all those damn stairs, partly because he wanted to see Mathias, and mostly because he wanted more privacy with the kid. Mat's place was comprised of two fully-furnished condos, the second of which Victor took full advantage of when he had any reason not to go to his own place--even if it was completely fabricated. Fortunately, they'd known each other long enough for Victor to waltz in without invitation or explanation, and the rare guest was always permitted.


"I'm sure as hell not gonna stop drinkin', though." He snatched the bottle of whiskey, still half full, off the end of the table, and stuffed it in his jacket as if there was no chance in hell anyone would notice. He'd already paid for the damn thing. Hell, fifty dollars was a lot of money in this economy, especially for whiskey.


Again he thought to regard Nicolas' opinion, but not until a decision had already been made. Victor shifted his gaze and raised his eyebrows. "Are you okay with that?"


He looked the kid over again. It was hard not to notice his below-the-belt situation (and, truth be told, it stirred a variety of feelings in Victor that he knew would not be eliminated with the copious amounts of alcohol he intended to choke back), but he pretended not to, if only for the sake of keeping the creep's attention anywhere but them. As far as he knew, they were together, and all that was Victor's to take care of.


He swallowed.


Nicolas was clearly anxious, too. Taking him home would be like taking a puppy to the pound. Of course he didn't want to go back there. No place was worth going back to if you had to mentally prepare yourself before doing it.


Then again--was Victor any different?


"I don't wantcha to be uncomfortable." He shifted the bottle in his palm. "I do what I think is best, you get that? And not just for me anymore, it's for you, too. Okay? Now, you wanna get rid 'a me or do you wanna get wasted somewhere with less pedophiles?"
 
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