The Boogeyman and the Black Pearl

Blake came into the club like a man coming in from the cold. His hands were stuffed deep in his pockets, his shoulders pinched around his slim frame. he looked around for Celeste.

She was sitting near the back of the bar, perched on a stool like a gargoyle. A bottle of José Cuervo Black, about three-quarters empty, was in front of her, bright eyes glaring darkly at it. Though she didn't notice him come in, the bartender gave a nod to him.

Blake bellied up to the bar, "Johnny Walker Black, rocks," he said. He finally noticed Celeste after sitting down. "Hey," he said. "What've you..." A bead of red dripped onto his nose, distracting him from his question. "Bollocks," he whispered hoarsely, wiping it off with a finger. He was sweating blood.

"Sod it all to Hell," he cursed, reaching into the pocket of his long black jacket and fishing out a... what did he have? A reciept for cigarettes it looked like. He wiped his forehead. It came away slightly moist and red. Blake quickly switched to coctail napkins, trying not to be obvious that he was mopping up blood.

She glanced over to him, her eyes widening some. "Jesus, Blake." She leaped down from her chair, a hand slipping down, fingers lacing with his. With her free hand she dabbed at his brow with the corner of her scarf, a kind smile across her lips. "C'mon downstairs, okay?"

The barkeep brought him his drink rather rapidly, as opposed to the typically slow service. He eyed Blake skeptically a moment, before turning away.

"Mmmf." It was an affirmative mixed with a shiver, like he had the chills.

Blake slammed the scotch and went with Celeste.

She lead him back into that small back room, though this time it was different. Rather than press sensually up against him, tease him like the imp she was, she continued compassionately touching cloth to blood sweat. As she locked the door, a mechanical click sounded, and the room began to lower.

"You look terrible."

"Don't fuck with me Celeste," he said, leaning back against the wall, but lacking the impetus to do much about her pawing. "Got a monkey on my back and you bloody know it. Shakes, sweat, want to feed and shag like I wanna die, this has you all over it..." His words were tough, but his body and tone belied a weakness that went bone deep.

[Continued here]