Pet Shop Of Horrors Fan Fiction ❯ Unwilling Sleep ❯ Worm's Meat of Me ( Chapter 5 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

See the Prologue for warnings, disclaimers, etc.

In case the pattern isn't obvious by now, I will be updating this story each Wednesday with a new chapter.

Unwilling Sleep, Part Five: Worm's Meat of Me

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Leon hated the Yankees, actually, but had decided long ago not to mention that. He might have spent his adolescence in Long Island, watching his mom struggle along without his good-for-nothing dad around to help, but that didn't mean he had to be a sheep. He'd secretly begun to pull for the Mets when he was thirteen, and had always kind of cherished the rebellion.

It was sort of deja vu, then, sitting in that chair, pretending to root for the Yankees and secretly hoping they lost. He also thought about D, upstairs with Chris, and wondered what the Count looked like, bent over a sewing needle. Part of him, the part that hated to let D out of his sight even now, wanted to be up there with him. The other part realized that sewing was boring, that D and Chris could use the time together, and that Uncle Phil really didn't need another reason to get pissed off. At least baseball could take his mind off things for a while.

The game ran long, and by the tenth inning Leon was glad to see it end. He set his third beer bottle aside and rose to his feet, stretching. It was past eleven, and he was exhausted; jet lag must finally be catching up to him. He hoped D slept better that night, too. Maybe D was already asleep, in fact. He'd have to check in on him. Chris would have been in bed for hours by now, and Eileen had bid them all good-night about half an hour ago.

"Good game," Joyce yawned, rising to her feet as well. The Yankees had won, of course; the best team money could buy, Leon thought grouchily. Another thing he hated about them.

"I'm for bed," Phil said, nodding as he stood up from the couch. He looked at Leon as Joyce left the room. "Leon, I know you're a grown man," he said. "But this is my house, and I'd feel better if you were on the couch, and not with…that guy. Now you know he's not gonna bolt, there's no reason…"

"Uncle Phil," Leon broke in, deciding that now was as good a time as any to get this straight, "nothing's going on. Okay? And nothing ever has. We're just friends." It was even true, strictly speaking. "I'm worried about him and I want to keep an eye on him. That's all. What, do I need to write it in blood or something?"

"I'm not stupid, Leon," Phil said quietly. "Don't ever make that mistake with me."

"Christ!" Leon ran his hand through his hair and tried to keep his voice down, mindful of the sleeping people in the house -- who, hopefully, included D. "I know that. But if I wanna sack out on the floor, I don't see what the problem is. At least I'm not messing up any sheets." He scowled. "I don't like this any more than you do, okay? You think I like taking charity? We'll be out of your hair soon enough, trust me."

Phil's lips thinned. "We're your family, boy," he said. Leon's guts went hot: when he'd been a kid, he'd hated being called 'boy' above all else, and it hadn't diminished over time. Phil apparently hadn't forgotten it either. "I don't mind helping you out. You've always been a good kid, even if I thought you were wasting your potential sometimes. But you're not my kid, even if your brother is. Do what you want to do. Sleep on the damn floor. But make sure you stay on that floor or, family or not, you can find a motel tomorrow. I'm not going to have that stuff going on under my roof."

"Goddammit, Uncle Phil -- "

"Good night, Leon. Sleep well." Phil went upstairs. Leon stood still and watched him, fuming. Of course, Phil had always been like this. Even growing up, Leon had known what Uncle Phil had thought of 'those people,' and he supposed it had affected his own attitudes in some abstract way. But now that those feelings were being applied to him directly, it made them seem much meaner, much more raw -- like he needed this shit on top of everything else…

It wasn't even like he was doing anything. With anybody, much less with D. The last chance he'd even had had been with that waitress in Topeka a month ago, and he'd turned her down for reasons he'd tried not to examine very carefully. She'd just been…it would have been…wrong.

Leon rubbed his hand over his eyes and sighed heavily. Then he headed to the bathroom with his duffel bag, brushed his teeth, changed into sweatpants and T-shirt. Back out into the living room to pick up the blanket and the cushion. Then upstairs. His feet felt heavy as lead with exhaustion.

He quietly opened the door, sure that D would be asleep, only to be greeted with a near-silver sliver of flesh, the ghostly spectre of D's naked back as he paused in the middle of dressing for bed, looking over his bare shoulder in startlement.

"Sorry," Leon gasped, wondering where all the air in the room had gone, and nearly tripped backwards, only just managing not to slam the door when he shut it, D's wide-eyed gaze engraved on his mind. Not to mention all that skin. At least he hadn't seen anything…lower…which was a good thing, he told himself firmly.

Then the door opened, with D poking his head out, and Leon realized he hadn't moved from his spot in the hall, and that his mouth, in fact, was still hanging open. He shut it fast. "Thought you'd be asleep," he mumbled.

"No," D said. "Come in, please."

Leon did, glad for the darkness of the room that hid his face, which still felt red. When his eyes adjusted, he saw that the closet door was open, and that D's cheongsam was hanging inside, looking kind of pathetic all by itself. "Oh. You got your, uh, your thing all fixed?"

D nodded, moving to sit on one side of the bed. "It took some time. Some of the braiding had come loose, and much of it is still frayed. I have mended all the rips, but it will never be as fine as it once was." He looked aside at Leon, his expression unreadable. "I told Chris I was thinking of selling it. If you needed money."

Leon blinked. Sell D's cheongsam? Well, it could probably fetch something, no question, even damaged. Vintage clothing stores paid a lot for stuff like that. But that particular cheongsam -- Leon wasn't sentimental, but that was the outfit D had worn when he'd saved Leon's life for the last time, clinging to him as they went up that winding staircase, the outfit he'd worn when he'd pushed Leon off the ship. And the outfit he'd worn when he'd come back. It had been Leon's last impression of the old D -- whoever he'd been -- and his first impression of the new D -- whoever he was. It was irreplaceable. "Keep it," he said.

D nodded. "I have decided to." And then he looked up at Leon from the bed, with a trace of the old, sardonic smirk, so familiar that it gave Leon's heart a pang. "After all, I have no other clothes of my own. And," he added, raising his eyebrows, "I will have need of it in the very near future. Tomorrow, perhaps."

Leon frowned. "What are you up to?" he asked suspiciously. "Does this have anything to do with what you said about Chinatown?"

"Precisely," D said, sounding pleased, as if Leon had made a particularly clever observation. "It will be a great deal easier to get what is necessary if I look the part. Although I do wish I had a decent pair of shoes to go with it," he added mournfully. "I do not feel comfortable asking Miss Samantha if I may borrow anything really nice."

Leon sat down on the other side of the bed, a good distance from D, some part of him keeping Phil's warnings in mind in spite of himself. He dropped the duffle, the cushion and the blanket on the floor beside him. "What are you talking about? Get what? Look the part of what?"

"Look like I was before," D said quietly. "This is not my first visit to New York, Detective."

There was an awkward pause as Leon digested this. He'd had three months to get used to the idea that the guy he'd been hanging around for two years was immortal, but the whole concept still threw him for a loop sometimes. D probably didn't mean he'd been here a year ago or something. "It's not, huh," he said cautiously.

"No," D said, his voice still low. "A few generations ago, I kept the petshop here. Some members of the community should still be alive, and would remember me. A few owe me…debts of certain kinds. They knew what I was. I never collected. I can try now." He bit his lower lip. "It remains to be seen whether they will honor their debts if they do not…" He stopped.

"Do not what?" Leon asked, getting the weird crawly feeling on his skin that he always got whenever he thought about all this paranormal stuff.

"Fear me," D finished.

Crawly. Really crawly. "So you gotta look the part," Leon said slowly. "I get it. But…but…" He wasn't sure how to say this. "So…I mean…you're not…"

D shot him a quick look from the corner of his eyes.

"You're not the part anymore, then," Leon said. "I mean…I guessed that…and you can kind of tell…I think…" He remembered what D had said: I will be honest with you, Detective. He'd put off asking, not sure if he was ready for the answer, but it looked like the question wouldn't wait anymore. "What happened," he managed, "when you left the ship. I mean -- what happened to you? You're different."

"You can 'tell'?" D asked, his expression as blank as ever.

Leon gestured helplessly. "I -- yeah. I don't know if anybody else can. I don't even know if Chris can, and I don't know what it is I'm seeing, but you're definitely different. You still look the same, on the outside, but something's changed. What is it? You gonna tell me?"

"I said that I would." That level, unnerving stare. "If you are certain you want to know."

"Well, maybe I don't want to know. Maybe I need to know. I'm asking, okay? Give me the honesty now. What in hell did you do?"

"How do you say it, Detective?" D's lips quirked in a small smile that had nothing to do with humor. "I 'jumped ship.'"

"I got that much already -- "

"I gave it up."

There was another pause. Leon huffed out his breath impatiently. "Okay. Enough with the cryptic. The suspense is killing me, all right? I said I wanted to know, so if you could just spit it out -- "

"I have become human."

" -- then I'd really appreciate…" Leon's voice trailed off mid-rant and his eyes widened. "Hey what now?" He blinked, and rubbed his eyes again. D's words reverberated in his head: four words, short ones, that shook the whole world and turned it upside down.

I have become human.

It was a surprise, a shock, and then again it wasn't. Hadn't Leon suspected something of the kind ever since he'd watched D sleeping last night? And yet -- to know that it was really true, that it had happened, was something else entirely. Leon had had three months to think of D as something other than human, and really, it had made so much sense in retrospect that it had soon become impossible to think of D as anything other than supernatural. And now he was saying he wasn't anymore. Which only raised more questions. "So…okay. So how does that...you jumped ship and then...how?" Wonderful. Leon Orcot, the great communicator. He moved his hands from his eyes to see D staring down into his own lap, as if avoiding Leon's gaze. He looked very small and slight, and frail, especially in Eileen's pajamas.

And if he was human, if it was true, then that meant D really was small and slight and frail now. He'd have a human body, a human's strength. Presumably. Holy God. Leon reached out and tentatively shook D on the shoulder, and D looked up, wide-eyed and pale. He was trembling slightly, though whether from anxiety or fatigue Leon couldn't tell. Maybe it was both. "Hey," he said quietly, "hey. It's okay. Just tell me. Tell me what happened." He'd never been any good at reassuring anyone, but he hoped the combination of a level voice and a steadying hand would do the trick.

"That's all there is to tell," D said, his voice a little hoarse. Leon immediately started praying to every god he'd ever heard of that D wasn't going to cry. But D continued, without tears, "I -- I admit I did not anticipate…everything. My decision was but the work of a moment. I did not give myself time to think about it. I could not, or he would have stopped me. My grandfather. And I knew that it was the right thing to do." He hid his face in his hands. "Or…so I remember thinking. I don't know. I don't know."

Oh hell. Leon was reaching out before he knew it, and tugging D into his arms again, just like he had the night before. He searched the dumbfounded recesses of his brain for something useful to say, or even something empty and soothing. Something, anything. But before he could find it, D pushed at his arms, refusing to be pulled in closer. He was talking again. "Forgive me. I am very tired. I have not been sleeping well. I'm all right." He swallowed harshly and closed his eyes.

"The hell you are," Leon said, and after one wary glance at the closed door, lay down again with D in his arms. D wasn't as pliant tonight; he let Leon hold him, but his body was stiff, still, and unresponsive, strung tight from tension that Leon couldn't even imagine. He awkwardly patted D's shoulder. "So you're…you're human now." Just like me. He stopped himself before he could say it. No matter what had happened, no matter what was yet to happen, D would never be like Leon, or like anybody else Leon knew. He was sure of that much. Even if D was human now, he still had centuries' worth of knowledge and experience that nobody else did. Plus…he was just D. D for different.

"As I said," D muttered, "I had not…known everything that would happen. I knew that, by leaving the ship, I would become mortal. I did not know it would actually make me a -- a human being."

Leon frowned. "What's the difference?"

"There are many differences. Among the most superficial: I have a human body now," D said, confirming Leon's earlier suspicions. "It -- all the little -- I've never -- " He stopped, and finished only with, "It has taken some getting used to."

"I bet," Leon said lamely, unable to think of anything else. He still wasn't clear on the difference, but D didn't seem to want to explain, and now didn't seem like a good time to push. It would be enough just to get a basic understanding of what had happened…if 'understanding' was the right word. He wasn't sure he'd ever understand what was going on here.

But he had to try. D had done something, something tremendous, and the least Leon could do was try to appreciate it properly. He moved his hand from D's shoulder to D's hair, which lay thick and soft on his head, the strands cool and fine beneath Leon's touch. He'd always kind of wanted to touch it. Especially in those last couple of months. Unbidden, the image of D's bare back rose in his mind again, and Leon banished it with a quick intake of breath. Now was definitely not the time for that.

He should say something. But all he could think to do was repeat, like a moron, "So, you're…human now." As if they hadn't covered that already.

"Yes, as I said," D replied, his voice flat. "Do you even understand what that means? What I was? I was going to live forever, Leon. And…I couldn't do it. Not anymore. I've been alive for so long. That is the nature of my kind -- to live forever, and alone. I…I didn't want either of those things." Forever and alone. D had given those up, exchanged them for 'mortal and together'…and the first thing he'd done had been to look for Leon. Holy… "So I gave it up. I gave up immortality, and eternity, and all of my powers, and everything that made me what I was." D closed his mouth with an abrupt snap, his lower lip trembling. His eyes had gone a little wild during the speech.

There was a long, stunned pause.

"I quit smoking," Leon mumbled.

There was another, much shorter pause; and then, to Leon's shock, D buried his face in his chest. An instant later, he realized it had been for practical purposes, to muffle the sudden, hysterical howl of sound that had burst out of D's mouth. He was laughing. It sounded crazy and scared the piss out of Leon. He hissed, gripped D, and shook him, although more gently than he ever had before, keeping in mind that, yeah, D was breakable now. "Hey. Hey!" he whispered harshly. "Stop it. None of that. Calm down." Oh, God, was he going to have to hit him? Like he had in that dream, what seemed like ages ago? He didn't think he could do it. "D, for fuck's sake!"

Thankfully, D appeared to be settling down. "I apologize," he said again, his breath wheezing a little. "It's only that I said…and then you said…" he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Smoking!" Then he giggled again, before biting his lip, eyes still with that wild, lost look in them.

Leon couldn't stand it. He took a deep breath and gripped D's face in one hand. "Look, I know I didn't -- I couldn't give up what you did. But I tried. I'm gonna tell you something really, really stupid now. Okay? You have to swear to God not to tell a single living soul, or I'll knock you on your skinny Chinese ass. Right?"

D blinked at him, still breathing heavily. "Well," he said after a moment, sounding more collected, "this is certainly more like the Detective Orcot that I am used to. I'd be lying if I said I didn't find it perversely reassuring." He moved his chin from Leon's grip and brushed the hair out of his eyes with a hand that only trembled a little. "Very well. I promise."

"And you better not laugh at me again." Leon's face was turning red, he could feel it. "I told you, I already know it was stupid."

"I become more curious by the moment," D said, his breath slowing and calming, and Leon realized that this was good for them both -- back to the old roles of blustering stupid human versus serene, aloof…uh, human. It was sort of familiar, at least. D certainly looked a lot better than he had just a few seconds ago, although his cheeks were still flushed.

"I went to seven states that were on the coast," Leon said. "And every time I was anywhere near a beach, I'd go, and spend hours there, just walking up and down. Especially if there were rocks or coves or something. Um, that's not the stupid part." He took a deep breath. "Every time I looked for mermaids. There. You happy now?"

"Mermaids?" D repeated, after a silent moment, his pale brow puckered in confusion. "You do not believe in mermaids, or so you told me."

"I believe in a hell of a lot more stuff than I used to," Leon said, rubbing a hand over his forehead. "I'd be pretty fucking stupid not to, all things considered. I just remembered what you told me once, back when we first knew each other -- back during that case about Evangeline Blue. That -- that eating the entrails of a mermaid can give a human eternal life, or youth, or something." D's eyes widened and he sucked in his breath. Face flaming, Leon finished in a hurry, "So there you go, okay? I actually thought about eating a mermaid. I thought that might make a difference. That if I was more like you, if I couldn't die, or couldn't age, you might come back." He closed his eyes. "Shit. And it would have been awful, wouldn't it? I'm glad I didn't. If it's even true."

Keeping his eyes closed, Leon heard the soft clicking sounds that meant D was swallowing again. "So am I," he said after a moment. "You…Leon, I hope you live a very long, very happy life." Leon tried not to remember how D had dropped that plate when Eileen had made her little copkiller remark. "But I know that you are not meant to live forever. It would not suit you. I could have -- tried to arrange that. I used to think about it. There are deities one can ask, favors one can beg, powers one can beseech. But I knew it was not for you." The clicking sounds again. "The fact that you considered it -- even more than the fact that you actually remembered something I told you, although you appear to have forgotten that mermaid flesh is addictive and therefore a very bad idea -- astonishes me. I am…honored, I suppose, that you even thought about it."

Leon's throat felt thick. Oh Jesus. A sap moment. "Yeah, well. Like I said. It's not much compared to what you did." Which was true. Leon realized, with a sudden sinking feeling, that he was never going to win another argument with D for the rest of his life. 'I gave up immortality for you' pretty much trumped anything he'd ever be able to come up with, even the mermaid thing.

Although, it was true, D hadn't actually come out and said he'd become human for Leon's sake. They hadn't actually come out and said a lot of stuff that was hovering in the air around and between them. But then, they never did, and Leon had always been good at putting clues together. D had given up more than Leon would ever, ever be able to comprehend -- for him. If D was honored, Leon was…scared. Scared shitless. He didn't deserve something like this. His brain was screaming that D had made a mistake, that Leon wasn't going to be worth it, that he'd never been able to keep a girlfriend for more than a couple of months before it all went to hell, that soon D would know what a terrible bargain he'd made and whatever he felt for Leon now would eventually turn to resentment, anger, bitter regret.

But D knew Leon. Knew him better than any woman Leon had ever dated, that was for sure. And he'd still made his decision. That had to count for something. Leon took a deep breath and willed his panic away. It was all done, anyway, or so it sounded. Too late to change anything; might as well make the best of it. If D had chosen a mortal life, then all he could really do was start living it, and the sooner the better.

"I'm glad you did it," he blurted, thinking that it would be the appropriate thing to say and that D probably needed to hear it, even if it wasn't a hundred percent true. Well, he was glad that D had come back, even if he wasn't sure he wanted the responsibility for…all this…on his head. "I'm glad you came back and found me. I'll." He swallowed hard. "I'll try to make it worth it. I'll do what I can."

D nodded slowly against Leon's shoulder. Leon noticed that he wasn't much more relaxed than he'd been at the start of their talk. "It seems to me that it was my decision," he said, "so it is I who must make it, as you put it, 'worth it' for myself." He raised his head to look at Leon, their faces disconcertingly close. Leon found his hand dropping from D's head to rest in the middle of his back, liking the soft, satiny feel of the pajamas beneath his palm. D's breath caught, and then shuddered out of him as he looked away from Leon's face.

Suddenly, Leon remembered once again what D's back had looked like, the back that was under his hand right now, and the image wasn't going away so easily. He longed to shift his hips into a more comfortable position, feeling familiar, unwelcome stirrings below the waist, but he knew that would only call D's attention to them. Instead, for reasons he didn't understand, his hand slipped lower until it rested in the small of D's back, where his fingertips began to move in circles. It was…reassurance, he decided, feeling short of breath. D was pretty tense. It was a backrub. Just that.

D's head lowered back down to rest on Leon's shoulder. He didn't get any less tense; in fact, he trembled a little, and Leon could feel his heartrate speeding up. Okay. So…not just a backrub. Out of all the weird things that had been going on lately, this didn't even compete for the top spot, but Leon was still a little freaked out by how turned on he was getting. He'd had a few months to accept the idea that he found D attractive, true, but that was different from having the reality lying next to him in bed, submitting to his hesitant caresses and breathing softly against the side of his neck. Softly and unevenly. Did that mean D also liked…wanted… If Leon just let his hand slide a little lower -- cup that little butt, pull D's hips in closer, then he'd know for sure --

He snatched his hand away and sat up, rolling his hips to the left and away from D's sight. "I guess I better get on the floor again," he said hoarsely. Because if he didn't get going now -- they'd -- and the evidence would be damn near impossible to hide. He really couldn't afford a motel. "So…I…yeah."

He heard a 'flump' behind him, and turned his head to see that D had lain down flat on his back and was staring up at the ceiling, his eyes wide and blank. His pale throat bobbed up and down in a series of harsh swallows, and he was still trembling. His breath came in small pants, like an animal's. Leon could see the outline of his nipples, little and hard, against the shiny fabric of the pajama top, and suddenly it was really difficult not to bend down and taste that throat, lick and suck until D was trembling even harder. And then he could --

Christ! Leon practically rolled off the bed in his haste to get to the floor, where he tucked the cushion under his head and the blanket around his body with an almost vicious determination. He had not looked below D's waist to confirm his suspicions because…that would be bad. Very bad. As for himself, he was already so hard it was starting to ache, and he wanted nothing more than to limp to the bathroom and take care of himself. But that would be so obvious that the very idea was embarrassing. He was twenty-six years old, for fuck's sake. He could control himself. Time to focus on some basic details, distract himself, distract them both.

"So," he said, his voice coming out a little croaky, "we're going to Chinatown tomorrow?"

There was a moment of silence from the bed; then D replied, his voice still hoarse, "'We,' Detective?"

Leon felt his hackles rise, his body all-too-ready to transmute his sexual frustration into frustration of a different kind. "Yeah, 'we.' You think I'm gonna let you go running off by yourself? You just finished telling me you don't have your…uh, your powers anymore." Jeez, that made D sound like a superhero out of a comic book or something. His life was so, so weird. "This is New York. It's dangerous here." Especially for little guys who looked like girls and didn't even know what it was like to be human yet.

"I've been here before," D reminded him sharply.

"Yeah, what, a century ago or something? I bet times have changed, D. Come on. What's it going to hurt? Let me go with you -- at least to wherever you need to go, and you can take it alone from there. You know, talking to your, uh, contacts."

"I would like to remind you, Detective," D said, and it sounded like he was gritting his teeth, "that I have survived this past week, on a cross-country trip of a most unpleasant nature, perfectly well by myself. Even if I have only been human for a few days, I have still observed your ways for far longer than you have been alive."

"But, D -- "

"Besides," D added, "should you not remain here, awaiting a call from the Long Island Chief of police? It is likely he will call you tomorrow."

Rather than deterring Leon, this inspired him. "But we don't even know if we'll be living in Long Island. We're waiting to hear from your Chinese friends on that, aren't we? It might be better if I get assigned to some other district. So why don't we get that straightened out, and then I can go to the Chief myself?"

"You will attract attention," D snapped.

"You won't?" Leon rejoined. "Besides," he added, "how are you going to get there?"

D sucked in his breath between his teeth.

"At least I can talk Joyce into dropping us off," Leon said, pursuing his advantage. "Bet you'd have a harder time managing that. Unless you want to take the subway, and even if you do, you have no money. At least I have a little cash on me. C'mon, D -- it's the only way."

"This is intolerable!" D burst out in a harsh whisper. "I have done nothing to warrant your family's suspicion -- " which wasn't exactly true, but Leon decided to hold his tongue, " -- and -- and I am grateful for their kindness -- but I resent these strictures placed upon us."

Silence fell, as D's final words forcefully reminded Leon of exactly why he was lying on the floor, and what they could be doing if he wasn't. Judging by the faint catch in his breath, D was thinking about it too. Just when the stillness was about to get awkward, Leon managed, "Well, me too. Uh. Yeah. That's why we need to get out, and that's why I'm taking you to Chinatown. The sooner the better…right?"

Another pause; then: "Agreed, Detective," D said, in a strained voice. "The sooner the better."

"Look, I'll stay out of your way," Leon said, and then some stupid thing inside him made him add, "I just wanna make sure you're okay, all right?" Then he winced.

"Your concern is appreciated," D replied, voice still stilted. "Very well. We shall leave tomorrow morning, if you can persuade Miss Joyce to drive us."

"If she won't, I can hotwire her car."

"I do not think that is a good idea, Detective."

"It was a joke, D. What happened to 'Leon'?"

"I'm not certain. I'm sorry. Good night, Leon."

Like that was any better. Well, Leon knew from bitter experience that if D was determined to sulk, nothing was going to persuade him out of it short of some pretty expensive chocolate, and since he didn't have any of that to hand, he'd just have to hope that a good night's sleep would do the trick. "Yeah. Okay, fine. Night, D." He rolled over on the floor, tucking the blanket around himself even more securely, and wondering if the couch might not be more comfortable after all.

He hoped to God that he didn't have any raunchy dreams tonight. And that D did.

---

It seemed another sleepless night loomed before him. Although it looked as if he'd be staying awake for slightly different reasons this time. D could not decide if this was a good thing or not.

It was refreshing, in a way, not to dwell on the…other matters…that had preoccupied him recently, especially when he was alone, or when night fell and all the world seemed still. The thoughts that stole his sleep stole his peace away too. And the revelations of tonight, that had emerged in that draining conversation with Leon, should have been on his mind more than they were, really. But instead of being hounded by the -- thoughts -- he usually had, tonight D was lying perfectly still on the bed, highly conscious of the way the silky pajamas slid over his skin, of his rabbit-rapid heartbeat, of the heat in his face and belly, and most especially, of the fact that if he even shifted his hips the slightest inch the results would be disgusting.

He closed his eyes tightly and took slow, silent, determined breaths. It would go away in a moment. It had to. D had known more than his share of human men, and knew for a fact that most of them were able to overcome their -- their urges -- at least to the point where they could sleep, or walk, or have a civil conversation with someone. He had been far ruder to Leon than he'd intended to be about the trip to Chinatown; the man meant well, after all, and D was not averse to the idea of keeping Leon near him at all times, especially now, when everything was in chaos. But only moments before he'd been so close to Leon, feeling gentle fingers stroking an excruciatingly sensitive part of his back, smelling Leon, lying close enough to lick; and now he was alone in the bed and his, his human thing had a mind of its own.

D bit his lip savagely against the whimper that wanted to escape. Leon had held him, comforted him, touched him. But perhaps he had not meant to arouse him. The good Detective had always been ridiculously skittish about the attraction between them; although, now that he was feeling a human's reactions first-hand, D supposed he couldn't call it "ridiculous" anymore. Perhaps it had been more self-preservation than anything else. Did all human men feel this way? So needful it hurt, aching and raw and desperate, clouding one's ability to think? How did they survive? If Leon had suffered any such discomfort due to D's teasing before, then D was surely paying his penance now.

He tried to clear his mind, to think of other things, to remember that Leon was lying on the floor not five feet away from him, for heaven's sake. But, by both his spirit and his human selves, he wanted. That was why he'd come back, wasn't it? Aware only of the need, with no notion if the need might actually be fulfilled or not: the need to be with Leon, and the need not to be alone. But he hadn't had a full night's sleep in a week, and he was so tired, and so frightened, and even if Leon was in the same room D was still alone, and he still wasn't sure about anything, and he could do nothing to stop the forward march of time…and now, on top of this, on top of everything, his human body chose to unload on him another disgrace. As if hunger and exhaustion and blistered feet and toilets hadn't been degrading enough.

To be fair, the fire in his belly was not entirely unpleasant. Or rather, it might change into something very pleasant indeed -- if Leon would only come to him, cover him like a blanket with that large, warm body, pet his hair again and hold him close, and…

…and touch…and kiss…all those places on his body that felt so hot and uncomfortable…on his chest, between his legs, the still-tingling spot in the small of his back where Leon had stroked him, yes, to feel Leon's hands in all those places, or -- or his mouth -- his tongue --

D bit his lip again and dug his nails into his palms, the small pains just distracting enough to keep him from spending himself in the borrowed nightclothes. It was incredibly difficult: newly-formed instincts were telling him the sensation would be pleasant, more than pleasant, would release this burning knot inside him and perhaps even allow him some restful sleep, for once. But he knew from observation that it would be -- sticky. And it would smell. And the evidence would be impossible to hide. Leon's family was distasteful enough as it was; D knew he could not bear to face them after such a humiliation. The knowledge of his weakness reflected in their scornful eyes…

Thankfully, blessedly, unexpectedly, the image of Phil Sampson in his mind was enough to distract him and cool the burning. His male part stopped tormenting him for a moment; D took the hint, concentrated hard on the disagreeable man, and soon found that he could breathe, move, even roll over without danger of a catastrophe. He would have to remember that trick. At least Sampson was good for something.

A faint sound came from Leon's side of the room. D slowly rolled over again, to the edge of the bed where he could peer over and see his Detective lying on the floor, curled up like a faithful guard dog between D and any danger that might come through the door. This time it was his heart, and not his loins, that filled with warmth. He really had been too short with Leon. He would make it up to him tomorrow -- cook him a lovely breakfast, if he could find the makings for it. Eileen Sampson kept her kitchen well-stocked, at least.

The sight of Leon made his heart ache as well. He was mad. This had to be madness. Nothing else explained this wild rush of feeling: need, and fear, and love, and desire, all at once…

Horribly, D realized his thoughts were becoming sexual once more, but he could not seem to stop them. It was as if the induction of human hormones into his bloodstream had opened some kind of flood-gate. He looked at the curve of Leon's shoulder, at the way his hair spilled messily against the cushion (and would stick up from the top of his head in the morning), at the broad back that rose and fell with deep, even breaths. It would not take much -- to slide out of the bed, crawl across the rug and slip under his Detective's blanket, wake him with soft kisses and touches and whispered pleadings…Leon was a human man, surely he would understand these urges, would take pity, would just touch…

D thought fiercely, relentlessly, of Phil Sampson again, and then of every unpleasant customer who had ever revolted him with human pettiness, cruelty, and greed. He thought about vanishing forests, about extinct animals. And he could not believe he had come to this: using his former species' greatest tragedy merely to stave off his current species' sorry weakness.

He had made love with humans before, of course. If "made love" was the proper term. He had been young, then, very young, heady with the freedom of being on his own, away from father and grandfather for a century or so. He had mixed more freely, more trustingly with humans then, less aware of their many failings -- or less caring of them. And he'd been beautiful, of course, very beautiful -- with the beauty of the immortals that he'd lost forever, now. Lords and emperors had fallen at his feet, serving great feasts, offering priceless treasures, commissioning poetry and artwork for his favor. Sometimes moved by their offerings, sometimes moved by their beauty, but most often moved by their desperation, he had consented, occasionally. And he had learned the human body was as easily played as a flute, the world's most powerful men as much slaves to desire as the peasants they commanded. Sometimes more so. It had amused him, for a time, to lie with them, touch them and watch them fall apart, flopping and heaving and gasping on their beds while he remained cool and laughing. And afterwards, when it was over, he had passed an amusing evening, and his human partner, in turn, could say he had bedded a god. But after a few more centuries, the game grew dull, and D's disgust with human avarice grew greater, until the thought of indulging a human in such a way was more repugnant than intriguing. No matter what they offered.

Until Leon, who had offered nothing and demanded everything, all without realizing it.

Had they ever felt as he did now, his human lovers? Some of them, of course, had proclaimed love more ardent and true than mere sexual desire. There had been a few suicides, with sad little notes (usually written in verse) laying the blame squarely at his feet. The young D had not been overly troubled by these, though it had always left him faintly sad, that humans should so foolishly want what was beyond their reach, and that he had unintentionally caused them suffering. But that was what humans did -- they died -- and it didn't seem to matter very much whether that death came sooner rather than later. And it seemed a little ridiculous too, to die for love. Surely, if only they had waited a little while, they would have found another partner who satisfied them?

D stared at Leon from the bed, and clenched the sheets in a death-grip.

Well, what else had he done? In giving up immortality, in making his own death a certainty, he had effectively committed suicide. For love. As surely as the young men he had both mocked and pitied. Now it was only a matter of time: would he live another week, or another sixty years? A human's lifespan depended on any number of factors, but right now D felt as if his depended only on Leon. Leon had spoken of wanting to be with D, of keeping him with him for an indefinite period of time. That ought to be enough to satisfy D, at least for now. It was certainly more than he could have counted on, jumping blindly from the ship. It was, perhaps, more than he deserved. Why was it not enough? Were the vulgar gestures of the flesh really so important, or was it only that he had yet to get used to this tiresome body?

D thumped his pillow in aggravation as the tiresome body once again tried to make its demands known. He knew, naturally, that there were things human men did to relieve themselves. The idea did not appeal to him; it would be messy, and would not give him what he truly craved, would leave him as alone and aching as before. And he could not do it here, in any case. He would have to resort to the bathroom, that hateful site of human indignity, and…and he did not think he could walk one single step right now.

Suddenly Leon stirred, began to sit up. D immediately shut his eyes and feigned sleep, feeling Leon's gaze fall on him. How long had the Detective been awake? When had D ceased to be sensitive to such things? But then, Leon had always been able to surprise him in ways that few other humans had…

To his surprise, he heard the soft sounds of Leon getting to his feet and slipping out of the bedroom, his feet padding out the door and down the hall, unmistakeably heading to the bathroom. He was limping slightly.

D gritted his teeth and thumped his pillow again, this time in pure outrage.

It simply wasn't fair.

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