Macy loved his pants. Black leather, beyond skin tight, they were cut like blue jeans if the jeans had done one too many hits of ecstasy. He liked the way the leather moved with him, liked the way it felt to run a hand over his own ass while he was dancing and most of all, liked the eyes that followed him. It didn’t matter to him that black was an utter cliché; it was a cliché he liked. There was no need to wear fancy colors or frills to catch notice.
His shirt was his second favorite item of clothing. Black, God he loved black, only not leather but latex. It took cornstarch and a great deal of patience to get the damned thing on, it fit like a second skin, but once wiggled into he felt as sexy as he knew he looked. The little sleeves were short t-shirt style in cut and clung to the strength in his arms, the neckline was scooped wide to show off collarbones and neck and the length stopped just above his navel. The latex was so tight it peaked and arched to show every ridge under it and left nothing to the imagination.
He liked the way it felt on. Almost corset like, it was tight enough to restrict breathing. So tight that the slightest of contact, the merest brush of another person’s hand across chest or back, felt like muted fireworks to his skin below. The thought by itself had his nipples hard and that was an area off limits unless the person doing the touching was serious. A fingernail dragged over those hard latex pebbles was a recipe for instant erection followed by quick, hard fucking.
Beyond the shirt and pants, he kept things simple. Black leather bondage cuffs that he liked the feel of on his wrists and the sound the D rings made as they rattled but for which he rarely allowed himself to be restrained in were the only jewelry he had on. Even the sparkles he normally favored he’d removed and set aside. On his feet he wore his favorite boots. Black, of course; leather, of course, and heeled. It was the sound of the heels on smooth floors that appealed to him. The toes came to a sharp point and were tipped in dull, unpolished steel. The running joke was the plain steel tips made it simpler to clean the shit off the points after he’d put his foot up some idiot’s ass.
Beyond that, he only wore the smooth, obscene paleness of his skin. No make up, no earrings, nothing but the peek a boo look of dark black and moonlight white. From the short sleeves of the dark shirt extended long, lean muscles of his arms lined and accented with the blueness of veins under the milk pale skin. The pale creaminess of his slender neck rose from the dark to be accented by the tumbled fall of slightly too long black hair. Macy preferred it shorter but had forgotten, again, to get it trimmed so he tolerated it falling about the back of his neck and into his eyes. That left the only other flash of skin his exposed belly.
It was the pants, those beloved pants, that made the display so sexual. They were cut so low, clung so tightly that most of his hips were exposed. It was only the gentle curve of his ass that held them in place; the black leather rode just a breath away from exposing his cock. That, and only that, was the primary reason for only wearing these wonderful pants occasionally. His normal club going partner was too sexy for words and it didn’t take long to stir things into interested life. If he got hard in these pants, cut so low, he was one sneeze from fully exposing himself to anyone that wanted to see. Not, in truth, that he minded, but he’d better have some pretty thing right there to take the show further if that happened.
So Macy knew just what a figure he cut inside the club. Sexy, hot, tempting, all without having to try. The club’s name was La Vierge, which was French for the virgin and that often set Macy off into a fit of giggles. He found his first prey within an hour of arrival and one solidly good blowjob later he was mellowed out and bored. He danced some but it wasn’t the same and he drifted about the crush of humanity, drinking, flirting, toying and bored out of his skull. In the end he flopped against the end of the bar, lit a cigarette and considered going home.
A glass clinked behind him and Macy glanced over a shoulder to the young bartender, a handsome brunette with green eyes before he glanced down to the tumbler of amber liquid on the bar itself.
“Bourbon.” The very young man announced. “Looked like you could use it.”
Macy turned around, placing his back to the crowd knowing the low cut of the leather would show the very top crack of his ass to anyone that wanted to see. He took a long, slow drag from his cigarette and let the smoke roll from his lips. “Why, Adam,” he began slowly. “Are you buying me a drink?”
That made the young man blush a little but he shook his head. “On what they pay me? Hell no, I’m putting it on your tab.” He recovered and grinned back. “Where’s York?”
Macy waved lightly. “Somewhere in England I’m told.”
That made Adam laugh, it mixed into the sounds of the music that melted into their out of the way section of the club. “No, your partner in crime.”
“Not so far as England, I’d imagine.” He took another drag and blew the smoke into the bourbon. “He had something more important than entertaining me, can you imagine?”
Adam shook his head. “No, I can’t.” He watched, fascinated, as Macy bent over the glass and sucked the smoke back out. “Having any luck tonight?” He managed to ask without his voice breaking and pushed down the wave of sheer lust that overcame him.
“Couple of blow jobs, nothing amusing, crowds full of posers tonight.” He whined, twirling the glass between his hands. “Wasn’t worth the time to dress.”
“I don’t know, makes me happy.” Adam managed to flirt back.
That made Macy laugh and the wide smile exposed the overly long sharp point of his canine teeth. The laughter died and Macy’s eyes narrowed. He took a swallow of the bourbon to wash the bad taste from his mouth.
Adam followed the insanely pale green eyes when they caught and narrowed on something and saw the source. One of the club goers, a woman made up in overly dramatic clothing and nearly wearing pancake make up to make her as pale as Macy was. She was holding an overly slender man’s arm in her hands. One of her rings, and she wore several, had a sharp talon on it and she drew it across the man’s forearm in slow, dramatic fashion. The man moaned and the woman licked her lips before bending down to suck the small trickle of blood away, smearing her red lipstick with the blood.
“Posers.” Macy snorted and took another drag of his fading cigarette.
Adam shrugged. “She claims she‘s a quarter blood.”
“My ass.”
“You should go show her the real thing.” Adam prodded. “Scare her back into her place.”
“What?” Macy blinked innocently. “And remove her outlet of getting back at daddy for taking away her allowance? I wouldn’t dream. I’ve outgrown those games.” He took another small swallow of the very fine bourbon and nodded to the bartender. “I thought you quarter bloods kept each other in line? Shouldn’t you spank her, not me?”
It was common knowledge that Adam’s grandfather had been a full-blooded vampire, his mother a half blood and now, he was a quarter. Just enough to make him a night person; have slightly sharper canine teeth and occasionally a tinge of hunger for something other than a burger.
He shrugged. “Quarter’s pretty thin.”
“Indeed, did your girlfriend forgive you yet?”
Adam had slipped up, in the middle of a wild night of really great sex, he’d bitten her and drank her blood as he came. She’d been livid and they’d gotten into a huge fight. Macy had noticed instantly the day after and prodded until the normally private bartender confided in him. It had seemed like the right thing to do, since Adam was pretty sure that Macy was at least a half blood; maybe he was only a quarter, but if so the man had spent a great deal of time and money looking more thickly blooded than he was.
“She still won’t talk to me.”
“Forget her, find someone that understands. Some cute, quarter blood piece of ass that you can have pretty half bloods with.” He teased.
“Like you?” It had been months and he hadn’t been able to peg Macy down on the truth.
Impossibly pale green eyes narrowed again but this time Macy grinned. “Is that what you think I am? A half blood?”
Adam shrugged. “Quarters can’t tell depth, you aren’t human. The eyes are a nice touch but they could be contacts, skin is pale enough but again, I’m pretty pasty too.”
“You’re tan compared to me.”
“But I’m pretty pale.”
“Granted.”
“The teeth are a nice detail but I could have them too if I was willing to spend a small fortune at the dentist.”
“So, am I half blood or a very vain quarter blood?”
“You tell me.”
Macy sighed. “There’s no fun in that. Maybe I’m full blood.” He teased and crushed out his cigarette.
“There haven’t been any full blood in these parts since my grandmother got knocked up ninety years ago.”
“That could be a full blood.” Macy nodded to a woman that sailed by. Her hair dyed bright, fire engine red with black streaks. This time her skin was naturally pale not induced by thick make up. She was leading a man on a leash that seemed delighted to be captured if the bulge in his pants was any clue.
Adam shook his head. “That’s full blood Irish and a good dentist, she’s a worse fake than you.”
The biting response made Macy laugh. “You’re too young to be so cynical.”
“You’re not old enough to warn me of cynicism.”
Macy didn’t answer, just raised his glass and downed the last swallow smoothly. “I’m so bored.”