Pretty Dead City For some reason, he turned around and looked behind him, even though it felt like a bad idea - Lot's wife, anyone? He didn't turn into a pillar of salt, but he saw the rat creatures congregate outside the door, quiet and still now, a horde of sad-eyed, wrinkly-skinned beings. Staring morosely at him. He felt a strange, wrong stab of sympathy and then the doors slammed closed with the finality of a crypt gate.
"Again with the special effects," Chris muttered and turned back to the rest of them. And gasped.
Oh, he thought, oh, oh, so beautiful. He stumbled towards them, almost fell over something crouching on the carpet, something small and shrivelled and insignificant, finally hopped over it and caught Justin around the neck, touched his beautiful face, kissed his beautiful face. Oh, oh, oh, he couldn't stop thinking. His brain had developed a speech impediment. Next to him, Joey threw his head back and howled, and Chris felt the sound pierce his skin and vibrate through his own chest. He slung an arm around Joey, too, and Joey had Lance and together they walked up the red carpet.
There was music. It was merry and pompous, familiar but impossible to place. He turned to Joey and lifted his eyebrows, tried to make his mouth form words. He didn't think it worked, but Joey shook his head - no idea. but i like it - and Chris leaned in and kissed him because he understood. Joey opened his mouth under his, and Chris felt teeth, a lot of teeth, far more teeth than he was used to.
Which was when he noticed, from the corner of his eye, that there were people in here; people everywhere. He tore loose from Joey and stared.
A lot of people, and they were coming like a tide of brightly coloured dresses and frock coats and jewels and their eyes were bright and shiny and empty. Chris was caught in the tide, pressed between a woman in a green dress that showed her breasts, a mask that showed nothing of her face, and a man with horns on his head.
He turned his head and saw Justin run with other young, shimmering things in diaphanous clothes. Chris blinked and could no longer tell Justin from the rest of them. He turned back to his companions.
"Welcome," the woman said, and the mask moved in a hint of a smile.
"Holy FUCK, what a nightmare," he mutters, because his heart is still pounding; it feels like it's grown to fill his entire body with frantic beats.
Next to him, JC wakes up. It's light in the room; the streetlights outside shine through the thin curtains. His eyes catch the cold, white light and look silver-bright and blank. Chris frowns and stares, and JC blinks and says, "What? Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," Chris says. JC looks fine, too, nervous smile and bed hair and silver-lit skin. "Hey, since we're both awake and all..."
JC's smile widens and holds out his hand.
Chris leans over him and kisses him.
When he touches his chest, he feels soft fabric and the surprising swell of breasts.
There are colours in the light behind his eyelids; no longer the cold streetlight but
"Wait," he said. "Where's JC?"
"Does it matter?" she said, and he opened his mouth to say, of COURSE it fucking matters, you stupid-- but he forgot.
Her breasts were high and milk-white, with small rosy nipples. When he pressed his face to them, he felt the hands of the horned man on his back and sides, tugging lightly at his clothes.
He shook himself and got up and there were hands on him again. He remembered, vaguely, taking his clothes off, but here he was, wearing...something again. Not his actual clothes, but what felt like a dress made of cobwebs. He twirled and the hands caught him and pushed him, and he bounced between unseen bodies, unseen hands and the music played on.
"You look like an owl, dude," Chris said and the world twirled again and Lance was gone and
"JC?" he croaks - his throat feels like it's been scoured with bleach and a wire brush.
"I'm sorry," JC says softly, and new tears well up in his eyes. "There was just nothing they could do."
Chris tries to get up, but his arms are tied to the bed with soft cuffs. He struggles and struggles, but he's weak, and he tries to scream when JC turns a gauge on the IV tube and bright green liquid starts dripping but his voice is
"Drink," someone said, and he felt slick glass against his lips and sweet liquid and he drank deeply, thirstily. It all got easier again after that.
He gasped for breath and tried to pull his hand back, but it was caught in something.
"Fuck," he said. "FUCK, let me the fuck go--" and then he actually opened his eyes and saw a small, grey shadow curled around his hand. It didn't look strong enough to cause pain, but hell, he was hurting, he was in PAIN and he tried to hit it with his other hand, he wanted to kill it, give it back some. He entertained an image of it crushed into a wet pulp on the shiny floor.
It moved and he saw that it looked a little like one of the rat creatures - soft and colourless and smaller than a man - but not quite. It was still man-shaped, and when it looked up, he knew its eyes.
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