Title: Motherfucker 
Author: Ashke 
Email: ashke at ttales dot net
Rating: 18
Warnings: incest, slash, drug use
Spoilers: Vampire Diaries, Welcome to Squeezebox 
Disclaimers: LJ Smith owns the characters.  I'm merely manipulating
them. 

Summary: A companion story to Welcome To Squeezebox.

Approaching age 40, and suffering from a mid-life crises, Matt
Honeycutt moves to New York City and attempts a new life. There in
the city's underground club culture he finds himself reunited with
the Salvatore brothers.  But circumstances have changed for the
vampires, and an unexpecting Matt is pulled into their world.

Comments: dedicated to all the great individuals who have kept this
fandom alive.

-=-

It was easy to lose one's self in Motherfucker. Easier then getting
lost going /to/ Motherfucker, with its roaming location and a
schedule like the scattered debris from an explosion, hailing
shrapnel and all. Between the dueling dim and colored kaleidoscope of
lighting, and the gut-shaking, disaccorded tangle of live music; The
garbled roar of conversation, and the motley group of people dressed
in everything from tutus to Versace, one could easily be swept up in
such chaos and carried off to some exotic state of existence, never
to be seen or heard from again. Or, to less of an extreme, never be
themself again. And Matt Honeycutt, with the inescapable promise of
being over the hill looming just a month ahead, had come to seek out
such a life-changing shift. The events of his youth nothing more then
old ghosts that had dissipated, he wanted another taste that he could
savor, another breaching of the mundane and routine. And here,
nestled in the arms of New York City, (center of the universe, he'd
read in the brochure), he thought he could find it.

On a Friday night which had marked exactly two weeks that he'd been
in the city without results, he came to find himself amongst the
crowds that swarmed the Motherfucker party. He didn't know what had
drawn him to it, when he'd been randomly handed the invite while
exploring the downtown area in which he'd taken up residence. It had
seemed different then the places he'd already visited, far less
inhibited, and the name was enticing. St. Mark's supplied the proper
wardrobe, took a bite out of his wallet that left it limping and
wounded, but the doorman had waved him through without question.

Inside, immediately smothered in the foaming-at-the-mouth atmosphere
and the frenetic vibe, he felt the network of his senses shatter,
reassembled with haste, disorienting him further. Like the time he'd
broken some precious figurine his grandmother had cherished and had
tried to put it back together with Elmer's Glue, arms where the legs
should have been, mouth lopsided, an eye rotated sideways. But that
was only his first impression of Motherfucker. Further exploration
rewarded him his second, and he likened it to the steady, humming
flow of the traffic maze in Time's Square. Impossible to maneuver,
collision eminent without the proper experience. And Matt, as much as
he wished he weren't, was inexperienced. His most recent accident was
with a woman dressed in suit and tie, hair slicked back like any
given young professional. He had issued her his fifth or sixth polite
'sorry' of the evening. Like all the others he'd offered, it was
barely acknowledged, returned with a shrug or a nod or a strung-out
stare. It appeared being jostled and shoved like human livestock was
a familiar comfort in this slice of sanctuary, where real problems (
poverty, war, famine, his mind rattled off) lay just beyond the exit
sign. Still, Matt couldn't bring himself to cease with his in-grown
hospitality, and he dug a path of apologies all the way to the
bathroom.

Which, at first glance, seemed a mere extension of the throbbing
human machine outside the swinging door. The mirrors and sinks were
obscured by a genderless mass three bodies thick, arms and fingers
entwining, jerking, writhing. It reminded Matt of the religious
statues he'd seen in the museums, all chiseled curves and multi-
appendages.


The snuffles and sedated drawls of passion and drug use seemed to
amplify those small, breathless sounds inside their tight confines.
From all directions, the din moved in stereo, above the noise instead
of with it. The decadence was rampant, even for modern New York, from
what Matt had seen so far. Thoughts of the city had always been
accompanied by imagined scenes like this, formulated by the
suggestions of various media. NYC nightlife had disappointed him,
offering such thrilling prospects as drinking expensively and
sleeping with wealthy strangers. But Mofo, as it was more easily
referred to as, seemed an end to his fruitless search.

Virginity hindered him from jumping into the fray. He wasn't sure
about the drug hierarchy here, if there was one at all. He'd never
even taken any, accept the occasional joint, and he didn't think that
counted. If one wanted something, he figured it was only a matter of
asking. But did it require walking up to someone, or latching on to a
group and hoping it was passed around, or negotiating a price?
Patience and time were valuable mentors. Tangled in his thoughts, he
didn't sense anyone walk up behind him (how could he, in such a noise-
laden sea of bodies?), only felt something being slipped into his
hand.

"Looked like you could use a bump," came the gruff voice in his ear.
"Twenty bucks."

Matt looked down at what he was holding, eyeing the folded plastic
baggie with four rounded pills. He pushed it into his pocket, counted
off the money from his wallet and handed it over. What he had just
purchased, he wasn't sure of, but as he watched the man walk off in
search of new prey, he felt an anxious euphoria creeping up on him.
There was an empty stall nearby that he locked himself in, collapsing
on the toilet seat (the lid was down, fortunately). And as he took
several deep breaths, he realized his body was trembling, the ascent
of his anticipation ready to kick-off an avalanche. It was like being
back in Fell's Church, in those moments before they'd faced
Katherine, Klaus. The heart-pounding, bunched-muscle flaring of
anxiety and fear; the adrenaline rush that came with all the fury of
Godzilla descending on Tokyo. Even when he'd faced Damon Salvatore
behind Vickie Bennet's house ( he hadn't thought about either in
years, he realized), he'd had that edge, more heady and potent than
any drug he could ever take. Those feelings had never re-manifested.
Not even when he was coaching college football and had brought his
team to multi victories against the odds. Nothing had ever seemed
like a significant threat again, had ever made him feel the way he
had those times before.

But he was going to try and achieve that goal regardless. Ignorant
of how much he should take at once, he pulled two pills from the bag,
swallowed them dry. They were harsh on his throat, choking him, and
he coughed and sputtered as he forced them down. A small mistake,
taking them without water, but he kept swallowing afterward, using
his own saliva to salve the ache.

"And here I thought this place was more discerning about who was
allowed access."

Matt's reaction was familiar, born out of conditioning. And that
dark, ironic voice, distinct in its mocking arrogance, was just as
familiar, still able to prickle his skin. His neck and arms tingled
with the sensation of being catapulted out of reality into the
surreal.

Several moments went by in silence and Matt's mind began to shift
natures, wondering if the voice had only come from the depths of his
memories. But then something stirred on the other side of the door
and he felt the overwhelming presence of inhuman power. Just a
flicker, but it was undeniable. He could never forget such a jolting
sensation and, he supposed, as he popped the latch open, it was
better to go and face it rather then to have it find him. He didn't
relish playing a game of cat and mouse with the elder Salvatore. As
improbable as it sounded, as ridiculous and random, he was confident
in his assumption of who he was dealing with.

But there was nothing on the other side of the door, or even in the
direct vicinity. Either his mind was fucking with him, or whatever
he'd taken was immediately effective, invoking minor delusions. Doubt
struck the theory down, even if he was unsure of the properties of
what he'd ingested, and a degree of wariness was retained as he
retreated back into the stall. With it came the sudden realization he
had to actually use the toilet, and he turned only to converge with
another body.

In that moment, his suspicions were validated. Damon, mostly
unchanged in his tight, button down school uniform, stood before him,
new gay-boy haircut not withstanding, body poised with the
indifference of a lounging cat. It was almost as if he'd expected to
run into Matt that night, though Matt wasn't so easily fooled

Matt skipped the formalities, incredulous as he launched into a
verbal assault.

"What the hell are /you/ doing here?" he asked, mind skidding to a
halt, causing a mental pile-up.

"I'm tempted to ask the same of you, but I don't really care." Damon
flashed one of those smiles Matt hadn't forgotten. Unnerving, primed
with malicious intent. The smile of a victor, someone about to slit
your throat on a violent whim and flaunt the fact that they'd get
away with it.

It turned Matt's ponderous thoughts into a burden, as he sought to
undo the knots of opposing emotions that had become his mind: Fear
spiked with surprise, the naked hunger of need laced with the feeling
of dangling between segregated spaces of reality. Everything that had
surrounded him since he'd walked through the front door, the music,
the crowds, even the club itself, was being pilfered out by the
unexpected appearance of the undead creature (now in the stall with
him), leaving the intimations of astonishment in its wake. Evolving
from that, as he began to adjust, was a sense that some universal
cosmic force had driven him here tonight. It was absurd, more so then
running into an entity he never thought he'd see again, but it was
happening, wasn't it? Whether it was the wheels of fate turning in
his favor, or just the random workings of nature, both he and Damon
had come here in search of something, their paths crossing once
again. While he wasn't really sure if Damon's search was as drastic
as his own, he was sure the older Salvatore had come with particular
needs in mind. Blood drinking and pretty women being his first
guesses. He didn't think it was in Damon's character to take action
without purpose, or at least, not without a purpose that would
benefit him somehow.

"I live here. Not in the club, idiot. In the city." The insult
vaulted Matt from the cradle of thought, causing him to shake off his
blank expression and, nodding, let the comment slide.

"Great, so do I," he replied, gathering his wits. "Can I use the
toilet now?"

Damon looked at him as if he'd asked the vampire to stuff his head
in the toilet itself. It was a moment or two before the vampire
shrugged and stepped aside, crossing his arms over his chest, tight
fabric of his shirt bunching and twisting with his contours. He
didn't leave the stall and he didn't turn away when Matt began to
unzip, though, and Matt felt phantom unease stirring.

"Are you going to stand there and watch me?"

There was the soft scrape of clothing against hard plastic, telltale
sounds of Damon shifting position. Matt glanced over his shoulder to
see the vampire still hadn't left, that he'd moved behind him and was
examining something. The plastic baggie with the remaining pills, he
realized, and wondered how he hadn't felt it being slipped from his
pocket.

"You have no idea what you're doing here, do you?" Damon asked. It
seemed rhetorical, and when he didn't answer, the vampire went on.
"You're the proverbial babe in the woods."

Matt finished up, shaking himself dry, and turned to find Damon had
extracted a pill, was gingerly fingering the small, intricate
grooves, sniffing it. He watched the strange ritual, baffled but also
bordering on the edge of apathy

"What do you care? You said as much yourself that you didn't."

But Damon wasn't paying attention, or if he had been, he didn't
acknowledge the comment. He'd lifted the pill to eye level, eyes
narrowed like an archeologist composing a study.

"Tell me, how many of these did you take?"

Where he'd been on guard for incoming sarcasm, Matt had to stop and
rack his brain for an answer.

"Two. Let me guess, Aspirin?"

The vampire's lips quirked it something not quite a grin, but
working up to it.

"Take the rest and see for yourself."

Drugs tucked back in the bag, the small package was in Matt's palm
before he could even reach for it, Damon already leaving the stall.
He was heading into the heart of the club by the time the human
caught up with him. It wasn't that he was moving quickly; His gait
was simply casual, languid even, alluring those that surrounded him
into a false sense of security. Even if the vampire had the advantage
of his preternatural senses, embarrassment still plagued Matt's
remembrance of stumbling through the crowd. The same crowd that
didn't just part, but melted around the older Salvatore as he glided
through it, potential obstructions ducking out of the way without
even looking to see him coming. Almost as if he was playing chess
with them, moving pawns along the board with abandon. But Matt knew
that wasn't possible, that Damon was powerful but not to that extent.
He couldn't sweep people hundreds of feet away out of his path with
only his mind...could he? It had to be that slow, dark pulse that
sent the common human mind into a frenzy of instinct, of impulse to
flee, get out of the goddam way. Because something that could rip
through their flimsy human skin without breaking a sweat, something
that preyed upon the vital essence that kept their hearts beating was
coming. The only reason Matt wasn't effected by it was because the
hunter in question happened to be an old acquaintance, and he was
familiar with the feeling. However, there was no doubt in his mind
that if Damon's shields had been fully drawn back, he'd be no better
off. Once or twice he'd felt it like a claw retracting, latching on
to the base of his brain. The supernatural aura both Salvatores'
radiated was barely contained in Damon. It made the air thick and
hard to breath, all thoughts becoming like a thousand silver backed
fish, darting in frantic patterns up stream.

"Are you going to follow me around all night like a stray dog?"
Damon didn't stop when he spoke, but Matt noticed he kept within
range.

"I wasn't planning on it."

"Then make yourself scarce. I have things to attend to. Don't look
for me. I'll come to you."

The dismissal came bereft of even a backwards glance. One moment the
vampire was feet away, and the next he had melded with the crowd,
invisible in its mass. Matt retreated to the bar, confusion like a
shell hardening over his mind. What to make of the flurry of events
that had transpired so far, he didn't know. Expecting to find
something to revive the danger and passion of that traumatic senior
year was one thing, but running into one of its key players went
beyond that, straight into no man's land. He couldn't fully
comprehend it yet. And there was still a part of him that rebelled
against the thought, opposed it with suggestions of hallucinations,
mental breakdowns, an entire slew of possibilities. Damon hadn't been
any of the above, though. He was sure of that. The vampire was there
in the flesh and Matt had to accept that, before the night was over,
memories that had been lying dormant for almost two decades were
going to surface again.

He bought an overpriced bottle of water because beer was
untrustworthy when mixed with mystery drugs and slunk off to a seat
in an isolated corner with his head reeling. At first he credited it
to a mental overload, but within under an hour of making up a portion
of Motherfucker's clientele, he'd been thrust into an onslaught of
relentless events, each a domino, toppling and ramming into the next.
The strangest of feelings were coming over him, synthetic and
incomprehensible, discrediting all other theories. The water was
suddenly a thick syrup, an elixir to tame the hot cavern of his
mouth, which had detached itself from the rest of his body. He could
feel it, a moist, numb region extending beyond himself. The
disassociation trickled in like drizzle on pavement, bleeding through
his pores, fragmenting his being.

This wasn't the giddy molasses-like reeling of pot, but a far more
potent kind of head-fuck. Not Aspirin after all, he thought as he
tugged the drugs from his pocket. Damon had told him to take the
rest, see what would become of it. The vampire had known what was in
the bag then, leaving him to wander alone with it coursing through
his veins, like a cat who'd grown wary of its cub and had sent it off
into the world to fend for itself. It made him wonder, not so much
why Damon had sought him out (he had been thinking of him, after all,
and he'd probably had already been in the club when Matt arrived).
But what the older Salvatore had been up to since he'd last seen him
on that summer night, if he was crawling this kind of scene. It
lacked the sophistication he'd always associated with the brothers, a
decadent wasteland composed of those who romanced an era that had
been struck down long ago and lay dead, eroded under the treads of a
finer New York. For a creature who'd sloughed off half a millennium
like a layer of burnt skin, it seemed like it could be nothing more
then subtly amusing.

Maybe his assumption wasn't accurate, and maybe there was more to
the Motherfucker party then the superficial glimpse he'd had. It
could have been the city's hotspot for international bloodsuckers, or
a place ripe with supernatural activity, the perfect cover. He
couldn't say he knew the city and its various inhuman circles well
enough yet to make a judgment call, then realized how ridiculous that
seemed. The idea of anything psychic, Were, or vampire gathering to
get trashed and go dancing made him want to laugh and he let himself,
brought to the point of hysterics by his own inanity. Not unlike the
crazed homeless people he'd seen in Central Park.

As he sobered some moments later, his sense of reality finally
cracked, the pressure of thoughts grown wide and disjointed breaking
through. They were full of bizarre patterns and deformed imagery,
blurred multi-colored faces bobbing in the distance, specks of color
adorning them, jerked along in their paths. It was only the dance
floor patrons, he tried to reason with his brain, gyrating under the
colored lights, moving as one to music that was heavy and distorted
in his ears. More like the random pluckings and tappings of an
inexperienced musician then anything credible. Which was strange
because when he'd first came in he'd thought the live band belting it
out had been rather good. Now it was a contorted mess, grating on his
nerves with each note. Leaving the area did little to help it, and he
found himself orbiting the club, passing the same arrangement of
furniture or even the same people more then once. Not that he
noticed. By the time he'd made his second circuit what ever he'd
taken had unfolded over all his senses, a duvet that was stitched
from his best dreams, his worst nightmares. His tongue was coated in
an ever-sweet fruit medley that he figured was saliva, but had all
the characteristics of the old fashioned ribbon candies his mom had
always gotten for the holidays.

Squirming, insect-like humanoids reaching for neon drinks with
eerily elongated appendages crowded the bar, which he avoided. He
didn't like the way they stared at him with their beady eyes and
salivating mandibles. Like they were going to fondle him with their
antennae or imprison him in their steeled silk.

"I thought I told you I'd come find you."

Matt found he could clear his head, if he concentrated, no matter
what images he was perceiving at the moment, how deep in the trip he
was. There was still a level of control he had and he reigned himself
in from the edge, focusing on his surroundings, the voice. He was in
an air-conditioned room, low lighting casting a blue hue over
everything. The couch in the corner, his skin, Damon Salvatore
lounging against the wall. It was all ragged, black shadow chased by
streams of soft blue, conjoining to create a deep sense of calm. What
was this place, and how had he found it? He didn't remember passing
through any doors or exploring any unfamiliar passageways. But he
must have, because there was a door right off to his left. Unless he
was no longer in the club anymore, had transcended to the next level,
wherever that may be. The sound of the band still thudded just beyond
the wall, though, so he didn't think that was the case.

"It's another part of the club," Damon explained, as if reading his
mind. There was an edge to his voice that Matt couldn't fathom, as if
it wasn't contained within the spectrum of human emotion. "Have a
seat."

He chose the chair furthest away from him, because it seemed
reasonable, the couch and the other seats ominous and un-welcoming.
With his view unobstructed he saw that he and Damon weren't alone,
that there was a dark figure hunched at the vampire's feet, the
shadow it cast obscene, like blood stains smeared on the wall of a
nursery.

"Most people don't use this room," Damon went on, in the same odd
tone. "It's completely private."

Matt nodded in agreement, even if he wasn't paying much attention to
Damon's explanation. He was focused on the kneeling silhouette, it's
flitting movements. As if sensing his eyes, it stopped and rose to
its full height. And though he wasn't exactly sure what it had been
doing, he had a hunch it was sexual. The simple motion was a
supernatural gesture, too quick and effortless to be anything but
inhuman. The darkness drew back to reveal the blue-caressed person
that had been hidden in its depths. And as Stefan Salvatore
approached Matt, the blond man felt as if he had been pushed off a
skyscraper and was plummeting to his death.

"Now all we need is the others." Damon's voice drifted over the
silence that had rained down upon the room. It startled Matt,
draining the tension that had settled in his veins. "And the reunion
would be complete."

It was a strange comment, complimenting the unexpected turn of
events that Stefan had heralded. But Matt still wasn't certain this
wasn't another hallucination, from the cool sanctuary of the room to
the old friend that stood within arm's reach. The younger Salvatore
didn't move nor speak, and his features were a blurry mass, Matt
straining his eyes in attempt to arrange them. Something seemed off
kilter about it all, like he was a pawn in a conspiracy or had gotten
the lead role in some film he'd never auditioned for.

"Matt?" Stefan asked. The sound of his voice was enough to rake
every memory he'd had of the vampire from soil that hadn't been
cultivated in years. It was richer then when he'd encountered Damon,
more significant for the deeper bond Stefan and he had forged so long
ago. The drugs enhanced it, made it into some tangible object. One
that he wanted, needed, and digging his fingers into the seat was his
only defense against it. Whatever had welled up refused to retreat,
though, and he found himself pinioned by what he knew to be lust. A
jarring sensation, as if someone had sifted their fingers under the
layers of his life and pried them up, nails splitting, tearing from
the effort. He supposed it was what he'd sought to drive himself to,
stuffing those pills down his throat with all the abandon of a
business man trying to get buzzed on his lunch break, not having
considered the side effects like the one's riddling him now.

"He may not be himself." This from Damon, who'd crossed over to
them. Matt hadn't seen it, but he noticed the shadowed form that
suddenly appeared next to Stefan. Maybe it had been there all along,
and his drug-hazed mind had only perceived it as a pocket of nothing.
"Apparently he's not well versed in the various pills one could
acquire in this scene."

"What did he take?"

The patch of darkness shifted, exposing what looked like rubbery
white moths and flecks of glass. He wasn't going to try and interpret
what he was supposed to be looking at, since listening to the
brothers' conversation was already a chore. It was all heavy swooping
baritone that seemed to flicker like flames in the wind.

"2Cb with equal parts E." Damon's form wavered in front of Matt.
"You did finish it all, didn't you?"

The bag was empty when Matt pulled it out, much to his befuddlement.
He didn't recall taking the other two pills. But maybe he'd shoved
them past his lips while imbedded in some fascinating moment, let
them glide down with a sip from his water bottle. It would explain
some things, such as why he'd felt such intensity towards Stefan, and
why each moment in his old friend's presence nurtured that need.
Damon's comment, although faint and slippery to his ears, didn't
escape him, either. 2Cb was a new term for him-- it sounded like
something you'd find on an element chart, right next to H20 and all
that chemical jargon. He knew what E was, though, and what it could
do to susceptible minds.

"So, shall we alter our plans?" Something in Damon's tone made Matt
suspect the vampire was going to continue wether he was acknowledged
or not. "I can think of a few ways to incorporate him."

"Absolutely not," Stefan answered him, the obstinance in his voice
conjuring visions of redwoods, Mt. Everest.

"You haven't seen him since you left those humans. What ties could
you possibly still have to him?"

"He was a friend."

"Exactly. /Was/ a friend. Besides, he doesn't seem in a state to
reminisce with you."

Debate swelling in his head like a clogged pipe about to burst and
rain sewage, Matt tried to ascend above the insignificant noise the
brothers were making, to the place where he could sense the drugs had
lodged themselves inside him and were festering. Concentration had
helped him focus before, and now it was helping him submerge himself
in the pseudo-cravings and schizophrenic disassociation that squirmed
through the channels of his body. It was like flexing a muscle,
joints and ligaments and bones working in accordance with one another
to perform a specific task.

A hand clamping on his shoulder made him flinch, skin shuddering in
its emphasized sensitivity. The reaction was reflexive, a natural
response to touch if one's head was floating in a miasma of
chemicals. With that one, simple gesture a dam broke away from its
foundation to let loose a flood of unadulterated emotion. His skin
suddenly craved the fingers, the soft, supple curve of them against
it, like a person who'd been up all night getting wasted and was on
an endless hunt to quell their induced insomnia. He'd seen things the
average human didn't even believe existed, lived them, but that was
fragile and weak compared to the nature of this. Consumed by the most
intense desires he'd ever experienced in his life, all sense of
awareness was drowned beneath it.

It took every ounce of will for Matt to look up at the brothers, to
see whose hand it was that enticed less conventional appetites. Fear
wasn't a factor. Man, woman, it didn't appear to matter which he
ended up with. He'd come here for something to suspend him above the
mundane, hadn't he? Rather, it was the impending loss of control that
held him dangling like a loose tooth. A nudge and that last gossamer
strand of pulp would break. Stefan was to be trusted under such
circumstances, he knew. Damon, on the other hand....

That thought was the springboard into a question he hadn't
addressed. He chalked it up to the pills, the 2Cb and the E shrouding
the important matters. Damon and Stefan had come here together, and
it was evident they were comfortable and familiar in the environment.
Damon had mentioned living here, and Matt suspected he'd meant alone.
But Stefan had been with him in Florence, he remembered, before the
epic battle with Klaus and Elena's resurrection. It was probable
they'd taken up residence with each other again. Peculiar still was
the vivid image from earlier, of Stefan kneeling before Damon (and
that alone made him uncomfortable), the older vampire's voice hollow
and withdrawn when he'd spoken. It wasn't a dispassionate tone, just
distracted. Perhaps by Matt's interruption. Curious as he was, what
the brothers had been doing had appeared too macabre and sexual for
him to want to delve into. He didn't think his already taxed mind
could handle the strain of that knowledge.

Matt was suddenly on his feet, sure he hadn't stood on his own.
Couldn't keep his balance, either, as he lost his footing and would
have face-planted if not for the body that intercepted him. Fabric
like fine Venetian silk brushed his face, made his breath catch. It
was an ordinary shirt, Damon's, but he wanted to wrap himself in it,
bite it and taste it and feel the fabric moisten and crumple in his
mouth.

"Go on, tell me again how you won't bite him. I find it amusing. "

Unlike previously, when their voices had been garbled, Damon's voice
was a frozen lake, brittle ice threatening to crack and plunge into
the freezing depths below. Close, too, as if the vampire had tapped
directly into his head. A theory not entirely improbable.

"What the hell are you doing?" Stefan demanded, swinging his temper
like a fist. The impact didn't seem to phase his brother, who still
hovered nearby.

"Look at him. He's willing. I won't deny him what he wants, even if
you will."

Trapped by Matt's mouth, damp blotches adorning it, was Damon's
shirt. The fabric rolled over his tongue, candied by his mind in
regards to the color, bunching and releasing cater-pillar like. He
suckled at folds of shirt that had taken on the qualities of
licorice, peppermints; Wet, muffled sounds coming from around them,
slight rise of Damon's ribs beneath him synching to his efforts.
Breath came slower for the vampire, to a heart that beat to death's
lulling march. Matt didn't realize he'd been working his way upwards
until he ran out of shirt, was startled by the rough taste of skin.
It was taught beneath his lips, like dried flesh stretched over a
drum, and there was no natural taste that he could decipher. Yet he
kept mouthing it as if it were the honeysuckles that always blossomed
in his backyard back in Virginia.

"I've wanted to taste this one for years." Damon told his brother.
His long, boney fingers sifted through Matt's hair,hair whose blond
essence was bleeding with age like cheap dye in the wash. "He had
more dignity then the lot of those humans. Do you know he stood up to
me once?"

"No, but I won't doubt it. I bet he kicked your ass, too. Not that
you'd confess to being upstaged." Matt heard Stefan's voice weighted
down by the heavy presence of humor, something that he'd rarely heard
from the vampire in the past.

"Hardly. He wouldn't be here if he had."

It took a dramatic effort for Matt to pull away from Damon, fingers
clinging like a frightened child's. His breath came quick and uneven,
rattled by his heart thundering in his chest. Separating the vampires
from the darkness framing his vision in coiling, abstract patterns
was difficult and tedious, and it took him a few moments before he
could recognize them. They hadn't moved, were staring at him but,
perception distorted, he wasn't able to determine their expressions.

Yet he felt their states of being were tangible, that he could sense
them if he nudged with his mind. Maybe even with his hands, reaching
out and grasping their invisible auras, reading with his fingertips
like the blind man he'd become from the drug cocktail. There was a
sudden ache in his groin at that image-- embracing the brothers,
their bodies against his, and the blue light raining down upon all
three of them, tangling with the clothing that they were shedding,
cutting jerky patterns in the skin they'd bared. The flood of heated
need made him go still as he realized he'd crossed the evening's last
boundary and he couldn't reverse his actions. In his simplest of
thoughts, he knew he'd taken more then his fair share of the kill. It
was sobering, reminding him of the two predators flanking him like
stone sentinels guarding a temple, what he'd been thinking of doing
with them. He was sure they'd peered into his head and seen it as
well. What they were capable of had not been lost to his abused
memory.

Smooth skin grazed the stubble on his face, a sound like sandpaper
to remind him he needed a shave. He needed a new razor too. A clean,
sharp one, so when it bit through the skin the blood would flow with
all the ease of a red-tinged Nile. Then the two vampires needed only
to lower their heads and suckle like a pair of weaning pups. No fangs
required.

Silken lips brushed his own, sucked them into a hot, sensual mouth.
It felt like his lips were melting, melding with...physically he
couldn't tell which Salvatore it was, but he knew Stefan had been too
reserved for things like this. Not that Damon had anymore of a
reputation for it. He sure didn't remember the older Salvatore
hitting on the young men of Fell's Church. Then again, Damon had been
focused on other endeavors. And five centuries of the opposite sex,
no matter how straight you were, seemed like it could get tiresome.
Hell, he was bored with most of those things (that's why he was here
after all), and he'd only lived four or so decades. If Damon and
Stefan had ever had such a plight, then he understood it better now
then he ever would have back in his teenage days.

Matt's body was responding of its own accord, pleasure like a
waterfall trickling from his head to his cock. They seemed connected
to each other, through circulating channels extending from Damon's
mouth. He realized he'd been pressed up against the wall, hard curve
of muscle flush against his erection. So much for drug use leading to
impotency.

Damon withdrew as if Matt had struck him, the recoil like a wave
rearing to gather strength. Flushed and scrabbling for his mental
footing, Matt almost crumpled to his knees. Several seconds went by
in which he thought he'd gone deaf save for the roar of blood in his
head. He heard nothing, saw only the blue discoloration (he wasn't
even sure if the room was actually blue and he wasn't just perceiving
it that way anymore) and the black void. His lips were tingling where
Damon's had been on them, and if he set his mind on it they went numb
and disappeared from his senses altogether. No fault of the
vampire's, just his own hallucinations.

Eternity passed in minutes, silence being towed along behind as if
its mechanisms had failed. Time became a vortex that had swallowed
him and the Salvatores, displacing them at another pivotal moment. If
not for the thunderous clamor coming from the other side of the wall,
the chain that kept him tethered to the club, he would have thought
that he'd entered another dimension.

He didn't know how long it was before the brothers floated back into
his field of vision, or if they had disappeared at all. They came for
him, though, bloodhounds on the scent of the quarry. Neither rushed
nor languid movement, just purposeful. Something had changed. Damon
was leering at him, gleaming white teeth like those of a machine
designed to crush bone and tissue to pulp. Stefan looked startlingly
like his brother, sans leer, and the light made his face grave. He
looked as if he had decided something and was determined to follow
through with it. Matt welcomed the possibility of an encounter, the
lust he'd felt for Stefan swelling to life again. What he'd done with
Damon hardly breached the surface. He yearned for more of the hot,
violent streaks of pleasure, the release that would follow.

"Did you happen to catch the bit about the razors?" Damon asked his
brother. "He's positively wasted. I don't think we even need to
subdue him." An eruption of laughter from him splintered into a full-
on fit that made Matt feel as if he'd been covered in heavy, dense
material then battered around like a pinata. It was out of character
for the vampire, bordering on insanity as it grew into obnoxious
noise.

Stefan wasn't phased by it. In fact his lips quirked in their own
grin and he gave his brother an affectionate shove. The older
Salvatore shoved back, and Stefan was sent stumbling into Matt, who'd
become transfixed by the comfortable banter. It was akin to watching
two full grown tigers play fight when, under normal circumstances,
they'd be tearing each other apart.

"I wasn't planning to," Stefan quipped.

Matt saw his eyes flash, lit up like a continuous strip of neon
green signs. He was right, they'd changed since he had met them in
the room before. Damon's laughter hadn't ceased, merely deflated to a
chuckle that rumbled through him. Stefan was reeling like a kid who
had drained his allowance at the candy store. They were as wasted as
he was, or he had distorted them to fit his point of view. It didn't
matter. Their states were infectious and he felt the giddiness
ballooning in his chest.

"Oh, so now you're cooperating?"

Damon had taken up residence on the opposite side of Matt, gliding
over him to stare his brother in the face. The human shuddered, the
material of the vampire's shirt, his own, too thin to constrain the
polar attraction of their skin as they converged.

"He seems to be enjoying himself."

"Either you're agreeing with me, brother, or we're both higher then
we thought."

"I'd put more faith in the latter."

The laughter crept back, pouncing like a cat on a mouse. Damon
clamped his teeth around it, reigning it in.

"I'll give you the honor of going first." Damon's withdrawal from
Matt as he slid from his chest opened up a rift of longing. "Or we
could do it together. Which would be far more to my liking. They're
always more receptive without a few pints missing."

Smirk coiled on his lips, Matt met Stefan's gaze evenly when the
younger vampire turned his attention on him. He was ecstatic to be
the receiver of it, even though he had only a vague notion of what
was unfolding. Damon's talk about pints had tipped him off, but he
was apathetic. He'd give to Stefan willingly, even Damon. Maybe it
would be different from the other time he'd done it, and he'd enjoy
it. His state of mind was prime for it, after all, and there was
nothing uncanny like girlfriends coming back from the dead to cope
with.

Visible glowing red waves radiated off of Stefan, like the arching
readings on a heat sensor. Only it wasn't heat that he was
generating. Bloodlust was at the helm, guiding him to the stretch of
unblemished skin that connected Matt's throat and shoulder. Where he
expected agony at the intrusion, there was only the ecstacy of his
skin yielding to Stefan's fangs. They elicited a groan from him as
they slid in deep, feeling like the inside of his veins had been
lined with wet seal's fur. He was glad he was tripping otherwise he
would have fought against the bizarre sensation, the skin of bliss
that had been fabricated at the point of entry split by the pressure
of instinctual panic.

Lower on his body, the second pair of fangs plunged beneath the
surface. Muscles went taught at the intrusion, anticipating pain in
such a sensitive area. But when none came he relaxed and let the
vampires feed. It was almost as if they were connected, stream of
lava flowing between where their mouths were clamped to him, wet
gurgling to accompany it. This wasn't at all what he recalled it
being like. Stefan's hair was warm liquid when he reached out, pushed
the vampire's head closer to him, arched his body to give easier
access. But it wasn't enough, was still lacking in the intimacy he
craved.

The situation was remedied by Damon's hand clasping his belt buckle,
unfastening it with slow, deliberate yanks. Matt's blood surged with
each movement and he imagined it as a great, red serpent entwining
around his organs, striking with vigor as it was drawn from its
nesting ground.

Glad for the air conditioned environment, Matt's concentration
scattered like the remnants of a broken piggy bank, was kept steady
by the relentless, chilling stream. But it did nothing to sooth his
erection, his cock reduced to a throbbing focal point of heated,
unfaltering desire. Damon's hand enclosing around it was a relief,
and he let out a sigh just as Stefan's lips caught his. The kisses
were light and fleeting, tasting faintly of copper pennies and raw
meat. Normal circumstances would have had him recoiling from the
taste, the heavy smell, the thought of where the vampire's mouth had
been. But none of that seemed to matter as he accepted Stefan's
tongue. And what had he been thinking before, about Stefan being too
reserved for this? The younger Salvatore was kissing him with such
fervor that it drove his assumptions back to where they had been
conceived. This was definitely not the Stefan he had known, but
adjusting was a simple act of letting the substances take the reigns.

Stefan broke away to pull Matt's shirt off, exposing a body that had
been chiseled once but was going soft with age. The human was too
high to be embarrassed, his shirt a different matter. He tried not to
wince as it was dropped unceremoniously to the floor. The price tag
flashed vivid in his mind like the phosphorescent glow of some deity.

"You were ripped-off," Damon told him as he drew away from the wound
he'd made. His accompanying laugh vibrated through Matt's abdomen
like ripples in a sun-stroked lake, and the human forgot how to
breath for a moment.

"How are you feeling?"

The voice was in Matt's ear, Stefan's, full of genuine concern. But
Stefan didn't need to be burdened. Matt felt pleasantly satiated, as
if he'd gorged himself on a feast and couldn't manage to remove his
bloated mass from his seat. Even the lethargy that often followed was
setting in, turning the connections between thought and movement slow
and cumbersome.

"Great," he drawled. "Not like...last time. Is it supposed to be
like this?"

If one of them answered him, he didn't hear because at that moment
Damon's mouthed seized the head of his cock. A chasm yawned open
beneath his feet, drawing him down, swallowing him. The same way
Damon was doing, going deeper and deeper until he was in up to the
base. It echoed throughout his body, latching on to things that had
always laid dormant, pulling them to the forefront. His breath came
out in a gasp, as he arched himself against the older vampire. He
reached out into the space around him, looking for something to hold,
to steady him. Before he gave out under the bombardment of chaotic
pleasure that was threatening to crash his entire system in its
potency. What he found was Stefan, their yearning thundering like a
mortar round against the earth as the vampire's tongue grazed his
chest, slid across his nipples. Trailed down his length with slow,
passionate brushes of sensuous lips. Reached his navel, in synch with
Damon, the vampires working him against each other but in unison,
like dueling forces of nature.

Matt's breath came out in pants, curled into a bellowing moan as he
felt Stefan join his brother, their tongues coiling around his cock,
running along the shaft. It was felt like he was dangling above a
snake pit by mere threads, a few snips of the scissor and he'd be
pumped full of venom. Something sharp grazed the sensitive skin of
his cock, made him flinch in apprehension. He hoped that they weren't
planning to bite the damned thing off.

"Where would the fun be in that?" Damon broke away momentarily to
ask. "I quite like it where it is, and I'm sure my brother would
agree."

Even if he was out of it, Matt made a mental note to restrain such
ludicrous thoughts. The veils between his mind and the brothers' were
too delicate, and--

"Fuck!" Matt exclaimed. His fear manifested as one of the vampires
bit down on his balls, but his reaction was one born of surprise
rather then pain. The initial agony vanished in a quick jolt, and
then there was only the twin pleasures of having both bits pleasured
at once. Like being massaged by velvet doused in warm oil it sent him
shuddering, and he thrust against their mouths. If it kept up at this
pace he wouldn't last much longer.

But the brothers seemed able to read his body as well as his mind,
and just when he was sure he was reaching his pinnacle, that he
wouldn't be able to hold back, it all stopped. They drew away from
him, were replaced by an empty draft that clung to the thinning
trails of saliva they'd left behind. Matt's head thunked against the
wall as he slumped, deep breath trembling through his muscles, arms
stretched taught above his head like high-tension wires. It mimicked
the intensity of his state, the roil of adrenaline running rampant
throughout him. It was hard to recall when he'd last felt this good.
Some years, now. Age seemed to have dulled his senses, driving out
the basic human desire to taste invigoration in all of its
incarnations. The whip of wind from a frozen mountain top, the spray
of sea foam from inside the pipeline of a wave. That had all been
lost to him for some time. With his senses flung wide open, though,
and manipulated by a manmade concoction, it was easy to loose himself
in such feelings.

"Those pills he took were potent," Stefan commented to his brother,
moving Matt from the wall to the couch. Matt flopped down on his
stomach like a boneless sack of meat, the younger Salvatore sitting
in front of him, pulling his head into his lap.

"Yes," came the drawl of a reply. Damon hovered in the shadows,
straddling the back of Matt's thighs. The blond grunted at the
pressure of the vampire's groin against his backside. "I'm already
feeling the effects."

Stefan was undoing his own pants, his fingers so close to Matt's
face that the hard bone of his knuckles grazed the human's lips. Matt
kept trying to catch them between his teeth, but to no avail. They
were too quick, as they fumbled with zipper and clasp.

"If it's hitting us like this, what's his mind like? I feel kind of
guilty taking advantage of him."

"I hardly call this taking advantage. He's probably relieved to work
off all that sexual tension. And who better suited to it here then
you and I?"

The younger vampire shrugged, lifting Matt's head by his chin.
Matt's eyes rolled upwards, a dog looking up at the sound of his
master's voice. It was getting easier to focus on things, on the
alabaster outline of Stefan's face floating in cobalt fringed
darkness, the gap of his pants hanging open inches from him.

"Look at it this way, Stefan," Damon's voice floated back. "You can
either choose not to participate and watch me have my way with him,
or you could join me. It's your choice." The elder Salvatore leaned
forward, hovering over Matt like some great ominous being, all razor-
edged smile and light-flecked shadow. "But don't think you can fool
me for a minute. Your feelings for him haven't dulled a fraction
since you left those humans behind. And I can sense that it goes
deeper then companionship."

"Even if it does, what difference does it make if the feeling isn't
mutual?

"He's here with us by his own will. And if that's not enough to
satisfy you, brother, then leave me to him. I'm starting to get
annoyed with this procrastination."

Swollen was Damon's power, as it seeped over them, gathered itself.
Agitated by the charge in the air, Matt shifted beneath the vampire,
and Stefan released him. His eyes were trained on Damon, who'd leaned
in far enough that their lips were almost touching. Neither of them
said a word, as they remained locked eye to eye, until Stefan finally
turned away and Damon chuckled low in his throat like some cliched
horror movie villain. Matt got the impression the younger Salvatore
had just lost the debate. Which was further confirmed by Damon
reaching down towards the gap of his sibling's open fly, muscular
forearms feeling like an animal's pelt as they encircled Matt's neck.
He flinched out of instinct, skull colliding with Damon's jaw.

"Do you mind?" the vampire grunted at him.

Matt muttered an apology but Damon wasn't paying attention anymore,
had resumed his groping. He was a surprisingly light burden on the
human's back, a trait that undermined his true strength. The blond
knew that it was beguiling, that trusting the delusive sense of
control that washed over him was as wise as poking a caged animal
with a sharp stick. As strong as he was he wouldn't have been able to
buck Damon off, and he couldn't fabricate a rational explanation to
attempt it. Besides the obvious incestuous behavior he was
demonstrating. Where incertitude and repulsion should have gripped
him in their calloused fists, there was nothing but a hollowed shell,
the casing thin and already shattered. His head was too muddled, the
night too peppered with the unethical for him to get a grip on the
simplest mental rejection. Somehow, in the midst of such chaos, Damon
extracting his brother's cock from the confines of his clothing,
fingers gripping him in such a vice that the younger vampire let out
a soft whimper, failed to phase him. Besides, they'd already jaded
him for the evening. Having both of them suck him off at the same
time had cinched that.

It was a thought that almost made him laugh, because it echoed
Elena's own dilemma back in the day. What would she have thought of
him, of them now, if she were here to see this? Two of her exes,
locked together in lust and desire, drunk and wasted on various
mixtures. And of course Damon, so much like the Damon she had known
but much more alive, too. At least that's what he sensed, the menace
subdued like a wound slathered in ointment. And what of the brothers'
new found relationship, of their obvious feelings for each other that
transcended the fraternal; And what of their adopted code of ethics
that involved such savory pastimes as feeding on hipsters and
traversing underground nightlife. She would hardly have been able to
imbibe it, digest it and accept it all for what it was. The only way
he was even able was because he'd stepped out of the fine boundaries
that had fenced his life in for the last twenty years and, piled atop
that, this is what he'd come here for.

"Will you stop thinking about her?" Damon snapped, grasping Matt by
the hair with his free hand and yanking his head back, throat an
arched, pallid expanse of unblemished flesh. An object of affection
for Damon, who stared at it with yearning sparking in his eyes. "It's
distracting."

"She'd be jealous." Stefan's eyes were closed, but his voice wasn't
marred by any of the melancholy Matt had once known. "She'd think we
were having all the fun. She'd want to be a part of it."

"And then she'd realize that you've swayed to the dark side, and
that I'm your lover and partially responsible for your descent, and
flee in average human terror." Damon snorted. "I think you need to
put your mind on something else. None of this sentimental bullshit."
He switched grips on Matt's head, pushed it downwards towards
Stefan's crotch. "And since you're the catalyst, Matt, you can
provide the solution."

Descent was Matt's only option, for it felt like Damon had bared
down with all his weight. A mental fallacy, because the vampire was
merely shoving him with one hand. His strength was so immense that
there wasn't a use for excessive force, but it didn't invoke Matt's
defensive instinct, nor the flickers of panic that preluded them. He
was calm and collected, fascinated by the impending intimacy.

"Don't force him," Stefan said.

Matt was close enough that he could make out the each supple fold of
skin, each ridge and vein of the vampire's awaiting erection; Smell
the strange earthy edge it gave off instead of natural body odor.
He'd noticed that before, when he'd kissed the younger Salvatore.
Damon's scent was makeshift, cologne and animal and something cloying
that got tangled up in the chemistry experiment that was his mind
until he could no longer decipher the individual components. But
Stefan didn't smell like a human. He was odorless save for the raw
scent of whatever kept him alive, and it was unnerving on a primal
level, like finding the remnants of a mutilated body washed up on the
beach, skin withered away to reveal moldered bone beneath.

Damon rolled his eyes at his brother's concern and didn't relinquish
his grip. "Go on," he coaxed as if Matt was an invalid and needed the
proper nudge in the right direction. "My brother gets irritable when
kept in suspense."

"You're one to talk," Stefan snapped, but there was mirth
hibernating in his tone.

Their bickering continued over Matt's head, but he paid it no mind.
Even when a flash of skin cut through the air, followed by the sound
of bone thumping against muscle, a grunt that was the telltale signal
one of them had just slugged the other, he managed to ignore it.
Transfixed by thoughts of tasting Stefan's skin, having it slide past
his lips to entice his tongue and teeth and all the moist parts in-
between, he lowered his head. Stefan's arousal brushed his mouth,
slightest contact softer then silk. But it sent lust swelling in him
once again, directing his need to the appropriate vessels, reminding
him of his own throbbing bits and the unfinished business it
entailed. Seized by it, all doubts or excuses for procrastination
were obliterated. Matt's mouth parted, saliva stirring in response to
impulse, and clamped around the head of Stefan's cock as if he were a
shark taking a chunk out of its prey.

With Stefan's gasp came the downfall of the Salvatores' argument.
Silence came swiftly to claim its place, heavy-handed and awkward.
Matt stayed locked in place, remembering to breath as he settled into
the uncharted act of giving head. His mouth felt coated in melting
layers that trickled down his throat, spread warm and thick in the
pit of his belly, then crept back up in increasing waves. The urge to
run his hands along his own skin, to feel the pulse of blood jarring
muscle and bone within was overwhelming, but he was in too awkward a
position to do so.

"Is that a new technique?" Damon's voice sliced the quiet the same
as a sword would through flesh. The slow roll of a chuckle succeeded
it. "Lie there paralyzed and hope for it to be over quickly? Stefan
might not mind, but I think you could stand to put more effort into
your approach."

With Damon's comment came Matt's realization that he hadn't moved
since he'd initialized the contact, that he was going about things
like a tourist lost in some strange, vine-choked jungle well outside
the hotel quarters. The younger vampire was polite enough not to have
mocked his lack of skill, accommodating his inexperience with hushed
patience, but Damon had a good point. He couldn't just lie there
attached to Stefan like some malformed protrusion, even if that's
what the chemicals in his system were most comfortable doing.
Nothing, floating on a sea of exquisite taste and touch, reveling in
the comfort that it had draped over him to block out all outside
distraction. But his mouth was cramping up, and the inside was
beginning to feel like a desert baking under a noon-day sun. His
tongue twitched, curling up against Stefan, teasing. And as the cogs
that powered his desires started churning again, roaring into
overdrive, he drew the vampire's cock in deeper. It hit the back of
his throat, slipped further, his gag reflex responding in accordance.
The spasm of muscle constriction did nothing to slow him, made Stefan
groan loud and deep as it squeezed his length. Matt drove onward, the
slosh of pleasure and discomfort attacking his mind until it was a
battered lump suspended between the most animalistic of needs.

"You learn quickly." Damon's hands were on Matt's back, kneading the
softened rolls of skin there. "Now don't stop until you finish him
off. Let him cum in your mouth." Grasping and then pulling, making
Matt grunt at the sharp, concentrated pain on their way down to where
the curve of his spine met the waistband of his jeans. Which were
still hanging open from before, and were slid out of the way along
with his briefs.

Nobody he'd dated in his life had ever had the want to attempt it on
him, but before he felt the tepid breath stream against his most
sensitive areas; Before he even felt the tongue slip behind his
balls, run its wet squirming length up to his ass, prod him until it
pushed inside, Matt knew of Damon's scheme. Yet it did nothing to
brace him for his immediate reaction, and he was at the mercy of all
his senses scattering at once, retreating in opposite directions to
leave him dangling in the void. His jaw almost snapped down on
Stefan, would have been agony for the vampire if his muscles hadn't
drawn tight and grinded into rigidity. And still Damon licked and
fondled using only his mouth, until Matt had gathered enough wits for
the feeling to send him shuddering and moaning. With it came the
gradual shift back to normalcy. Or as close to normal as he could get
sandwiched between two vampires he'd known as a teenager and on the
heaviest drugs he'd ever encountered.

Looking up, he found Stefan's eyes boring down on him, flaring like
glowing orbs. An understanding passed between them, floating unspoken
in the air. But they didn't need to say anything. Matt's drugged
state made it tangible, gave it shape and color and feeling so that
it took on properties his humanity would have been unreceptive to
under different circumstances. He grazed Stefan's cock with his
teeth, the vampire's breath coming up short, catching in his throat.
And then did it again, luring the beast that was the younger
Salvatore's lust.

Damon broke away from Matt, the human's cock straining beneath him,
slick with precum; Pulsing along with his racing heart as he ground
it against the couch. He couldn't hear the older vampire, wasn't sure
what would be done to him next, and the tension on the air hung like
a thunder head. It elevated his arousal, to the point where
consumption was inevitable and the burning in his balls was going to
drive him mad if something wasn't done to relieve it.

Then his hips were being lifted, just enough not to disturb his
attachment to Stefan, and he felt something hard and unyielding being
pushed against him. The pent up need was suddenly focused, honed and
razor-edged, closing in on the source of its attraction. The night
flashed before his mind's eye, a slide-show that passed in a vector
of color and sound, winding to a close at this moment. It wasn't what
he had sought nor bargained for, when he'd touched down in JFK,
stepped from the airport into the concrete and metal playing grounds
of his new home. But he knew he wanted it with every fiber, every
element of his being.

Stefan's hands cradled the human's head, words forming on his lips
and tumbling out in a rush. Matt didn't catch it, didn't even know if
it had been in English or not. And it didn't matter now anyway. He
heard a quick intake of breath at his back, barely audible against
the churning whir of the air conditioner. And then Matt pulled off of
Stefan and cried out as his body spasmed in resistance, Damon's cock
pushing inside him with one slow, deep thrust. Slow as rush hour
traffic, uncomfortable as a hot poker being forced into the orifice
instead. Only it didn't hurt, or at least not like that. He squeezed
his eyes shut, realizing the influence of the drugs had become faulty
and unreliable, waiting until he felt Damon stop and the rough bite
of the vampire's jeans against his bare skin; Until the strange,
foreign discomfort broke off from his consciousness and drifted away,
was replaced by the salving ripple that lapped at his groin. He found
he could concentrate once he'd adjusted to the new feeling, even
found it soothing. With Damon nestled inside him, the vampire
nuzzling the back of his neck, Matt would have been content if they
stayed like that for the rest of the night.

But of course neither Stefan nor Damon were satisfied to stay
stagnant and this time it was Stefan who forced Matt's head down,
working in harmony with his brother as the older vampire drew himself
out. The younger vampire's cock slipped back into Matt's mouth like
an old companion, and Damon pushed back inside, sending Matt almost
sprawling. The human groaned and braced himself against Stefan,
fingers splayed on his thighs. Clasping like claws when Damon worked
himself into a rhythm. Short, hesitant thrusts at first, making
Matt's brain feel as if it were boiling in a hot-blooded soup,
shattering his focus on Stefan. Then building into long, forceful
ones that squeezed the air from Matt's chest with their strength. He
could feel the older vampire's lips on his back, hot and feverish,
parting in damp kisses against his neck and shoulders. And he doubled
his efforts on the younger, sucking with fervency born from
unhindered desire, drawing Stefan deep then sliding off as he
mimicked the pound of Damon's hips. With each movement Damon was
shoving himself further in, reaching places that felt as if someone
had gathered the strands that held him together in one fist, were
tugging them all at once, ready to render them from their foundation.
Almost like dislodging a drain stopper, pulling until the suction
parted and the flood came rushing through.

Stefan's breath was coming quick, shoulders heaving, lips parted.
He'd tilted his head back and closed his eyes, muscles in his throat
bobbing with each constriction. Matt could feel the flex of him
between his lips, the onset of tension in his muscles. He reached out
and ran his hands up under the vampire's shirt, feeling the trembling
there, the stretch and pull of approaching release. Stefan was so
close Matt could taste the swell of it against his tongue, bit down
just hard enough that the pressure would drive him over.

With fists clenched in Matt's disheveled hair and a shaky rush of
breath that ended in a rumbling growl, Stefan flooded the human's
mouth with his orgasm. Matt was ready for it, poised for the rushing
spurt of cum. But he hadn't banked on it being as potent as it was
and it took him by surprise anyway, the slippery fluid almost choking
him as it shot down his throat. Still, he heeded Damon's words, and
kept what he could cradled in his mouth, even as Stefan withdrew from
him and the bitter taste began to permeate the aftermath. It wasn't
long that he had to deal with the unsavory flavor, for Damon yanked
his head back and drew him into a kiss, grinding their mouths
together to swindle what was left of his brother's essence. Slumped
against the arm of the couch, Stefan watched them through hooded
eyes, heaving breaths afflicting him like he'd ran a mile in five
minutes. Not that such an action would wind him the way the rush of
blood had.

Matt slumped into Stefan's lap when released from Damon, mouth a raw
ache from the abuse it had taken. The soreness, most intense at his
jaw, crept all the way down his throat, to where Stefan had bit him,
twinge of ecstacy-laced pain at the memory.

He was aware of the caress of fingers scrabbling at his hips,
pulling them backwards, Damon meeting them halfway. The constancy of
their flesh pounding against one another was euphoric, his own slick
with musty sweat, the vampire's as smooth as glass, just as rigid and
cool. Drifting on the delectation, he nuzzled Stefan's spent cock,
still hard despite his orgasm. The younger vampire returned the
affection with a sigh as he stroked Matt's face, then reached up to
his brother's hunched form. Matt felt the constriction of arms
against him, around him, like a python squeezing the life out of its
prey. Prey that was his hitching breath, trapped in the confines of
his throat. Damon matched him, his own breath coming in laconic
bursts from between his teeth. He was silent save for that only
sound, predatory attributes intact even when snared by lustful zeal.
But after awhile his breathing grew labored, beating against Matt's
mind like a bird against a windowpane, until it had distended to a
continuous barrage. His hips ground against the human without
constraint, fury of his movements like a stampede trampling over him.
Matt couldn't keep himself steady under the assailment, teeth
snapping down on his tongue from the tide of impact, rendering him
mute. A muffled noise rose from his throat, erupting into a twisted
garble more akin to a growl then words. Damon's cock was battering
him deeper then before, striking places that made his perception
disintegrate and go vapid, feeling like it would push right through
and rupture his organs. None of his normal senses were working
correctly, the network in his brain crackling and sparking as it
tried to re-connect the proper wires. His vision blurred and swam,
color bleeding into unnatural shapes, distorting things worse then
the drugs had. And a high-pitched humming had started in his ears,
making all other sounds seem like they were fading in the distance.
Stomach rolling with dread, muscles clenched like a vice around
Damon, he knew he was either on the verge of having a debilitating
orgasm that would leave him recuperating for hours, or he was going
to pass out. Whatever came swiftest; Whatever Damon drove him to
first.

Then Damon was pulling out of him, strong arms encircling even
tighter, drawing them together. In some abstract corner of awareness,
Matt could make out each detail of the vampire's body flush against
him, felt the expanse of planes and sinew rippling and bunching when
the vampire's warm jism spurted against his back. Still, Damon wasn't
finished. There was the scrape of bone against Matt's spine like a
file being raked along metal, the needle-point shock of pain that
failed to pull the human back from the edge he'd wandered off. And
then Damon's fangs lunged, piercing Matt's flesh once again. But only
the flicker of response passed through him, and he knew as his blood
was being glommed for the third time that night, that he was going
under. The blackness was wavering in his field of view, consuming the
world bit by bit. It pulled him down, his subconscious parting to
allow him to slip past its guard, plunging him into utter emptiness.

The last thing he saw was Stefan grabbing at him, eyes alight with
concern as the blue lamps overhead flickered and faded to nothing. --

Sunlight woke Matt from the depths of dream, cracked the shell of
lethargy that had ensnared him while he slept. Like a baby bird he
opened one eye, poked his head out from beneath the covers to take
his first glimpse of the world. And immediately shoved himself back
under them, not having liked what he'd seen. This was not his walk-up
apartment with its broken faced furnace and peeling paint. Not his
bed with it's rickety headboard, nor his sheets with their holes and
food stains marring their patterns. This bed was king sized, down
filled and with a hand-carved wooded frame. There were paintings hung
on the wall that he knew had to cost in the thousands, and the room
he was in was the size of his place alone. He didn't know this
unfamiliar apartment. And he hadn't gotten acquainted with anyone in
the weeks he'd been in the city, especially not someone this wealthy.

"You're awake," he heard a voice nearby say. Gentle, quiet, foreign-
tinged voice, and that /was/ familiar. Only the accent was less
pronounced now, bastardized by American life. "Good. I brought you
something to eat."

Before Matt could throw the covers back again, face the familiar
stranger that he was prepared to accept as part of a surreal, waking
dream, the previous night flooded back to him. He was bombarded with
the memories of the club, the pounding music and the delusion
inducing drugs. The search that had brought him to the city in the
first place and had broken the gates wide open. He'd found what he
was looking for, alright, only fate had intervened and played a cruel
joke on him. And he'd been dropped right in the boneyard of his past,
food for the two predators that had initially changed his life. Only
the rules had changed, expanded, and there were no fouls or fumbles
or even goal lines. It was pure irony, and now that he had a clear
enough head to be struck by it he wanted to smear himself with honey
and find a nest of ants to lay down on.

Matt sat up in the bed, a soldier rising to attention, readying to
face the enemy, be shot down point blank if it came to that. Just as
he'd known they would, his eyes fell on Stefan Salvatore, the curly
haired vampire poised in only a pair of jeans and cradling a tray
brimming with food.

"Damon cooked before. You've been out all day."

Damon? Matt thought to himself, and then remembered that part of the
situation as well. The brothers lived together now. No, together
wasn't the right word. Their relationship was more distinct, more
intimate and personal and tethered by an unspoken bond. From what he
had bared witness to, he could only describe them as lovers. Prone to
arguing and struggles of wills, but undeniably together. He waited
for the pinions of disgust to overtake him, for the rejection of
their taboo nature.

What he'd done, what he'd let them do to him....

But still none came. He could only sit there staring at Stefan, face
as blank as a clean sheet of paper.

"He's quite the chef, if the need arises. He's Italian, after all.
We're thinking of opening a place in the Bowery for the hell of it."

Stefan had taken a seat on the edge of the bed and set the tray
down, his gaze dropping to the floor.

"So are you." It was the first response Matt managed to extract from
his knotted mind, and it clung to his voice in a deep rumble. He
cleared his throat to chase the cobwebs out and ploughed on.
"Italian, that is. He's your brother."

There was the hint of a smile on Stefan's lips when he looked up
again. "I think I may be an anomaly. I can't even boil water without
setting the kitchen on fire."

"Well, it's not like you have a need for it."

"Tea. I like tea."

Matt's brow furrowed at the comment.

As if reading his mind, the vampire added, "You need to boil water
for tea."

"Oh, right," it was the strangest conversation Matt had ever had,
which shouldn't have been the case. Not when he'd met a couple of
vampires and faced down some truly evil beings in his lifetime. But
Stefan and he had been close at one point. He thought he'd known the
younger Salvatore. But after the night before, he realized how the
years they'd been apart had dramatically effected them both.
Something had shifted in their lives, made them sweep aside the basis
of their personalities in favor of seemingly happier states of
existence. "You've changed since I last saw you," he commented.

"/I've/ changed? What about you last night?"

"What about me?"

"We were overzealous with you, Matt. Not exactly careful as we
should have been. And as a result, you almost got hurt."

Sure enough when Matt looked down at himself, the skin that was bare
was riddled with bruises. Blotches of purplish blues and dark browns
surrounded his rib cage, running in vivid patterns up to his back in
the vague shape of fingers. When he tried to move, a pain that
blossomed at his tail bone and ran in a fiery line to his shoulders
seemed to tear the breath from his lungs. He knew how he'd come to be
acquainted with that particular pain and dredging up the thought made
him shudder. He'd never considered the possibility of such an
encounter occurring in his life. It hadn't even been a seed in his
mind. And now Damon had crushed that notion as easily as someone
would swat a fly.

"And you wanted it," Stefan continued. "Badly enough that I didn't
feel guilty about using you like that. The Matt Honeycutt I knew
wouldn't have had any part of it. He'd balk at the very suggestion.
He wouldn't have stepped foot in such a place to begin with."

"Yeah, I know. But either would have Stefan Salvatore. Things
change. All of us have. And I must be getting old, because it doesn't
seem like that big of a deal to me."

"I suppose."

Silence was like a wedge being driven between them, both of them
losing themselves in its beckoning folds. Matt took the opportunity
to pull the tray over and pick gingerly at what looked like a mini
omelette stuffed with mushrooms, examine a clump of it as it dangled
at the end of his fork. Deciding it seemed edible he shrugged and
stuffed the utensil in his mouth, the buttery eggs and delicate
mushrooms melting against his palette to reveal the sharp taste of
cheese hidden within. He finished the rest of it in one huge bite,
then started on the next. Thankfully Damon had adorned the plate- or
maybe it had been Stefan- with several of the bite sized delicacies.

"How insulting to consider them mushrooms," came Damon's comment
from the doorway. "They're truffles."

Both Stefan and Matt turned at the sound of his voice, Matt trying
to stay mostly in one position so he didn't have to deal with the
throb of aching muscles.

"Black ones, imported from home," Damon went on, crossing the room.
He came to a halt behind Stefan, Matt's eyes trained on him. "Not
that either of you would understand the difference between a common
vegetable and a hand-picked, much sought after fungus."

"Good morning to you, too," Stefan quipped.

"By my clock after five is usually evening, brother."

"Good evening, then. How was dinner?"

"He hasn't arrived yet. Which brings us to what's on the agenda for
tonight. I have tickets for the Metropolitan, courtesy of the main
course. Think of it as a type of avant garde dinner theater."

Stefan rolled his eyes, Matt suppressing a grin by scooping up a
mouthful of food. Even though he hadn't been athletic in years, he
was always ravenous and it came through in his eating habits. Wolfing
down what was left on his plate, cheeks stuffed until they were
brimming, he almost choked when Damon suddenly appeared beside him.
It was hard to remember they could move that fast when they were
being domestic.

"You can't come looking like that, though."

"I'm going with you?" Matt asked through his mouthful.

"What kind of hosts would we be if we left you here to fend for
yourself?"

"I have my own apartment. I could go back home."

"And then what? I think you fail to see the seriousness of your
condition. Stefan would reinstate his grudge against me if something
were to befall you."

"What' s the big deal? I was strung-out last night, got roughed up
and molested by a pair of old friends who'd gone hedonistic, then
passed out from who knows what, and slept it off. If you think that's
going to fuck with my head, then...you're probably right. But I won't
let it bother me. I got what I bargained for. It just happened to
have been with the two of you. Unless there's vampire stuff involved
you're not telling me about."

The older vampire stared down at him, eyes like flecks of obsidian
set in the pallid plane of his face. Matt noticed how much younger he
and Stefan seemed to him now that he had aged beyond the years that
they'd died. Aside from modernized haircuts, and the tension free
ease in which they accepted each other, they had remained unchanged.
In comparison to his drooping frame, the abundant folds of skin
around his waistline; His failing vision [he'd had to buy himself a
pair of reading glasses in the last two years], the arthritis that
had claimed his knee on a daily basis sometime after he'd injured it,
turning him to a coaching career instead, they could have been his
sons. It gave rise to a latent sense of self consciousness, something
that had never rattled him before but materialized now in the
presence of creatures that defied human nature. He slammed a mental
lock down on the venue of thought, before it could open up the
floodgate.

Stefan's sigh was a welcome distraction. "Damon's just trying to
tell you he wants you to stay with us."

His brother's head whipped around like a startled horse, the glare
he gave him a flaring bonfire, ready to burn and smolder whatever it
settled on.

"I think he may even like you." Mischief twisted Stefan's mouth into
a grin, made him imp-like. "In a completely platonic way."

"Platonic," Matt echoed, voice as dry as stale air. "Right."

Damon turned back to him, one eyebrow arched in appreciation of the
sarcasm.

"He has a point," he remarked. "Platonic isn't my style."

"Then if anal sex is, I'd appreciate if you told me in advance next
time," Matt quipped back. Guided by newfangled memory and pain, he
reached around to massage the muscles that had taken most of the
abuse. "It feels like my ass is broken."

Not wanting the human to think him insensitive to his plight, Stefan
bit down on his lip to stifle a laugh. His fangs unsheathed
themselves by instinct, blood welling up where they nicked him. But
Damon, unabashed about the damage he'd done, snorted as if he'd found
the comment hilarious.

"It's a pity you pulled that fainting spell on us. You cooperated so
well without our intervention, and we never got to finish you off.
Maybe we could return the favor some time?"

Those words hung on their air, weighted with prospect, lingering
even as Damon moved to leave. But not before he bent to lick the bead
of blood from Stefan's lips, the wound beneath already healed, nor
before he addressed them again.

"We're leaving at seven thirty. Dinner will be arriving shortly
before then, so be ready. There should be a suit around here that
fits Matt. If not, go out and buy him something. You won't have much
time, though, so make sure you're quick about it."

"And where will you be?' Stefan asked.

"Having a snack to tide me over. And then the cleaners to pick up my
clothes. I'll see you in an hour."

Matt's eyes flickered to Damon, following him as he ducked out of
the room and shut the door. Which he stared at for some time
afterward, fuel gauge of his mind bouncing on the 'E.' His thoughts
were pleasantly non-existent, his awareness trapped in one of its
many dark, draft blighted corners. It wasn't until Stefan slid across
the bed and lounged closer to him that he was released from his daze.

"I hate opera," the human commented to the vampire. "I thought I'd
like it once I was older and my tastes were more refined. But no. It
still sounds like death in the fucking cathedral."

"Damon would bring the full extent of his wrath down upon you if he
heard you say that."

"Oh, well, it's the truth. What time is it?"

Stefan shifted to see what the clock on the night stand read. "A
quarter to six. But if it really isn't to your liking, you don't have
to go with us. I can understand if you want to leave."

The gesture and the earnestness in which Stefan offered it
eradicated any fear that the vampire had changed for the worst. The
younger Salvatore still held their friendship in high regard, despite
it having rusted with disuse.

"Even if I could, it doesn't seem Damon would let me walk away that
easily. It's a big city, but it wouldn't take much effort for him to
find me."

"No, it wouldn't. But he also wouldn't come after you. As long as
I'd let you go and you left on your own accord, you could move on
with your life."

"And I'd never see either of you again."

Stefan gave a curt nod. "Unless we accidentally ran into each other."

There was a pause in which the human gathered his thoughts, fanning
them out before himself like a hand of poker. But it didn't last long
and he knew his mind had been made up way before the present point in
time, maybe as soon as the previous night, when he'd stumbled into
the room that contained the two vampires. He threw back the covers,
unfurling out of the bed, a spring coming undone to the sound of
bones and joints creaking. Damon had been right about him being in
worse condition then he thought. Each step he took was like dragging
himself over broken glass and burning coals, all acute, breath-
thieving pain. But it became easier as he went along, working through
his system until it was only a dull ache at the back of his mind, and
he made it to the bathroom on his own. He could feel Stefan's eyes on
his back, boring into him.

"Where are you going?" the vampire asked him.

"To take a shower," he answered and shuffled over the threshold.

Stefan came to the entryway, but didn't cross over, leaving Matt his
space. "You're staying," he remarked, hint of elation sprouting in
his tone. Matt was struggling out of his pants, wincing as he pulled
them down. "Yeah, sure," was all he said, kicking them off once he'd
gotten them around his ankles.

"Even with the obvious consequences, you're going to move in with us
and deal with us on a daily basis?"

Matt nodded, removing the rest of his clothing with care, then
gestured to the jetted, enclosed shower. It was nestled in a cream
colored marble tray, set with an intricate, classic pattern that
looked expensive. "That shower is fucking huge."

Jostled by the shift in the conversation, the vampire seemed to stop
and consider something, then followed the point of Matt's hand.
"Damon's idea. He had it installed after he moved in. It turned out
to be convenient in that it could accommodate...." He trailed off, as
if someone had grabbed him by the throat and dug their fingers into
his windpipe. Matt, who'd stepped into the shower, turned to see why
he'd stopped short.

"Forgive me," Stefan apologized to him. "I find it odd that you
accept us so easily."

"So do I, but you two seem happy together. Happier then before,"
Matt stated, twisting a knob. When nothing happened he tried another
and was rewarded with the thundering sound of the jets churning to
life, but without water flow. He turned them off quickly. "You said
Damon moved in here? How did that happen?"

"Maybe I'll tell you some day, when we're not pressed for time.
Here." Stefan came over tp reach in and rotate a lever, causing a
stream of water to spurt from the showerhead. "I couldn't figure it
out at first either."

"Thanks." Matt stepped under it, flinching as the hard water
pummeled his muscles, reaching to shut the door. But as he did he
caught Stefan's gaze and stopped midway, water trickling down his
drenched form in swerving rivulets. "You know, you could join me.
There's plenty of room in here."

Something flashed in Stefan's eyes; something fierce with yearning.
Turning them as bright as limes under the golden ambience of dawn.

"And it would save time." Matt was positively beaming, not knowing
what was possessing him, but driven to provoke Stefan's appetites
anyway.

"Of course." Stefan's face was cracking into a smile of his own. He
shed his pants as he moved in beside the human, seized him by his wet
shoulders.

Matt felt the chilling cold of slick tiles at his back, saw Stefan's
mouth descending on him. Then he was plunged back into the heady
grasp of his night in Motherfucker, content to submerge himself in it
for eternity.

-end-