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When the door closed behind them the room became silent, completely sealed off from any club noise. Soundproofed. Pretty Boy had chuckled at the remark as they'd entered. Yeah, he didn't know he had it in him either. But he did have good taste and running a business suited him, especially one he was passionate about. He'd poured his heart, sweat, and tears into this club basically his entire unlife. Even before he owned it outright. Why? Maybe because it was consistent, it never wavered or let him down. Or maybe it was because it was the only thing that was really his, now more than ever. He had made the club, with the band, the crew, and the staff, a home. Adding the apartments had been a given. A lot of them had nowhere else to go, Pretty Boy included.

His eyes lifted as Micky moved, catching sight of his chest when he shifted his jacket. A tingle ran the length of his spine, bubbles of sensation flushing across his skin. He couldn't stop his eyes from taking in every detail, the way the low light of the room cast shadows across his body, the toned muscles of his chest and abdomen, bringing back so many times long ago when he'd run his hands along them, when he'd kissed them and.... Pretty Boy swallowed a little harder than he'd meant to. Forcing his gaze away to the paper in the Elder's hand. Trying to ignore the fact that he was closer now, wrestling with himself and the flurry of emotions he hadnt expected to surface all at once.

He glanced up at his face quickly and smirked. "I'd rather not drink alone." He extended the glass he'd poured for himself, offering it to Micky to take. Once he had, PB leaned back over the bar to snag an empty one. His torso stretched across the top, the fishnet sliding up to reveal more of his stomach and every curve of his body. His jewelry swayed again with the motion, long hair sliding across his back and over his side. Filling it, he set the bottle on the bar, resuming his casual lean against the piece of furniture while facing Micky. He took the paper, lifting the glass to his lips and savoring the burn as it slid down his throat. The hand with the note deftly opened it and began to read.

He liked Micky's version of what it said better, but this was business so he chose not to make a joke about it. Besides, they hadn't exactly ended their last convo on terms that opened them up to that kind of banter. He felt the pain again but kept his expression even, steady. He couldn't let how he felt get in the way of the club. He had people who counted on him. Even if he was still hurting inside. If he had to work with Micky and swallow the pain every night, he would. He'd do whatever it took to make it all work as smoothly as possible. He didn't want anyone being negatively affected by his personal s**t.

"Guess we're gonna have to put your a** to work then. But tell the Prince if those dogs break anything, drive away customers, or drink us dry, it's coming out of her pocket." He didn't know them, he'd probably need to, he tended to try to reserve judgment until he actually spoke to someone. But he wasn't there yet. There was time for all that. He licked his lips, realizing they felt dry all of a sudden and bit his lower lip absently while he tried to process what the hell the Prince wanted him to do with all this. His best guess was to get them all acclimated to the club. Probably have them start building relationships and trust with the staff, the crew and the band. They were going to have to work together. He raised his brows, a kind of incredulous humor slipping over his features, and exhaled sharply through his nose. ********. That was going to be fun.

But then Micky spoke again and his two toned gaze lifted, finally meeting the Brujahs. It was a mistake, because he was stuck there now. The soft glow of lilac, every beautiful curve of his face, the contour of his mouth, the genuine kindness he knew was etched into every feature. His throat tightened a bit, mouth parched. He lifted his glass again and took a sip to chase away the dryness, nodding as he did. His expression still fairly guarded but not closed off completely. "What about it?" He started, keeping the raw feeling out of his tone. He didn't want to start a fight, he didn't want to go through this again either. So he was hoping that wasn't Micky's intent. He didn't want his pity.

"Look, I don't need you to feel sorry for me. That wasn't my intention when I apologized. I can respect how you feel about it and we can just remain amicable and bury it if that's what you're worried about." His tone was even, not unkind, simply matter of fact. But he quickly realized that he was railroading him out of a wounded place, trying desperately to stay out of that dark, painful pit they seemed to have ended up in twice now. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, crumbling the paper between his fingers as he did. "Sorry, Micky. Yeah, we can talk about it. What did you want to say?" Lowering the hand again he took another drink from his glass, this time deeper, nearly emptying it.

Pretty Boy was slightly concerned by the coughing fit currently seizing the Elder, unsure what exactly had happened. It seemed he was recovering however so he didn't pursue it further. He hadn't thought the alcohol was that strong but perhaps he'd been wrong, or maybe... maybe he'd seen something he liked, considering when it had started. The beautiful male smirked for a moment but found his smirk faltering as Micky set his glass on the top of the bar. He was so close that PB froze in place, every bit of willpower he had tied up in not grabbing him by the collar and closing that remaining shred of distance.

Pretty Boy gave him a smoky laugh and wrapped his claws around the bottle, filling the other males glass again. "You sure you want more? Sounds like it might have grabbed you by the balls there for a second." He couldn't help but tease him, it was hard not to fall back into old rhythms. He felt more like comfortable when he didnt have to hold back. Honestly, he felt more at ease and more like himself when he was with Micky, so changing his behavior just felt wrong anyway.

So, he'd have to make another trip to see the Prince, huh? Fantastic. Pretty Boy gave a resigned smirk followed by an effortless shrug. "If I have to, I have to. I'm sure she'll be thrilled to see my a** again so soon." He tossed his head subtly, moving the hair out of his eyes, and once again fixed his attention on Micky. In all honesty he didn't have as big a problem with talking to the Prince as he let on, if it was good for the club anyway.

Did he hate going there? Yes. But he wasn't a stranger to doing s**t he hated. He finished what was in his glass and poured himself a second round, finally starting to feel a little warmer, or was that because the Elder was so close he could practically smell him? He'd never forgotten the way Micky smelled, it was comforting, always had been. The scent now though started out that way and then just left a pang in his gut, a longing for what used to be.

When he finally let Micky speak he felt even worse, he'd ******** him up. PB watched as the other male tried to gather his thoughts, reeling from what the clanless male had just said. He inwardly kicked himself for losing control over his mouth, for getting defensive. He should have just shut the ******** up and let him talk. Even if he was hurting. Even though he was scared.

That's what it was. He was scared. Afraid the Brujah was going to confirm exactly what he'd said, that he wanted things between them to be professional. Amicable. Since now they'd have to be around one another. Somewhere in the back of his mind Pretty Boy had just wanted to get it out first, so it would sting less. But he was lying with how fine he made the situation sound. He didn't want that. He didn't want to bury what they once had between them for good. The weight of the thought alone threatened to crush him.

But then Micky did something that shocked the rainbow hued male, he began apologizing. Pretty Boy was mid-sip when it started but his arm slowly fell away from his face. Setting the glass on the bartop while he listened. If his heart still beat it would have been out of control. He felt the floor fall away beneath his feet, his slender brows furrowed as he focused intently on the other male's face, his expression intense and unfathomable.

He knew Micky wouldn't lie to him, wouldn't tell him what he wanted to hear just to make their working relationship easier. He'd been so ******** up by how harshly he'd been dismissed the last time they were together but now, hearing what the Elder had actually been going through, he understood. It made sense. None of this was easy on either of them but Micky taking part of the blame, explaining why he did what he did, PB was able to let what little bit of anger he had left go.

'I never stopped'. Those words brought him back down to earth, his gaze dropping away for a moment, processing everything that had been said carefully. He felt an intense wave of emotion rolling violently beneath the surface of his calm exterior, threatening to spill out. He had to reign it in. But he was done playing this ******** game. Pretty Boy's hand shot out and seized the collar of Micky's jacket, his face tilting up, luminous mismatched eyes searching for that intense lilac. He smiled and gave a low, almost relieved, laugh. "You idiot."

Pulling him closer Pretty Boy leaned forward and brought his face within inches of Micky's, his eyes flicking down to take in the curve of his mouth before sliding back up. "I never stopped missing you either. Not once." He slid his free hand beneath his jacket and across his chest, his lips pressing roughly, though somehow still softly, against Micky's. A charge of electricity sparked throughout his body, the sensation sending goosebumps down his arms. All he wanted was Micky. It was all he'd ever wanted since the very beginning, when he'd first laid eyes on him as he strolled so casually into the club. Deep down even then he'd known.

Pretty Boy had given up on being worried about taking the risk of kissing Micky. He just knew it was right. He wasn't going to lose any more time. When the Brujah returned the kiss he could feel himself almost melt beneath him. No one ever had that effect on him, before or after, and he'd missed it. The sensation as he felt Micky's hand sliding across the sensitive flesh of his stomach before coming to rest on the small of his back was like wildfire in his lower abdomen, stoking the flames of his desire.

A soft gasp escaped him as he felt his body pulled forward, closer into the other male's. Why did it always surprise him how strong Micky was? Maybe because his memory was full of moments that reminded him of how gentle he could be instead. His physical strength was impressive, but it didnt define him, not to PB anyway. There was so much more about him he was drawn to and enamored by. He closed his eyes briefly as those fingers came up to brush back his hair. God it felt like the first night they'd spent together, all those years ago. He'd never forgotten how intense that night had been. But now, filled with so many emotions and so much repressed longing, this felt like it could easily rival that moment.

Maybe, in a way, it kind of was like the first time again. They'd both changed so much since they'd last been with one another. It had been literal years. But it was fine. They had plenty of time to savor every second of getting reacquainted and, he hoped, the rest of their unlives as well. He felt a pang of desire as Micky moaned, his lips parting as Pretty Boy kissed him. The clanless vampire brought his free hand up, beneath his long silvery hair, to slide along the side of Micky's neck, holding it there as he deepened the kiss.

The soft caress of his tongue found Micky's bottom lip before it slid between them, seeking his own. The hand beneath his jacket sliding down his abdomen slowly, savoring the definition of his muscles and every curve of his body, claws trailing along behind. They fell to just above the edge of his waistline and then around to his a** which he grabbed assertively, pulling the Elders hips in against his own. He had a feeling their meeting was going to take a little longer than initially planned. Good. He'd wanted this so badly for so long and part of him was still having trouble believing it was real. That Micky wanted him still. That'd he'd missed him.

He pressed forward, guiding Micky backwards towards one of the large, plush, leather sofas built into the wall and used his body language to encourage him to sit. He slid himself onto his lap, knees on either side of the Brujah's thighs, his fingers running through Micky's long, beautiful hair while his claws carefully ran along his scalp. Breaking the kiss he smiled at him, his expression a mix of humor and relief. His normally smoky voice was now rather husky, heavily laced with a kind of deep, rolling purr. The timber of it electrifying, almost commanding in its depth.

"My idiot huh?" PB chuckled, finding the statement extremely endearing for some reason. "Honestly, we were both idiots. I was an idiot too." He smirked, kissing the other male's throat, his teeth grazing just beneath his jawline. "But I like the sound of you being mine. In fact, I can make you mine now if that's what you want." His lips were inches from Micky's as he said it, those brightly colored eyes half-lidded with desire. He slid his hands up Micky's torso, over his chest and shoulders, where they came to rest on either side of his neck. "Just tell me and I'm yours."

"With pleasure." Pretty Boy practically purred, his lips grazing the Brujah's before pulling back, teasing him. Claws lightly moving along Micky's skin as he trailed his fingers up over muscle and across his toned shoulders, sliding his jacket off and exposing his bare chest further. PB knew there was no way they'd ever make it upstairs, adrenaline and desire flooding every inch of his body. Being around Micky seemed to have that effect on him, but there was something especially potent about the sight of him at this moment that sent a searing heat burning through his core.

Maybe it was the lights, maybe it was the booze, though he didn't honestly feel drunk yet, or maybe it was the fact that he was touching the man who made him feel things no one else did. Giving a breathy sigh, the strokes Micky trailed along his spine sending shivers down his body, Pretty Boy smirked. It didn't matter why, it just was, and he felt almost euphoric. He never thought they'd get a second chance, or he'd feared they never would anyway. Yet here they were.

He took a moment to lean back, enjoying the visual of the male beneath him. He really was so beautiful, but it wasn't just outside. That's what had drawn PB in from the beginning. It was what he felt from the male in general that had eventually led to deeper feelings beyond lust, something about his energy and the way he saw the world. It was what had brought PB back from the bleak reality he'd settled into all those years ago. Micky had made the world beautiful again at a time when the clanless male didn't believe it ever would be.

Pretty Boy felt a pang in his heart and slid the claw of his thumb gently over the other male's bottom lip, the backs of his fingers brushing across a pale cheek to shift the hair from his face. His luminous gaze, one eye shaded by multicolored locks, looking down at Micky with an expression beyond simple lust, the lights accentuating his body and lending his abdomen an even more tantalizing definition beneath the fishnet and jewelry.

His tongue slid between his lips to wet them, they tasted like Micky, the corner of his bottom lip caught and held between his teeth before he released it again. He leaned in and kissed the Elder deeply, passionately. He tasted so good, like he remembered, better even. His hips slid closer, claws weaving through Micky's hair on either side of his head from just below his ears back to the base of his skull.

His experienced fingers wrapping into those beautiful silver locks as he gripped them, using a careful amount of pressure, to suddenly tilt the other male's head back, holding him there. The tension on his scalp just enough to elicit a pleasurable sensation. He began to kiss down Micky's throat to his collar bone. The heat becoming a wildfire inside of him. He was almost afraid it would consume him and, at the same time, never wanted anything more.

Pretty Boy drank in the form beneath him, savoring every inch of Micky. The beauty of the male made him ache softly inside, like someone had a vice grip on his heart and was gently squeezing it. He closed his eyes and leaned his face into that palm before it moved to slide into his long hair, giving a soft appreciative sound when claws met scalp. It sent waves of sensation shivering throughout his body and across his skin. Mismatched eyes opened again, half-lidded with desire and his lips parted softly the moment Micky gasped, sucking in a sharp breath of satisfaction. He remembered loving every sound the Brujah made, how it heated his blood quicker than almost anything else. Each kiss followed the line of Micky's collar bone up to his shoulder where he lightly sank his teeth into the muscle along the curve between shoulder and neck. His fingers released their hold on those silken, silvery locks to instead slide down his arms, removing his jacket the rest of the way. Strong fingers curled around his wrists which PB then lifted back from his own head and up over the other male's body, pinning them against the wall behind him. His mouth found the Elders again, losing himself in the moment. Kissing him brought back so many memories. 

PB pulled away again, just enough so that his lips were inches from Micky's. He knew that going slow was probably making him desperate for the clanless vampire to get on with it, to just shove his hand down his pants and dive right in. But he wasn't going to do that. Control of the pace was his to dictate and he wasn't going to be rushed. They may not have had all the time PB wanted to really play with the male beneath him, but he sure as s**t had enough to make it extra hot, to sear it into both their memories. It had been a long time since they'd last been together but there was no way he could have ever forgotten how to touch the male so he would squirm or writhe, how to make him gasp or moan, every sound was like music to the brightly colored males ears. Those nights spent in one another's arms, locked in the heat of passion, they were as clear as crystal even now. There had been so many nights since then that Pretty Boy would be laying in bed staring at the ceiling and one of those memories would hit him without warning. At the time it had been painful, but it wouldn't be anymore. 

The toned muscles of his stomach flexed as he kept his grip firmly on the male's wrists, he could feel the heat shooting through his core, lighting up every nerve ending. The familiar pulse in his lower abdomen as the heat between them built made his skin tingle. But this was different from how he normally felt when he'd managed to steal some hot thing away from the dance floor and into his arms for the night. The intensity was far more electric with Micky than it ever was, or ever had been, with anyone else. There was something so different about it, and it wasn't just because of how pretty he was. Maybe it was the way he felt about him. He was too scared to say it out loud, but he wanted to. He knew he didn't want this to be just some one time 'Hey, now that we're ok again come over and we can bang sometimes' kinda deal. He wanted more. He wanted Micky back in his life for good, he wanted this to be more than casual sex. Because these emotions had always been anything but casual. He just wasn't afraid of them anymore. 

His lips were still inches from the others, gaze still half-lidded with desire, as one hand kept a steady grip on the wrists pinned above Micky's head while the other moved to his chin, tilting his face up. The claw of his thumb gently pressed to Micky's lower lip before PB's fingers fanned out and slipped down his throat, claws lightly grazing that pale skin, continuing down at an agonizingly slow pace. He savored the feeling beneath his fingertips as they traveled from chest to sternum, across his abdomen and finally arrived at his lower belly. He locked his gaze on the male's luminous lilac eyes, his lips brushing Mickys for the briefest of moments before pulling back enough so he couldn't kiss him if he tried. Pretty Boy's fingers worked the button of Micky's pants expertly, easily undoing them before he slid the zipper down. His lips curled into a smug smirk, head tilting up slightly so he was now gazing down at the Brujah with an air of authority. His fingertips brushed the soft flesh just beneath the waistband but paused before slipping in any further. That heat rippled through his core again. God he wanted him so badly. Then came a knock at the door.

PB froze briefly on top of Micky, his eyes shifting quickly to the door. ********. He should have known this would happen. He leaned his head back and sighed, closing his eyes, trying not to get pissed about it. He did have a business to run after all. It was inevitable someone would come looking for him on opening night. It was still the absolute worst timing. He let his head fall forward again, a smirk that was halfway between incredulous and morbidly humored cemented into his expression. His gaze lingered at the sight of Micky beneath him however, just wanting one more second of the moment they were sharing. Arms above his head, pants undone, bare chested and beautiful. Goddammit. "Looks like we're going to need a raincheck." He chuckled, leaning down to plant one more kiss on the Elders lips before he slid backwards off his lap, releasing his wrists as he did. Pretty Boy ran his claws through his long hair, fixing his clothes. He needed to calm down before he answered that door. He was too riled up.

The worst ******** timing ever.