by Sephera Giron
(1/19/00)

They made an unlikely couple.

Physically they could pass for brother and sister with their dark hair and midnight eyes. He was thin, she was voluptuous. He was quiet, she had a roboust laugh. When they entered a room, their charisma touched all who laid eyes upon them, luring them into their circle with a glance or a smile. Those that saw them thought they were lovers. The way they touched each other when they talked. The way they looked into each other's eyes without speaking, and especially the way they mirrored each other on the dance floor. They could have been called friends, and indeed, perhaps considered themselves as such. But that wasn't what they were either.

The siren song of darkness spoke to each of them in a different way, yet somehow they had found each other and couldn't let go. Their dependence on each other sprang deep twisted roots that even they could not deny. Perhaps it was the nightly urge to reinvent themselves that they shared. The painted chameleons of face dances. .....

Monica remembered the first time she laid eyes on Dimitri's tall, thin form, watching long fingers snatch shadows as he danced at the Gothic nightclub. She stared at his beauty all night. At his deep ebony eyes, his painted lips, the body that swayed and swooped like a moth to the music. She couldn't put her finger on the lure, couldn't figure out why it was this painted creature and not the one beside him, or any of the other beautiful androgynous men that stirred feelings in her that had been long denied.

She watched him with his friends; friendly, flirtaceous, dangerously thrilling. She felt as if she knew him, had always known him. His walk, his face all echoed dreams gone by. Her body burned with the desire to know him yet she could not approach him. Her fingers toyed with a silver medallion that swung from her neck. She fingered the intricate weave of metal, touching it to her lips, whispering words of longing that washed along her in waves of yearning dispair. She had only just discovered him, but the hunger was undeniable. She had to be with him.

Two more times she went to the club, watching him from a darkened corner, her dark eyes glittering, her mouth slightly parted as she licked her lips. She needed to taste him, could feel the craving for him building in her body like an incoming tide, relentently rushing, all consuming.

He noticed her staring on the third visit. As he wove his way towards her through the crush of people she was reminded of a panther stalking its prey. His eyes burned into hers as he drew nearer and she clutched her necklace, stroking its winding brocade with trembling fingers. Without asking her name, he took her hand and led her to the dance floor.

They were mirrors of light and shadow. Reflecting in each other's movement, their bodies undulating, swelling and pulsing, hot and cold air swirling. It was at that moment that their energy meshed and they became power.

Monica raised her hands, feeling the rush circling her body, snaking along her arms, gathering momentum as her fingers tingled. She looked up and saw faint blue streaks sizzling above them. She laughed and looked towards Dimitri. His lips were curved in a secret smile, his eyes glowed red for a moment and then were dark again.

After the club closed, they went for coffee at a gay cafe near his home.

Monica watched Dimitri stare hungrilly at the tight firm asses of men proudly preening. She saw him lick his lips watching the glistening biceps and the smooth chiseled faces. An ache spread deep inside of her, from her heart to her groin. Although they spoke of friendly things, she knew she was lost.

From that night, they struck up an unlikely friendship. They talked on the phone, went to parties, cruised the clubs together. She was the light for his shadow, the voluptuous escort for his soujorns.

She watched him kiss men, make dates, saw the confused glances thrown her way, and she would smile demurely. No one was more confused then she.

Monica listened to the stories of his sexual conquests wondering why he bothered having her around if she was too ugly to fuck. She wondered what part of his void she filled. Perhaps it was the way she understood his desire to reinvent himself for every occaission.

Clothes, make up, style.

The superficial draw of the night life.

His lovers crowded around them wherever they went, and he would plant kisses on their cheeks, make promises that might be kept, would wander off to a darkened corner to satisfy physical needs.

And she watched.

And waited.

For months Monica and Dimitri travelled the night life together. By day, she was a single mother, emeshed in the ritual of chauffering children to and from school, making lunches, watching classes, but come the weekend, when Daddy whisked the kids away to their new Mommy, she would find herself in yet another gay bar or Gothic club, watching yet another conquest unfold.

Monica grew edgy. She asked herself yet again, what was she doing here? Why was she spending so much time with Dimitri when he showed her no real affection? The fascination was growing thin, yet the trembling in her body grew stronger every time she saw him. She was in the throes of an addiction that she could not name. Every time she thought she should walk away from the whole ordeal, she touched her necklace and its surge of energy reminded her of what she wanted.

One night, the situation shifted. Dimitri and Monica danced together at the Gothic club. A swirl of velvet and ruffles, of lace and silk. Their eyes were dramatically lined, their lips bloody black red. She saw his gaze flicker over to a long haired man dressed in a white ruffled shirt and black velvet pants.

"Do you like him?" she asked, following his dark eyed stare.

"Very much." he replied.

"Then go to him."

Dimitri took her hand and together they approached the long haired man. He was smitten by Dimitri's charm, as they all were.

"Are you having a good time?" Dimitri asked. The man lowered his eyes from Dimitri's penetrating gaze.

"I am now."

Dimitri held out his hand, silver rings sparkled in the flashing lights.

"I am Dimitri and this is Monica."

"Pleased to meet you. I am Roger."

Roger entered their circle, dancing and smoking until the lights of the club were snapped on. In the harsh glare, Monica found Roger even more attractive then he first appeared. An oval face with aqualine nose, stone gray eyes that stared admiringly at the playful creature that Dimitri was tonight.

"Perhaps you would like to come back to my place." Dimitri offered to him, his hand sliding down the young man's arm. Monica shivered as she saw their eyes lock, understanding passing between them as privately as a whisper.

"I would like that." Roger said as Dimitri kissed his cheek.

Monica stared at the black red imprint, perfect lips that she had yet to taste in passion.

"Monica, you must come too." Dimitri said, wrapping an arm around her. She leaned into his body, rubbing her hand along his velvet jacket.

"Are you sure?" she asked. She had never been invited back with one of his lovers before.

"Of course." Dimitri smiled, his teeth gleaming.

The trio made their way through the hoards of people wandering out of closing bars. Monica followed Dimitri and Roger they walked wordlessly, her mind racing. She clutched at her necklace, thinking words of comfort, of desire.

At last, they reached Dimitri's place and Monica excused herself to use the bathroom. Her heart was pounding. She stared at herself in the mirror, wondering what new fork in the path she was going down now.

As she peed, she remembered how only hours earlier they had both been in there, putting on their faces for the night. She helped him draw the lines that ringed his eyes, gently dabbed at his lipstick so that his mouth was perfectly covered. She sighed as she thought about how he had modeled his outfits for her, indecisive about what to wear and in the end, listening to her comments and following them.

When she returned, the living room was in darkness except for the flickering of candlelight. Roger and Dimitri sat side by side on the couch, drinking goblets of red wine. Monica saw her glass neatly placed by a chair across from them and she sat.

There was no audible conversation. The men spoke with their eyes and mouths. Dimitri kissed Roger, a long lingering kiss that filled Monica with desire. She sipped on her wine as mouths met and parted, long fingers stroking each other's backs, toying with delicate lace ruffles. She heard the soft rustle of velvet, of candles sputtering, of music playing quietly in the background. The kisses became hungry and soon fingers were loosening buttons, sliding ruffled shirts from pale shoulders. She sighed as she saw the gleam of bare chests rubbing against each other, saw hands stroking and fondling hair and arms and legs.

Roger lay back now, his eyes shut as Dimitri writhed above him, his body undulating like a snake. Monica drank more wine, crossing her legs as heat fanned through her groin. Dimitri was unfastening Roger's trousers, kissing his belly, toying with his nipples. Roger looked over at Monica.

"What about her?"

"She is fine."

"Can she join us?" Roger held out a hand to Monica. She stared at him with dark shining eyes and licked her wine soaked lips. Dimitri narrowed his eyes at Roger.

"You are mine." Dimitri said firmly, pining Roger's hands above his head. He kissed him hard on the mouth. "Mine."

"Then, what..."

"She is watching." Dimitri whispered. "She likes to watch. So give her a good show."

Roger shook his head.

"Twisted, man. I don't know."

Dimitri wrapped his hand around Roger's penis. He squeezed it.

"What did you think would happen, coming home with us?"

"I just assumed it would be all of us, man. I've never done it with someone watching before."

"It's no big deal." Dimitri was rubbing Roger's penis. Roger closed his eyes again as sensation filled his mind. Dimitri stared at Monica as he masturbated Roger, his eyes piercing her with a hardness she had never felt before. Her breasts tingled and she felt hot and wet.

When Dimitri's gaze returned to Roger, Monica lit a cigarette. As she drew the comforting smoke deep into her lungs, she toyed with her necklace. It was hot and pulsing, reflecting the heat escalating in her own body, the bodies of the men on the couch, now naked. Dimitri raised Roger's legs and started to lick his cock, his balls, his tongue probing into Roger's asshole. Roger moaned and Dimitri licked harder, his tongue lapping, his lips sucking and pulling on quivering flesh. He lowered Roger's legs and ran his hands along his body, turning him over. Roger lay on his stomach, butt in the air as Dimitri entered him from behind. Monica felt a warm rush surge through her as Roger gasped. Her hand instinctively slid under the lacy skirt of her dress and she touched herself as she watched Dimitri fuck him.

Roger moaned, rising up to meet every thrust. Dimitri growled, a cat like noise from deep in his throat. Monica's fingers slid inside herself and she imagined it was she who Dimitri was taking.

Dimitri lowered his mouth to Roger's neck, lapping at it with long languishing strokes. Monica could feel the room trembling with energy, the hot vibrations of bodies quivering, the necklace burning around her neck. Her cigarette burned her fingers and she tossed it into the ashtray, savouring the pain.

Roger cried out.

At first, Monica thought he had come already, but then she realized it was a cry of pain. Dimitri was biting his neck so hard that she could see streaks of crimson dripping down onto the couch. Roger was squirming but Dimitri had him impaled, still fucking, lost in taste and smell and pleasure.

Roger's eyes met Monica's.

"Help me." he pleaded.

Monica too was lost in ecstasy as she watched Dimitri suck Roger's blood in hungry gulps, his dick slamming into Roger's ass harder and harder.

"Do something, he's killing me." Roger shouted.

Monica spread her legs wider, fingering her glistening pussy, a half smile on her face.

"You two are sick."

Roger pressed his face into the couch with a sob.

Dimitri raised up his head, blood dripping from his mouth, streaking down his neck, circling a nipple. He looked at Monica, who stared back at him, on the verge of her own ecstasy. He thrust once more into Roger, still watching her and came with a groan. Monica shivered and pressed into her hand. She moaned as orgasm spread from her groin to her thighs, her nipples tingled, her heart pounded.

They continued to stare at each other as Roger scrambled free and grabbed his clothes. He didn't even try to get dressed as he ran from the apartment. They barely heard the door shut as they watched each other. The candles hissed and spit and the room glowed with orange light.

Dimitri stood up. Blood streaked a glistening rorshack pattern down his pale body. He leaned over Monica and pressed his mouth against hers. As he kissed her, she realized that she was swallowing mouthfuls of Roger's blood. Dimitri's hands cupped her breasts, toying with her hardened nipples. She moaned into him, sucking his tongue, his lips, trying to taste every last drop of the blood. The salty taste thrilled her and she could feel the new blood mingling with her own.

Dimitri broke the bloody kiss and licked away the stains from her lips and mouth. He held her face, gently stroking her hair.

"Are you frightened?" Dimitri asked. Monica shook her head.

"Not at all." She ran a finger down Dimitri's chest and stroked the blood. She raised the finger to her lips and sucked.

"Will you continue to journey with me?" he asked.

"If you desire."

"I desire."

The new pattern continued for a few weeks. Now that Dimitri's secret was shared, they didn't confine themselves to nightclubs. They wandered along Queen Street, shopping in clothing stores, browsing in books stores, sipping cappucinno at cafes. The couple watched handsome men with their glittering midnight eyes, choosing with a glance or a raised eyebrow who it would be that night. They never had to say a word as new wannabe lovers would approach them, finding their appeal undeniable.

They continued to lure lovers back to Dimitri's apartment. Monica watched the tangle of two, sometimes three or four male bodies, playing with herself, craving the taste of young men's blood from Dimitri's lips when it was over. Most of the lovers didn't mind at all when the vampire bit, indeed, many of the lovers had been with him before. But still, Monica wasn't happy. She was on the edge of desire but still not embracing it. She was part of him now, yet still could not touch him.

The energy bound them, a crackling current that soared when they were together. Monica felt herself growing stronger, could feel the pulse of a new personna inside of her ready to break out, a new face to add to the dance. She knew the time was coming when she would have to leave him, but she didn't know how to break the connection, didn't know if she could.

Again, they danced at a gay bar. Dimitri wore tight silky pants and a tank top. Monica wore a leather mini skirt, fish net stockings and a low cut leather vest. The strobe lights were flashing, illuminating the garish faces of tranvestites, the strong chins of men, the soft eyes of lesbians. She watched Dimitri dancing in front of her, at his undulating hips, at his delicate hands. Her head swam and she felt a new surge of power. She let it circle her, felt it embrace her with a warm sparking energy. She stopped dancing and narrowed her eyes at Dimitri.

"What's wrong, darling?" he asked her, touching her arm.

"I don't like this anymore." she said.

"The music?"

"No. You. Us."

Dimitri scowled.

"Let's go talk." he took her hand.

They left the bar and wandered out into the street. He took her to a little parkette and they sat on a bench. It was late fall and there was a chill in the air. Above, the stars glimmered, and the moon cast a yellow glow onto his face.

"Monica, my darling. What is troubling you?" Dimitri held her hand, kissing her fingers.

"I can't do this anymore." she said. "I'm tired."

"Maybe you need some sleep."

"No. I'm tired of it all. I'm tired of you."

"Of me?"

"Yes, you most of all."

"But what have I done? Have I not been attentive? Have I not pulled you from your boring suburban life? Have I not given you companionship where you would find loneliness?"

"I need more."

"You have the blood."

"I'm not a vampire."

"Yes, you are." His grin was too wide and Monica shivered.

"Of course you are vampire, otherwise you would not drink the blood."

"Maybe it was interesting, but I don't crave it. Not like you."

"We shall see." Dimitri said, dropping her hand. He stood up.

"Where are you going?"

"I must hunt. You can come or you can go home. I don't care."

"After all this time, you don't care?"

"Of course not. Perhaps I grow tired of you too. Watching. Always watching. Never doing for yourself."

"You only let me watch."

"What else can I do? You are always there."

"You invite me."

"Perhaps I am polite."

Monica furrowed her brow. Her cheeks were hot and she felt tears burning in her eyes.

"Perhaps you are an asshole."

She turned away from him, trying to control her anger. She ran down the street, into the darkness. Dimitri watched her for a moment. He felt as if a part of him had been yanked away but he would not, could not follow her. She disappeared into the bustle of Saturday night life.

He sighed and ran his fingers along his forehead. An ache crept up behind his eyeballs as he walked back towards the bar.

When Dimitri entered the club, he felt very tired. The usual euphoria he felt on the hunt was draining away as if it were swirling down a sewer grate. By the time he reached the table where his drink was, the headache was excrutiating and he had to sit down.

Men walked by him, scarecly noticing him as he sat, his fingers massaging his temples. He could barely make eye contact, seeing only red in front of him.

One of his lovers, a petite young transvestite named Brad saw him sitting alone and came over.

"Dimitri, how are you?" Brad asked, tossing his light brown hair, running his fingers along his own neck seductively.

"I'm happy to see you." Dimitri smiled, his temples feeling like they were going to explode. Even Brad's androgynous beauty couldn't feed the fire.

"You look ill." Brad reached a hand towards him but quickly withdrew it.

"Just a bit of a headache." Dimitri sighed sipping on his drink. Brad watched Dimitri and shivered as he wondered what had ever possessed him to spend several nights of passion with him. He had dreamed about Dimitri, spent much of his time yearning to be taken by him again and again yet now, faced with his fantasy, he felt cold and disillusioned.

"Where's Monica?" Brad asked, looking around the club.

"We are not together tonight." Dimitri said harshly.

"Perhaps you should be. She is the light for your darkness." Brad stood up.

"Wait." Dimitri reached out a hand to him and grabbed his wrist. Brad felt the harsh clutch of his fingers, and tried to pull free.

"Don't go." Dimitri said. Brad batted his eyelashes at him.

"I want to go."

"Perhaps you could come back to my place for a drink? We can talk?"

"I don't think so." Brad shifted his weight from one leg to another. Dimitri's cold clutch burned. "Let go of me, or I'm going to have to scream."

Dimitri let go and watched Brad walk quickly away. He drained his drink and went over by the dance floor. He stood watching, counting how many men he had tasted since he had arrived in Toronto during the summer. So many of them.

He tried to catch Alan's eye, Derek's, Sam's, David's...so many men would not meet his gaze. He couldn't understand it. It couldn't be Monica. He had been vampire long before she came on the scene and would be long after she was dead.

He thought about how getting blood had been more of a challenge before he met her. How he would have to stalk people in alleyways, joggers running alone, drunken teenagers wandering confused. He had limited success in the gay bars, but not like after they met.

He tried to make eye contact with a muscular man with broad shoulders and glistening chest, but the man avoided his gaze, hurrying to get away as fast as he could.

Dimitri clenched his fists, digging his nails into the palms of his hand. His stomach gurgled and roiled, thining blood pumped angrily through his veins.

Monica.

It all led back to Monica.

Dimitri was jolted back to the bar as he was bumped by someone.

"Dimitri, I didn't see you here."

"Michael. How are you?" Dimitri extended his hand. Michael reached for it but the stone cold touch burned his fingers and he snatched his hand away.

"I'm fine. Excuse me, I...I have someone waiting for me."

Dimitri scowled as Michael hurried off into the crowd. He lit a cigarette and wandered towards the back of the club.

Towards the dark room.

Inside, he saw forms of men, shadows of arms and legs, of bodies meeting and parting, mouths on groins, hands fingering butts. He stepped inside, his heart pounding. His teeth itched. One by one, the men excused themselves to leave, muttering about the cold, about the sudden loss of desire. Dimitri watched as clothes were hurriedly pulled back on. The men filtered away.

He stood alone in the blackness. His eyes narrowed, glowing red with anger.

Monica.

Where was she?

Dimitri weaved his way out of the bar, his head pounding so hard he couldn't see more then a few feet in front of him. Hunger consumed him, his stomach cramped, but his anger fueled enough energy to make his way back out into the parkette. He sat on the bench, trying to remember the earlier conversation, but it was lost in the thunder that pounded in his head.

He had to see her.

Monica sat naked on the floor in her living room in the middle of a giant pentagram drawn with blood. She was surrounded by dozens of candles, most of them black and red. Their flames burned high and hot, wax dripping into pools onto the wooden floor. Beside her was a large goblet filled with a dark red liquid. She held many stones in one hand, and was placing them in a design in front of her with the other. The necklace glowed red around her neck and she could smell her own flesh burning from it's touch.

A humming chant flowed from her lips as she played with the stones, turning each one over carefully, feeling how smooth or rough its surface was, beckonning the resonance into her body. She could feel the power, stronger then ever, coursing through her. Her blood burned with electricity, her fingers sparked when ever she lifted a new stone from her hand and placed it down. She could feel her body trembling, folding, undulating. Her flesh rolled as if dozens of marbles were being pushed between skin and bone. She chanted louder, forcing herself to see only her will, not lament over incidents that had passed.

There was a rattling at the window. Monica looked over and saw a small shadow pressing against the glass. An eeirie smile touched her lips as she saw the bat flutter, wings beating against the glass. She lowered her head and waited for the bat to find the opening she had left for him.

When she looked up, Dimitri was standing outside of the pentagram. His make up smeared face was gaunt, his eyes glowed red, he was a shadow of the man that she had left only hours before.

Monica's laugh cut Dimitri like a knife.

"What is this?" he demanded.

"You think you are the only one with secrets." she sneered.

"What are you doing to me?" Dimitri stayed clear of the pentagram and sank into the couch, his eyes staring at the pattern of stones.

"You only do for yourself, Dimitri." Monica said. "I do only for me."

As Monica stood up, she picked up the goblet. She stood in the centre of the pentagram, her dark eyes glowing, her flesh pulsing and rippling.

"Are you afraid?" she teased, dipping her finger into the goblet. It came out red with blood. She ran it along her breasts.

"Should I be?"

Monica swirled her finger in the goblet and continued to paint herself.

"That's up to you."

Dimitri sniffed the air, the scent of the blood on her body permeating through the pungent smell of incense and candles.

"May I have some...blood?" he asked, still sitting on the couch.

"No." Monica said, and tilted her head back. She poured the rest of the goblet towards her open mouth and caught a few drops with her tongue. The rest of it spilled down her body. She rubbed it into herself, enjoying the warm slippery feel of her breasts and her belly. She slid her hands between her legs and massaged her crotch.

She started to sing and the candles burned brighter. Dimitri felt the room grow hotter. He watched as her skin continued to ripple and twist as she danced, her eyes closed, her arms out wide, spinning in a circle.

She stopped spinning and started to moan. Her back was to him and he could see her flesh starting to rip apart.

"Monica!" he cried out. He stood up, reaching for her but afraid to step into the pentagram.

Monica shrieked as her skin split and ripped. She fell to her knees with an anguished cry and Dimitri watched in horror as she undulated along the floor. Her long hair lay in a clump, her flesh was in strips, yet he could see that there was a new body being birthed from the old one. He watched black red pools of blood gush from her as she crawled and writhed. The candle flames shot high for a moment and then went out.

The room was in darkness.

Monica lay still on the floor. Dimitri could stand it no longer. Pentagram or not, he had to go to her.

He turned her over and held her in his arms.

"Monica." he cried.

He felt her move again and touched her face. By the light of the moon, he could see her eyes were open.

"Dimitri." she sighed. "I'm all right now."

"I thought I lost you."

"Turn on that light over there. Let's see if it worked."

Dimitri went over to the couch and flicked on the lamp. As he turned back, Monica stood up.

But she was Monica no more.

Dimitri was staring at a mirror image of himself.

"Am I not what you have been looking for?" she asked, approaching him.

Dimitri stared at her/him. It was himself, right down to the penis.

"Monica."

They embraced, hungry kisses sliding along blood soaked lips.

Their hands ran along each other's bodies, touching chests, licking nipples. They sank down to the floor, arms and legs intertwining. Dimitri nestled his face into her crotch and started to suck on her penis. She moaned, thrusting up into his mouth.

"Oh, that feels so good." Monica sighed. "I never knew."

Dimitri mouthed Monica's balls, ran his tongue along her asshole. She writhed under his touch, her own hands searching him out.

Dimitri raised Monica's legs over his shoulders and slid into her. She shuddered and moaned, touching his face, herself. Dimitri stared into the image of his own face as he fucked her, revelling in this most delicious of gifts.

After he came, Monica pushed him back and turned him over. She probed into him, savouring the sensation of penetration, overcome with exquisite pleasure she had never known before. She fucked him, first tentively and gently, wanting the pleasure to last for ever. Soon she was overcome with passion and fucked him harder, her hands running along his back, his hips, touching his nipples. She felt her teeth begin to itch and reached up to his neck. She moaned as she felt his flesh puncture, revelled in the salty rush of crimson as his blood flooded her mouth.

A heady rush of orgasm surged through her and she felt herself coming and coming as though she would never stop.

They made an unlikely couple. Sometimes she was still Monica, the witch who liked to watch. Sometimes, she was Dimitri's visiting twin brother, Deiter, and they were the talk of the clubs.

They lured back men to Dimitri's place, fuel for sex and hunger. More blood for spells. Their secrets stayed within their circle as they haunted the night life.

The secret cabal of face dances.