How things get after 3am?
     The club is packed. The VIP areas are sweltering with bodies that run overheated and clothing that slip and slide. Such careful work and creation at 10pm melts into disheveled carelessness late into the night. Drinks flow freely and spill just as easily. Containers and packaging are left on the floors. The bathrooms demand regular checks, as patrons -common and special alike - are too lazy to go home for their fucks and instead think that stalls and doors will suffice. Despite the rumors, sex does not happen on the floor and VIP areas of Phantasmagoria. That would be illegal.
     Those so fortunate to be personal friends of Mr. Kane are allowed to retire to his personal club apartment, next door, off club premises....though connected by a stone hallway. Such is beauty of old stone buildings that undergo renovation. The tiniest of inches separating them are separation enough. And there's nothing wrong with having friends over. Things do happen between consenting adults.
     The club's sounds still resonate here, in the club apartment. Up the office elevators and over, down a corridor. The world opens up differently there, though it sounds the same. Connected living areas and a couple of private doors. Baths deluxe. A house for any other has become a staging area for one. A few take advantage of the situation, finishing in here what could not be done on club's several levels or even in the glass-walled VIP lounge that looks across the club. The celebrities remain there, needing to be seen. In here are those who do not need such sycophancy.
     Among all those here, a wide space given to him, is Julian himself. Dressed in white vinyl pants, he's in a corner, his back given to the world. No one will bother him right now. Not now. For he hovers against a man, blonde, with skin of dusted glitter and lips of sparkling pink. He does not call him by the names the girls have given him. Julian calls him Captain, for some reason, whispering softly in the man's ear. For some, it is interesting to see Mr. Kane severely under the influence...it strengthens their comfort in their own debauchery.
     "You have my attention," Julian says, "...isn't that what you wanted all night?" He sighs a little, biting his bottom lip. "So what's wrong now..."

     He is a man of many names these nights, and a man of many cards. Modeling offers, television offers -- as if, that has to be a Media joke -- offers for other well-paid services. He makes little castles of them on top of tables elseplace. Your place. This place. When he waits for you.
     You have provided him with very excellent care, but he needs so much of it. No wonder he had his own citadel with his own servants in Hell's Own Pleasure Town. Who else could keep up with the constant demands?
     He has been here for a long time now. He has been here for you. Dusted for you. Sometimes chained to your bed for you. And now you're here! Finally...
     Finally...
     He waits nightly for those specs of time he can get, the little crumbs and crumbles, the particles in their minutes and seconds and sometimes hours. Sometimes, though, he... doesn't have as much patience as he should. He demands. Worse still, he sometimes mopes, inconsolable until you come for him.
     When you come for him...
     Pharzuph turns his head to your whispers, dusted gold, honey on his skin -- brushed on him by small feather dusters and pom-poms by attentive, bare-breasted women -- a perfect bronzed companion to the pink vinyl that he wears tonight, a change from his usual gold, silver or red. He is roseate, gorgeous, vapid, deliriously beautiful, damnably forgetful Pharzuph.
     "Now... nothing is wrong now," he coos, and there is a chime, the ringing of the bell that jingles from the piercing in his tongue. His fingers slide against your skin, his arms wrapping around you. "I have your attention," Pharzuph beams, though his voice is still a whisper. He tips his head, his tongue flicking your ear, "... I have you all to myself for the rest of the night...?"
     Sly, or is that coyly? Golden eyelashes lift, his head tilted, his mouth forming into a pefect, heart-shaped curl. "You know how I hate to be alone..." He doesn't know how to be, truthfully. He becomes even a little frightened.

     "Good. I thought you were angry at me for a moment," Julian smiles. He can only be this way when Samantha is gone overnight. Those are few and far between. "I was busy," Julian explains, his broad hand at your cheek, "...you understand, hmm?"
     But there is something behind him. Julian twists to see the scene, arching his brow at what he finds across the room. After an inhale, he returns to the situation at present. "And yes, you have me for the rest of the night," Julian's words slightly slurred. He notices and shakes his head, his state obvious. "Whatever you like," demonic tongue says, "...I am yours to command."

     I don't like her...
     I don't like That Woman...
     She has taken what is rightfully mine...
     You love her better than me...
     He doesn't speak any of that diatribe, miraculously, though his face gets roseate. The same color it was when he stormed out of your private tether, disappearing behind the glass, flipping you off with some ancient Babylonian hand gesture. "I'm not angry with you," Pharzuph purrs it back, whispers of demonic language like the hissing of flame. "I just do not like being last on the list..." his finger crooks at the waistband of white vinyl pants and tugs you to him. "I remember..."
     What?
     "I remember when you and I lived in a great palace of stained glass and gold, when there was nothing that would keep us the one from the other. Now, poor Pharzuph... poor ...Julian," he uses that name though he is not talking about Julian, "... fit in between rehearsals..." Tears leap to his eyes and jealousy and anger dissipate. Nothing lasts forever with Pharzuph. For good or for ill. "I want you to hold me... I want you to tell me you will always be here for your Pharzuph. I want you to tell me..."
     That you love me, Ramariel...
     "...that your captain pleases you best... I want to be the best..."
     "Tell me... Julian..."
     "Tell me I'm the best..."
     Then when you are with Them or Her, I will still have My Place. I will still be Treasured.
     The crooking finger pulls you to him, and the kiss is blinding. The swirl of a demonic tongue, more practiced than any other in this entire building -- apart from your own -- and then he sinks to his knees, his mouth at your navel.

     How can you remember that? You cannot remember that.
     Where he was once a tower, now Julian sways, his eyes closing. Fit in between rehearsals? It is not like that. I rule here. She...accommodates me.
     I do not accommodate her.
     I love you.
     Julian's eyes open to look down at the face at his stomach. He smiles, finding the words do come easy.
     "You are the best. The very best. Better than I am, yes?"
     No one here will know the language, nor remember it. Some continental dialect. Julian's hands reach down, gently brushing cheeks. "I am sorry that I do not say it more often. Or show it. I am..." consumed with what I Am Now. Playing parts and roles to all. "I am sorry, my captain. I will work on being better."

     The very idea tickles him! Better than Julian? Better than Julian! No! He thinks to protest then the thought vanishes. He speaks demonic languages older than the earth, but they come out sounding Italian or Venetian. Garbled, beautiful, like a poisonous frog, a meat-eating flower. His tongue rolls against your navel, little chiming bell sparkling, ringing, a sound of perfection.
     "Now I wish I had been the one being bad! It is more fun to be spanked than to be doing the spanking. I forgive you," he coos, he laughs it, "Make it up to me..." The white vinyl is being undone. Who's that behind you? Do you want them to see this? Pharzuph has no couth, has no idea, and what's more doesn't care.
     His mouth plays a little, strays a little, dips into your navel a little. And then the honeyed-roseate, golden-cupid-curly haired captain stands. "You don't have enough pillows in this room," he whispers at your ear. Pharzuph smiles, hands wiggling, fingers delving in the white vinyl.

     "Not enough pillows?" Julian smiles and twists to see. "You don't think so?" His eyes wander the room as if looking at nothing but the furniture. "I can't keep pillows...they get ruined. But I'm glad that you forgive me. I will," Julian nods, "...make it up to you." There's a grin and a squirm for the hands, his folding at your wrists as if to keep them from within his trousers.
     "Happy?" he asks suddenly, just to verify.

     "None of my orifaces are filled, how happy can I be?" Pharzuph coyly remarks, wiggling fingers held in place by your grasp on his wrists. The grasp is very pleasing, even if it is a little tormenting. It is controlling. It is firm. "I am happy... I am very happy here with you, Julian. You take good care of me. You make me laugh, it is good to be here and to be happy. I was lonely before, but I'm not anymore. Someone cares for me..." he whispers. "And I know he likes me best. He told me." See, he can remember some things. Things, perhaps, that are important to remember.
     Maybe it's selective on some level...
     "Do you still have that room with the toys and harnesses in it?"
     Then again, maybe not...
     "I think you should...get more of those things... Am I beautiful? I don't know if I have enough sparkles..." He looks down at himself, gold honey dust, pink vinyl, a few crystals. Can one ever really have enough sparkles?
     His fingers wiggle, twisting despite your hold on his hands, and he looks to you. "Do I make you happy, Julian? Do you like that I am here with you now?"

     Julian grins at the random talk. "You make me happy and you are beautiful," he whispers, "...never forget that." Even if I do. "And I like you here," he says softly, nose to nose, "I just worry about you, alright?" Someone has to take care of you, it seems. And that will be me.
     I think my lot is cast. Help me.
     "I can't go to the room though,' Julian explains, "I have...to watch things here. And don't forget..." he smiles, "...we have our fill in a few hours." Of essence. "We can't go until after that. Then...it'll just be you and I."

     His eyes shimmer when he blinks. Every once in a great while you -- or whomever happened to be around -- could detect a sliver of Clarity. Pharzuph smiles. For an instant, it's like He's back. Curly, golden haired wonder, Pharzuph. "Okay," he says, and the image vanishes, it's just Pharzuph the Genius of Fornication, the shimmer, just a reflection of what he used to be.
     Ramariel...sometimes I do remember...
     He begins to move with the pounding of the club's music, distant though it is. Pharzuph presses up against you, he sways, he swipes your neck with his tongue, curls it around and ear. Open mouthed, he seeks your lips, a twisting tease, a grin. His fingers try to tickle against what is cupped in the vinyl. His other hand moves to his own stomach, fiddles with the chiming bells pierced there, before slipping between skin and pink vinyl.
     "Do you want me to feed you grapes while we wait? Do you want me to sing for you?" Sing? How long has it been since that happened? "I will pour us drinks and feed you fruit...?" He asks to serve you...
     It's what makes him happy...

     Julian sways too, caught up in a corner, oblivious to the usual boredom going on behind him. "Later," he says at your ear, "...you would make everyone jealous of me," he compliments, "...feeding me grapes and singing." His hand joins yours in the pink vinyl, twining there and keeping up with all of the motion.
     There are eyes upon you. The two in the corner. A pair in the minority, for most in the room are mixed-pairs and sets. Certainly, the throng would be interested in seeing how the great and marvelous Julian Kane gets off...it gives them something to dream about. To talk about. A in-card, to be sure. In addition, it's seeing how a fantasy plays out.
     But there's no rush in the corner for now. A bit of kissing, dancing, heavy petting. Hands stuffed into pink and white folds. The occasional whisper. After a few minutes, the crowd will go back to each its own, not getting what they'd like.
     "Have you," Julian wonders, "...not...found anyone interesting in the club? I mean, someone...you like..."

     There is quite a bit to pet held within the pink. Two for the price of one. We're all lucky that Pharzuph stopped himself at two. Could you imagine? Certainly there's more than enough for one hand to grapple with. That's been interesting to explain, but hey... there are all sorts of genetic disformities in the modern world. Some are just cooler than others...
     "Dot is nice. She is funny and kind and will do whatever I say," Pharzuph notes candidly. "She is always up for it. And she's sweet, not just easy. Belinda's nice but she's busy a lot now. Most of the boys are okay, but I have not found a group that I can depend on to be with me whenever I want them. They're working. Isis is bossy," he frowns suddenly. "And the waitresses don't like to stay after their gigs, so I don't know them very well, though they are kind to me when they are here. They bring me drinks. But they won't get on their knees for me. Dot is nice though... there's not much she won't do to make me happy. But sometimes she's with you," he frowns again. "And then I don't like her..."
     It passes over him like wind and water. The next moment, his lips are curling again. "I don't have a harem here. They all work. Sometimes, it is better just to sit and wait for you, Julian..." But then there are those nights when he is inconsolable, pissed off, jealousy and teary.
     "Are you trying to send me away?" he whispers, then gets red-faced.

     "Not ever again," Julian grins. "I was just wondering, if you had made friends or any special friends." Despite all said, Julian's cool about Dot. "How about I find you others, hmm? Would that make things better?"

     Not ever...
     Not ever again...
     Eyes lift to you and sparkle. A little smile starts at his mouth and twists. "Maybe one or two," he coos. "Someone to take me shopping, someone who will enjoy peeling grapes for me.... I like grapes peeled too," he notes for the record. "Until you come to me," he tacks on in a whisper.
     No one can replace you...
     "When you are not with me... I know the difference." I'm not that stupid. He leans in, putting his forehead to your forehead. "I'm not that stupid," he whispers. "I know it isn't you...no one is better than you...not even me..." He turns his head, and he kisses your ear.
     I love you...
     Arms encircle your waist...
     I love you...
     I don't want to forget...
     I don't want to forget this...

     "Someone to take you shopping, yes," Julian smiles, still moving despite touching foreheads, "...and someone to help you in your rooms. And someone to peel grapes for you," he whispers.
      Then, Julian stops.
     "Let's go," he whispers, pulling at your hands. A change of heart. "This..." he glances behind, "...it can take care of itself."

     "Okay," comes the whisper and his fingers slip out of vinyl, leave your skin, join your fingers and clasp there...
     Grasp there...
     Curling, holding on...
     ... Wasn't it your hand, Ramariel... your fingers that grasped the hand of a stricken Pharzuph as he lay in hiding in the aftermath of that first battle. He couldn't speak when It was over, he was struck mute even before he was struck Dumb. You held his hand then. You and Andrealphus made sure that he would not be left behind...
     And so it goes...
     Pharzuph grasps your fingers tightly, coming with you wherever you pull him. And in the motion there's something recognized. But he swallows it in a smile.
     "It can take care of itself," Pharzuph echoes, "... who will take care of us but ourselves?"

Posted by rowan at September 20, 2003 04:56 PM