Faint Ch. 02

"You KISSED him?!"

"Pass me the wrench, will you?"

Genesis stared at Chase...well, what was visible of him 'cause the upper part of his body was hidden under the car he was currently restoring. "Chase! What the hell, man. Have you forgotten your history with those people?"

"No, I have not. Now will you please pass the damn wrench?"

Genesis could not believe her ears. How Chase could be so nonchalant about sucking face with an Anderson was beyond her. He'd practically hammered it into her that those people were just pure filth. And after everything they put Chase and his family through, Gen wasn't too crazy about them either. And now Chase was acting like none of it ever even happened.

She sighed. "Am I missing something here? Did the last ten or so years of serving those, and I quote, 'self-righteous, pompous dick-heads' not happen? Why are you so okay with this?"

"Jeez, Gen." Chase groaned from under the car.

Genesis watched as a wrench rose from the huge toolbox next to her and disappeared under the car.

"When did it happen?"

"About two weeks ago."

Genesis laughed, sarcastically. "Wow. Two weeks, and I'm only finding out about it now. And here I was, thinking that we were best friends or something, that we told each other everything."

"Gen, don't do that." Chase said resignedly. Sliding out from under the car, he got up and picked up a rag, wiping his oily hands with it. For a second, Genesis didn't recognize him without his trademark shaggy, black hair, a due improvement in her books. What does it really matter that he never wanted to go THAT short?

She took the rag from him and made him face her. "Chase, please, level with me. I thought I knew and nothing you do could ever surprise me but, I gotta tell you, I did not see this coming."

Chase laughed. "No kidding. Your future telling sucks ass." But he sobered immediately at the murderous look on her face.

Now Genesis was used to Chase's straight-forwardness. It was obvious his brain didn't have that filter that enables one to fit into social convention. Usually she'd laugh it off, but her psychic abilities, or lack thereof, had always been a very touchy subject.

"You know what?" she said, standing up and picking up sling bag. "Fuck you, Chase. I'm outta here."

"Gen, wait. Don't go. I'm sorry."

Genesis stared at him. "What is wrong with you Chase? Are you determined to drive away everyone that cares about you?"

"I'm sorry." he said, his eyes on the ground.

She sighed. She never could resist that bloody, 'I'm-messed-up-and-I-know-it-so-please-forgive-me' look. "What's going on in that crazy, little head of yours Chase? What are you up to?"

"Can't say. But what I do for sure is that kiss felt right. Like for the first time in my life, I took a step in the right direction."

"And where exactly is the destination? With Slater Anderson? The two of you living in a house on the hill somewhere? Happily ever after?"

Chase laughed, the deep dimples in his cheeks making a very rare appearance. Genesis couldn't help smile too, despite herself.

"I definitely don't think the road is gonna take us there but, I'll let you know as soon as I do."

Genesis tsked at him. "Jumping into the deep end, blindly, with both feet as usual, I see."

Chase took a heavy swig of his now-warm beer before heading back to the car. "If it weren't stupid I wouldn't be doing it I guess." he said, somewhat more to himself than to her.

Genesis realised that this could be more serious than she'd originally anticipated. Acting irrational was nothing new to Chase. For most his life, he'd managed to convince himself he had nothing to lose. No family, no dreams, no partners. He didn't even care if the Anderson's decided to kick him off their property. No one knew why they allowed him to stay there anyway, for free. Of course, in exhchange, he had to do a little manual labour here and there. Still, Xavier Anderson had enough staff to make the Queen jealous. Why he kept Chase on was anybody's guess.

But the fact that Chase actually giving thought into this situation with the Anderson boy, left her more than a little worried. It was times like these that she wished she were a better psychic.

"Well, I have to leave anyway. I have a ,consult' to get to." she said to him, as he popped the hood of the car. "I'll see you tonight, okay? Try not to do anything too overly stupid until then."

Chase looked up at her and surprised her with another warm smile. Strange.

"Oh, uh, by the way, I meant to ask. What are you doing out here, anyway?"

"What do you mean?" he asked, far to quickly. "It's a beautiful day. I thought I'd take advantage of it." The smile was gone, his eyes were panic-stricken and his face was...flushed. Definitely strange.

"I mean, you're up before noon. Working in the sun, like you're actually enjoying it. Not like the same person who cringes at the mere sight of light. You don't even have light bulbs in your cottage. And uh, did you just use the word 'beautiful'?"

He opened his mouth, closed it, and then opened it again, looking extremely flustered and uncomfortable. This was new. Chase was actually nervous or embarrassed or both.

"Well, I- you-, it- it was...Yeah."

Genesis stared at him vacantly for a few seconds. He couldn't even look her in the eye.

"Right. Of course. Sounds good." she said sarcastically and gathering her stuff again. She came here for answers about why Chase had been such a stranger for the last two weeks or so, and he told her, but she was now more confused than ever. The person with sharpest tongue she'd ever heard couldn't even give her a straight answer to a simple question. It was annoyingly baffling. And incredibly refreshing. "So tonight then?"

"Yeah." he said, letting out a rushed breath. He looked up at her, clearly grateful that she hadn't pushed for an answer.

But as she walked away, she already had an idea of what was going on. Crappy psychic or not she knew her best friend. And really thinking about the situation for the first time, she couldn't stop a wide smile from spreading across her face. It was a beautiful day indeed.

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"Mr Anderson, Your father would like to see you immediately. Thank you."

Layla's low, usually seductive voice sounded like nails on a chalkboard today as it blared over the intercom system. Slater massaged his temples slowly, willing the agonising headache to fade away. Sitting at his desk, he had been preparing to sink into a nice, thick, encyclopaedia sized book when a blinding pain slammed into him, as if he'd collided head first into a concrete wall. It wasn't the first time this had happened. Over the past fourteen days, he'd been doubling over in pain, randomly, as people looked on. Some were almost certain he was dying. It certainly felt like dying. Headache and migraine pills proved worthless, but he drank them anyway. They brought sleep. Satisfyingly dreamless sleep. Slater laid his head down on the desk and closed his eyes, hoping that a few moments of rest would help ease the pain. His father would probably chew his ear off for being late, but what were a few minutes, really?

"Slate! Wake up!"

Slate's head snapped up as he felt someone shake his shoulder violently. His first instinct was to hurt whatever it was that thought it had the right to touch him, teach the creature a lesson it'd never forget. His fangs were already bared when he saw the small, effeminate hand on his shoulder. His fangs retracted and his anger dissipated immediately, only to be replaced by overwhelming exhaustion. Where the hell were these feelings coming from all of a sudden, he thought. Since when did he have such a strong, almost undeniable urge to hurt people?

"Are you okay? You're so pale." said Virgil, putting his soft, cool hand across Slate's fevered forehead. Virgil's eyes widened with worry when he felt just how hot Slate was, considering he had never gotten sick before. Not once.

Slate shook off Virg's hand and stood up, taking a moment to gain his bearings, before heading into the lavish bathroom adjoining his office. Looking into the mirror, he could see why Virgil was so worried. He looked positively sheet white, his red hair was slick with sweat and sticking to his neck. Even his skin was clammy. Slate splashed some cold water onto his face, trying to put himself back together. But that dream...

"Your father's pissed. He's still waiting for you, you know." Virg called from the bedroom.

"Shit."

Slater only realised now the light shining in through the windows had dimmed quite considerably. He must have dozed off for a couple of hours at least.

"Shit." he said again, thinking about just how pissed his father must be. The man had no patience for bullshit whatsoever, part of what made him such a great businessman, his admirers always said. Slate just thought it made him a tyrant.

"What's up with you, Slater?" asked Virgil, stepping into the bathroom. "You've never kept the big man waiting before."

For a minute, Slater was tempted to talk to Virg. Just tell him about everything, especially that kiss. Virg did look genuinely concerned, his fascinatingly feminine face screwed up in apprehension.

"I'm fine, Virg. I'm just in a funk, ok?" he said instead, drying his face with a towel.

"Oh. Is that what you're calling it?"

He turned to look at Virgil. His question had an accusing undertone to it that worried Slate deeply. There was no he could know. It was just a kiss, for fuck's sake. A wonderfully slow, hot kiss...but still just a kiss. Virgil was standing there, his arms folded across his lean chest and both eyebrows raised. It was almost as though he was daring Slate to lie to him.

"Virg, if you have something to say, then say it."

"Okay. Your aura has literally tripled in power over the past couple of weeks" He narrowed his eyes. "Or did you think that no-one would notice?"

Truthfully, Slate hadn't thought that anyone had noticed. Hell, even he didn't notice anything until yesterday morning after his shower. He'd been quite shocked when he'd looked in the mirror to find that his entire form was very lightly emitting a foggy, silverish vapour.

Virgil took one look at Slater's guilt-laden grey eyes and knew immediately that his and everybody else's suspicions had been right all along. Slater Anderson had definitely dominated someone intimately.

"Damnit, Slate! Are you fucking crazy! You know how unstable you can be!"

"Do I, Virg?" Slate demanded, feeling his temper rise slowly. "All I know is what you and Dad have told me. I've been punished my whole life for something I don't even remember doing."

"It's not a punishment if it's necessary."

Slater laughed dryly. "Yeah, necessary. Right."

"Yes. Necessary. Need I remind you what happened last time?"

As soon as the words left his lips, Virgil knew he'd made a grave mistake. Slate's body tensed up so quickly, it was a miracle he didn't pull anything. The atmosphere thickened considerably and when Slate spoke, Virg could have sworn he saw a sliver of extended canines.

"Don't you ever. Talk about my mother. Again." growled Slate, his thickened voice reverberating around the cold bathroom.

"I'm sorry, Slate" said Virg slowly, after a few moments of a very intense silence. He lowered his eyes. He couldn't bare seeing Slate looking at him like that, like he'd love nothing more than to rip his throat out and feed it to the dogs. "I'm just really worried about you. We all are. You have to be careful." Virgil pleaded.

Slater didn't say anything then, thinking very carefully about the situation. What was happening to him? Why was he so angry all of a sudden? So jumpy? And the headaches, the dreams! What the hell did they all mean? And if Virg knew about all this, that meant his father knew too. Shit.

He walked passed a very shame-faced Virgil, into his bedroom. He picked up his tie, considered it for a second before discarding it to the floor again. The mere thought of anything constricting him made his blood rush.

"Could you please tell my father that I'm sorry, but I won't be able to attend the dinner party tonight." he said to Virg, who was still looking extremely ashamed. Now that he'd calmed down, Slate was starting to feel bad about going off at Virg like that. Virgil, his best- his only friend since he was a kid. The one who would always drop everything whenever Slate needed him, no matter what it was. The one who would always give himself freely to Slate, after a particularly vicious session with Johnny M, his father's most skilled personal bodyguard, just so he could help him heal. Slater was under no illusions that he deserved a friend like Virgil.

Virgil turned his big, brown eyes to Slate and said rather sadly, "Where will you go?"

Slater cracked a smile and walked towards him. Slate leaned down and Virg's heart nearly thumped out of his ribcage when he felt Slate's soft lips caress his cheek briefly.

"Thank you for caring." Slate's said, sincerely. And then he was gone.

Virgil sighed miserably. Falling for Slater Anderson was the most foolish thing he'd ever done.

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Chase was content. He was in that place again. That place where nothing mattered. Absolutely nothing. There was no love here, no compassion. But there was also no pain. God, he'd had enough of pain.

Clad in nothing but his jeans, Chase was floating lazily a few inches above the ground, his eyes closed and his great black wings making an appearance every now and then. His head was thrown back and his arms hung loosely at his sides. He was in complete peace.

He was so relaxed, he didn't notice the slight movement of air around him. By the time he caught a whiff of that potent magic, it was too late. His concentration snapped immediately and he couldn't stop himself from dropping down to the hard floor and landing flat on his ass.

"Fuck." he cursed angrily.

Slater Anderson emerged slowly from the shadows, that ever-present smirk on his face. "I'm sorry. Were you in the middle of something?" he asked, extending his hand for Chase.

"Fuck you." Chase retorted, ignoring Slate's hand and getting up. "Don't you ever use doors?" he said, rubbing his surely bruised ass.

"Not in a very long time, believe it or not." replied Slate, his eyes roaming over Chase's naked torso slowly. For a moment, he had that look in his eye, the same look he'd had when they'd kissed. Chase's breath hitched and he was sure that he was blushing. Thank God there are no lights in here, he thought. But for the second time, Slate turned away from him, opting instead to look around Chase's bare, darkened bedroom.

"Wow, twice times in two weeks you've come to see me. Careful. People might start thinking you like me." Chase said.

"God forbid." replied Slate, inspecting one of the few items Chase had in his room: a delicately framed black and white picture of his father.

"No seriously, dude, what gives?"

Slater seemed to sober up, his easy smile faltering a little. He carefully put the picture back on the mantelpiece. "I don't know." he said, avoiding Chase's questioning eyes. "I guess...there's just something about you."

"Something about me?" Chase inquired.

Slater lowered his head, seemingly in thought. "I can't explain it."

"Then try, Slater." Chase pushed, his voice rising. He just had to know.

When Slater continued to say nothing, Chase did all he could to not pull out his practically non-existent hair. This was the same old Slater. Everything was always nothing but a game to him. It was hopeless to think that he would ever change and that, more than anything, depressed Chase greatly. But wait...

"You seem different." It was only now that Chase took a good look at Slater. With both of them drenched in darkness, the only source of light streaming in through the window from the moon, Slate was surrounded by a light glow. Chase had seen it before, but it had never been this prominent. And the gods be damned if he didn't look fucken sinful. Chase's well adjusted eyes fed greedily on the image of Slater, standing there, looking at him expectantly with a slight smile on his lips, his scarlet hair pointing in all directions and the top two buttons of his shirt undone, revealing smooth, hairless, tanned skin. That little bit of exposed skin was enough to make his dick stand at attention. Thank god it's dark in here, he thought again.

"It's you." Slate said finally.

"Me?"

"Yes." he said walking slowly towards Chase, "Before you, Chase, before that night. I was dying. Don't as me how I know. I just do." he chuckled softly, walking closer still, "Then you walked into my studio, and everything changed. I started to feel...alive again. For the first time in a very long time. I don't know how and I don't why. But what I do know, " he stopped dead in front of Chase, cupped his ass and pulled him flush against his own growing erection. He hissed quietly before finishing, "Is how right this feels."

Chase closed his eyes and bit down his moan. He tried to ignore the scorching heat of Slater's hard dick against his, the feathery touches of his hair tickling his forehead and cheek as he leaned down, the hands that were lightly groping his ass. It all felt too fucken good.

"Kiss me again, Chase." Slate whispered, his hot breath washing over Chase's ear, causing him to shiver uncontrollably.

In a last ditch attempt to pull himself together, Chase tried to remind himself why doing this was so wrong. Our families hate each other. He made most of my life a living hell. My father's dying wish was for me to destroy him.

But not even Chase's father's very presence would have stopped him leaning up, into Slater's soft, waiting lips. He expected Slater to take control like he did last time, anticipated it even, but after a few seconds and all he got was soft flesh and tongue, Chase let his own desires take over, eagerly sucking on Slater's parted lips. When the kiss got deeper, he wound his hand into Slater's mass of hair and pulled him in, inhaling him, drinking him in, getting his share of that exclusive magic. His hips automatically began to grind into Slate's firm structure. Even in his extremely aroused state, he noticed that Slater was barely moving. His mouth was receiving and his hands now lay motionless on Chase's hips. His erection however, was still rock hard through his slacks.

Chase force himself away from Slater's mouth, ending the kiss with a groan. He looked up at Slate, who was looking back at him, his expression unreadable.

"What's wrong?" Chase asked, although deep inside, he already knew. His own hands dropped from Slater's body just as Slate began to talk.

"I should leave."

"Of course you should." scoffed Chase, turning away from Slate, partly because he becoming dangerously close to tears and partly because everytime Slater walked away from him, Chase felt like a part of him was dying.

"I know this isn't fair to you, Chase. You have every reason to be pissed." Slate explained to Chase's clearly tense back. When Chase failed to respond, Slater continued.

"Look, You don't understand. This is the only way I can get be with you. It can't go any further than this."

Slater's voice had an edge of frustration in it that pulled at Chase's heartstrings. He almost sounded as aggravated as Chase felt.

"Why not?" Chase asked, his back still towards Slate.

For a few moments, Slate didn't say anything. Just stared. Stared at Chase, standing there in front of his bedroom window, entire body bathed in the moonlight. His lean back rippling with defined muscles, his jeans hanging loosely just above the dimples above his ass. Slate could see shadows of his huge wings fluttering slightly in the cool breeze. And when Chase turned to face him, with his eyes completely clouded over, Slater had to look away; the urge to take advantage of Chase was so strong.