Author: Chauni

Email: asukalangley2nd@yahoo.com

Website: oocities.com/asukalangley2nd/ "Angelic Demon"

Disclaimer: Do not own the characters; they belong to the wonderfully talented Kelly, maker of "Arcana". Read it. Now.

Notes: I've written something I'm proud of! Yay! I don't know how long this is going to be, but I have ideas, nice little things. I'd like to take a moment to dedicate this to Sam (Happy belated B-day!), to Ryn (thanks for always supporting me), to PC (you feed my writing ego FAR too much ::smiles::), and finally, to Kelly (thank you for all your hard work on the comic! ::Smiles::)

“ I'm dying tonight
I'm giving in to you.”
~ Adema, “Giving In”

“Incubus”

Chapter 2

Hands curled around the stand as he tugged it closer, lips parted and notes flickering through in forms of words memorized after being written down during late nights on coffee-stained paper. The crowd cried out, a living entity, hands raised as if to touch him, or heaven, or the song that hung so desperately in the air, and he closed his eye to it. They were lively tonight, loud and happy, and that made this so much easier, forcing the nerves away to some deep-rooted piece of himself where he worried no longer for it.
“Angels wrapped in barbed wire, I never stop this dizzying dance. Your kisses burn, fire, and we’re cruel, so damn cruel!”
His fingers were splayed in front of him, arm rising as he carried that note higher. He felt tight inside his flesh, dying to shed the shell and emerge as something bigger. Passion coursed through him, glad to lose himself in the music, worries no more than melodramatic daydreams with completion in sight.
“And I wanted to tell you this; I wanted to scream to you, but you’re so damn cruel!”
He wrapped both hands back around that mic stand, and the sweat running down his cheeks from the million watt lights that circled them was ignored. The final four lines were sung out, cried and free from broken lips as he swayed on his feet, soaking in his element as people screamed for him, for them all. Somewhere, he heard the final riff, the ending drum beat, cutting through his mental state like a needle through fabric. He stumbled a few steps back, bowing slightly with a little smile playing at the corner of his mouth. He opened that one chocolate eye and could see the wash of Az’s hair in the crowd, the friendly smile of Holden. Bending over, he picked up a plastic water bottle down by his feet, waved to the crowd, and walked backstage.
There really wasn't much to "backstage", just a cardtable with some water, a fan, dirty light from overhead flickering fluorescents, and a place for their instrument cases. Without a glance, he tossed his bottle into a garbage can that lurked in the corner and began to pack up his guitar in the velvet lined, sticker covered case. Drawing it close with a snap, the corners of his lips curled up, lighting up the visible portions of his face that, those not covered by his hair. He was satisfied with the performance; it had been one of their best in awhile, and dragging out new material seemed to have done the trick.
"Great show," he said, curling his fingers around the plastic handle of the case and hefting it up. "Don't forget we have practice tomorrow at three-fifteen, 'kay?"
Obligatory speech, short as it was, finished, he nodded to everyone and ducked back out on stage. Lights had been turned back on, and the crowd was milling about and talking while prerecorded radio music filtered through speakers in the ceiling. A couple of the fans approached him, stroking his ego while discussing the new music, the “strong vocals” and the “kick ass beat”. He leaned against the back of the stage, resting his case on the wooden planks as he chit chatted with them until Az and Holden came over to save him. He gave the stragglers a nod and thanks as they shuffled away, and practically latched onto his saviors’ arms once they were within reach.
“Finally! I thought they were going to keep me here all night!” he whimpered, showering both of them with a large smile. He had to admit, he was hungry and the idea of being detained by people for countless hours on end was not something he had on his To Do List.
“You know, you can always tell them you have to go,” Azriel suggested, shaking a long finger at him. “I’m sure they would understand.”
Holden reached out to poke the tip of his finger into his brother’s side, laughing. “He’s too nice for that, the softy.”
Moving away from that prodding digit while managing not to squirm due to the ticklish area it had caressed, he snatched his case up again. “Just because I indulge in fan service doesn’t mean I’m a softy. Just means I care about the audience.”
“And that he wants to sell more CDs,” Sloane added as he hopped from the stage, landing beside their little cluster. In his right hand was an instrument case as well, bumper stickers and band logos scattered across the black sound plastic.
“Why does everyone think picking on me is a national past time?” Caine muttered, scuffing the toe of his shoe on the smooth tile floor.
“You mean it isn’t?” Lava hair swayed as Az reached up to deliver rubbing knuckles against the crown of Caine’s head, laughing at the sisterly display of a noogie. “I could have sworn I read somewhere that it was!”
The vocalist stumbled back a few paces, waving his hand back and forth and promptly fixing his hair with a mild glare. “Ha. Ha. Ha. So, if you’re all finished, I think I’m going to grab a bite to eat and then run home. There’s a pop quiz tomorrow in one of my classes.” He eyed them as they stared at him, and allowed an innocent expression to flood into his face as he shrugged. “Hey! It’s not my fault that his lesson planner was lying wide open while I was walking by his desk and I accidentally glanced at it. He should take better care of his stuff!”
He ignored the groans and the comments from the others as he walked away, waving a hand behind him as the starving crowd swallowed him, disappearing into depths while he headed towards the door.

~*~

It was marginally warmer this night than the previous ones, which pleased Caine to no end. He had a simple plan formed, which consisted of stopping at some greaseball fast food place, picking up a couple hamburgers, and running home to study. Exciting, he knew, especially since he should be celebrating another great show, but the stress from yesterday had begun to set in. Yes, simple relaxation, and nothing more sounded absolutely perfect.
He ran over a few flaws concerning the concert in his head as he strolled, things they would have to work on in the next couple of practice sessions to smooth over. The world fizzled to something he dodged when it blocked his way home, but he paid little more attention than that, ignoring the sights, the scents, and following a path memorized from countless times of taking the same exact steps the same exact time a hundred times before.
Strange how the world had been devoured by white noise, and yet he could still hear the soft call of his name from the depths of some shadow-strewn alley as he passed it by.
Right leg raised, he ceased in mid-step, feeling foolish in his position before righting himself and turning towards the darkness. Something, someone had called his name, he knew it, and there was no doubt in his mind who it was. He hated it, the thought of it and what swathed itself in shadows just waiting for him to come in, but he had little choice considering who it was who was speaking.
After all, it's not like he could let this asshole terrorize his brother anymore.
Caine gained a few steps into midnight darkness, holding up his case a little higher in case he was attacked; the guitar could be replaced, he had to remember, but he could not.
“Come on out, you bastard,” he growled through clenched teeth. His knuckles burned white as if there was no skin stretched thin over his bones, his mocha eye narrowed and consumed in hatred. “I have a few bones to pi-”
The wall met him with an unyielding kiss as his back was shoved against the hard siding, fingers reacting on instinct and dropping the case with a dead clatter. He groaned softly as the back of his head smacked the building then rolled forward, world hazy in the sudden gray it had faded into. For the amount of coherent thought he could manage, he berated himself for falling into the obvious trap the other had laid for him, using himself as bait.
“…fuck…”
The universe consisted completely of crimson eyes as he saw Vincent, damned vampire, staring at him, felt the hand tighten around his throat as his head was pushed back to lock gazes. “Such language. I shouldn’t be surprised, considering the trash they’re coming from.”
The vocalist coughed, struggling for breath until the hand loosened enough for an eager gasp to be sucked in. “What the hell do you want with me?”

“Your memory seems to be failing, doesn’t it?” Vincent purred, lips pulling up into a smirk that slid free a sharpened canine. “I told you last time.”
Last time? He wracked his brain, going through it quickly until he recalled the words the other had hissed to him. But that was a dream…wasn’t it? Wasn’t it?! “L-last time…”
“Awww, what’s wrong, Caine?” Vincent shifted his thumb, ebony nail pushing the other’s shocked head back as he nestled his face into the crook of the other’s neck. “Didn’t think it was real? Is that it?” He purred against the flesh, lips brushing ever so lightly against the pulse that screamed in an erratic voice. “It’s okay, because you’ll think the same of tonight, too, when I’m done with you. I’ll let you remember one of these days, let you remember everything.”
“Fuck you.“ Fingernails clawed at the wall for a moment, before his fist curled into a tight fist and sailed towards the vampire’s stomach.
Caine didn’t even have to look to see those scarlet eyes roll as the palm of the other’s hand caught the wrist and slammed it back against the wall without so much as a missed breath. Skin around the knuckles split, sending new torrents of scarlet down pale flesh. The fingernails at his skin flexed, rippled with pressure until five trickles of blood tainted his flesh, rolling, rolling, rolling. “Pathetic,” Vincent murmured, licking away each one, flicking his tongue in ways that made the other ill.
“Stop, you sadistic asshole!” growled Caine, but he dared not move, not with those nails at his throat, not with the idea of him tearing it out fresh in his mind. “Leave me the hell alone!”
“When I’m done, when I’m done,” the other purred. “So impatient, I swear.”
He pushed himself against the wall, willing himself to become transparent, to melt into the bricks and get himself away from the claws at his throat, from that lifeless breath washing over him. This wasn't fair, it wasn't happening, it didn't happen before and this is all a dream, right? No, not a dream, but a nightmare, and he'd wake screaming in bed any minute now, and Holden would wake up and--
"You really are beautiful," the voice whispered, words hot against the curved shell of his ear. "Especially when you're deluding yourself."
Played the puppet, he felt his face being turned, head rolling to the side, and those twin points soon found themselves embedded in his flesh once again.
M-maybe... it hadn't been a dream...after all...

~*~

Morning again, as the light streamed in through gauzy curtains, and he pulled the pillow over his head, groaning. The room was silent, eerily quiet, signaling that Holden had long been gone and in class. Feet, still clad in the shoes from the night before, kicked gently beneath the blanket he had strewn clumsily over his clothed body. Somewhere, something was sounding some sort of alarm, annoying, high-pitched, bla--
Oh, his clock.
Caine slammed an irritated fist down against the beeping plastic, hearing a quiet crack as he pried open one blurry chocolate eye. Eleven-fifty-six a.m. It wasn’t even noo-
Shit! He scrambled free from sheets and bedding, random curses flying from his lips as he yanked the clock closer to his face as if worried he had viewed the numbers wrong. His test, damn it! He still had another ten minutes until class ended and maybe, if he ran and left right this second, he could make it and give the professor some excuse and--
“Caine?”
His head darted up, dark hair swinging across his vision for a moment before he brushed it away. “Sloane?” he called back. “Why aren’t you at the test?”
Chartreuse eyes and glasses peeked inside the room, before the rest of him followed. He leaned against the doorframe, arms folded neatly over his narrow chest, and his lips drawn thin. Sloane never caught him as one to reprimand, but he had a feeling that whatever was going to be said wasn’t going to sound particularly pleasant. “I was going to ask the same of you.”
“I slept in,” Caine muttered, grabbing his coat from the floor where he had apparently dropped it last night. Last night…he couldn’t remember anything from last night. Probably with the headache that was screaming and dancing behind his temples, that was a good thing. “Alarm must not have gone off.”
“Professor’s already gone,” Sloane said, unfolding his arms enough to wave his right hand back and forth. “The test was easy and everyone was done early, so he let us go.”
“Shit!” he growled, throwing his coat to the floor once again. Falling back onto the bed, he realized how dirty he felt, that he needed a shower in the worst way, and slowly, he turned one eye towards Sloane. And he was hungry. Really hungry.
The bassist pushed himself from the doorway, and once he reached the other’s bed, he sat down beside him with his arms still crossed. “Is there something wrong?” He untangled himself, palms of his hands finding the rumpled comforter beneath him and leaned back. “Between the daydreaming and the oversleeping, I mean. This isn’t like you. I probably would’ve written it off as a new girlfriend, but you would’ve told us.”
“Nothing’s wrong,” murmured Caine. “I’ve just been sleeping funny and having weird dreams.”
Sloane nodded, slowly, as he stared at the curtains and the window that revealed the bustling world of campus life in full swing. He could buy that; strange dreams could be seriously disrupting to normal life. He had several after him and Holden had kissed that one day. “Are you stressed? Maybe you need to take a break.”
The dark head shook, sleepy hair moving slowly. “No more stress than usual.”
Sloane leaned closer to him, staring at the one visible eye as his finger reached out to press against the puffy purple flesh beneath that tired brown eye. “You look terrible.”
“Thanks.”
“Get some sleep,” Sloane said, snatching his finger away with a smile. “Take the rest of the day off.”
Caine leveled a flat glare at him, neither mean nor kind. “Remember, you’re Holden’s boyfriend; not mine.” A little smirk danced around his edge of his lips, threatening to tug them up. “Even though I know no one can resist me.”
A polite clearing of the throat cut through the air of the room, and Sloane rolled his eyes as he stood up. “Yep. And now you’re delusional from all this. Get some sleep.”
“Fine, fine, mom,” he muttered, kicking off his shoes and listening them tumbling to the ground. He found refuge beneath blankets and sheets once again, cheek rubbing against the top of the pillow. “I’ll see you later. Heard you and Holden have a date.”
The pink kiss that slid into his cheeks was impossible to miss, and he hung his head a little before heading towards the front door. “Yeah. I’ll see you later.” And the sound of the door closing sounded his tactful retreat.
Caine fell asleep a heartbeat later as the reverberating of the door faded from the air, and his dreams were filled with scarlet-streaked eyeglasses.



…to be continued…