His car pulled up outside. A black sleek machine. All gadgets, flashing lights and the stinking smell of raw leather upholstery. He stepped out in one full sleek move, a black panther on the hunt. A shimmering glimmering man in a long black velvet coat. The bouncers stepping aside, the music beating against the glass doors, threatening to shatter explode outwards. He stood, the doors opening, everything rushing out to greet him. He breathed it all in, the swirling bodies moving, hearts beating, blood pumping. The music echoing in their ears.

He stepped over the threshold.

The air was hinged with perfume and the sweet smells of sweat and perspiration. Cigarette smoke swirling through the air. Glasses clinking, gold liquid sparkling in the flashing lights. Bubbles popping, chatter rising up above the music, spiralling into the rafters. Everything moving to the beat. Hail Mary full of Grace.

He moved danced spun across the dance floor to the beating rhythms of Mary J Blige. Family Affair. Everyone dancing, jumping backwards, moving forwards to the beat, the rhythm. Her voice, the music dramatic, bouncing off the walls filling everyone with motion.

His fingers long, almost feminine. Gold glitter in his hair, sparkling and shimmering in the flashing lights. His body slim, his eyes searching, roving through the crowds. People gathered on a Friday night. Laughter and raucous chatter. Drinks lifted to lips, liquid flowing down. The bars crowded, people pushing, trying to be served. The industrial design of the building, sometimes cold, a backdrop against the search for human contact, the search for love, a quick one-night stand.

He swooped amongst the crowds, twisting like some sprite dancing in the forests to the music of Pan. His body leaning close, touching, seductive, his eyes beguiling. The lust thirst building, crushing, pounding in his ears. A single beat consuming him. He drew himself towards the flickering flames of their bodies. In his eyes they held all the lustre of diamonds, glinting and sparkling.

He moved towards the toilets, moving through the crowds. The shiny white tiled walls sparkled in the fluorescent tube lighting. Like a shadow he moved amongst the boys pissing at the urinals. The stench nauseating. He moved towards the cubicles, the door moving and shutting behind him. A boy; he swooped on him. Fingers around his slender neck. Blood gushing out, a crimson tide. Like an angel of death he descended and took his fill. Silky skin like wings flapping. The boy had no time to wonder, to react. The blood splattered the cubicle, the tiles. His skin soaking it up like a sponge, like a magnet it flew towards him like iron filings. Great globs of coagulated blood flying in the air around him and sinking into his flesh. His eyes glimmering, his lips turning cherry red, his skin glowing, filling with warmth. The boy a crumpled heap, a drained shell. Pale and still. Beauty frozen. He smiled looking at the boy and began to tear at his flesh.

Moments later he stood by the large glass windows looking out onto the streets. The people gathered waiting to be let in. Cars zooming past, police cars slowing down. Lads taunting, shouting. Drunk. He smiled to himself. Girls flirting, shivering against the cold wind. He marvelled at the sheer determination of people. Like sheep they moved from pub to club to home. In a stupor of drink and pills they staggered like zombies of the night. Submerged, sinking, drowning in a despair of their own making.

He turned around. The music changed beat. Kylie's voice singing out. Love Affair. The music pounding out loud and clear. Her sweet crystal voice rising above the din. Some danced, some sat on metal chairs smoking.

He moved amongst them all, laughing, chatting, seducing. Swirling, spinning, dazzling their eyes and minds. Images of lust and passion exploding amongst satin sheets. One dreamt of being handcuffed and spanked. Another dreamt of an orgy, a tangled mess of limbs and open mouths. Another just dreamt of the simplicity of comfort. While another dropped a powder into a girl's drink. Behind their suburban homes, their apartments and chic town houses they hid their secrets like some dark cloud. In their eyes he saw it all, the deception, the lies, the fear and he wallowed in it all.

He looked to the gallery above. The solitary ones leaning against the barrier, dancing alone. Trying to look seductive, trying to catch someone's eyes. Their hips swinging, feet tapping. White trainers flashing, faded demin. A girl stood on a chair dancing to the beat. Hands raised, blond hair flowing and flying out.

Everything so beautiful, playful games, thinly veiled disguises hidden behind make-up and body language. A young lad made an approach towards a girl. Almost tripping over in his drunken stupor. His friends stood by the bar laughing. He watched everything from afar. The lad, maybe 19. Slim and pretty, but so drunk. He touched the girl's arm, whispered something into her ear. She giggled. They made their way outside to some back alley. The seed planted, something growing, maybe a disease spreading. Amongst their moans and groans a spark ignited, the egg released, the seed swimming upstream.

He looked to the gallery and saw a young lad alone and dancing. Hands held onto the rail and swinging, dancing, moving to the rhythms. Slim and so pretty, shaved head, tight faded jeans that seemed the norm these days. White, so bright white trainers. T-shirt tight and slim, showing off his chest, his nipples protruding through the thin material. Look at me I'm gorgeous he said to the world around him.

He closed his eyes and reached across the crowds. Zoomed into the lad, into his mind, into the dark areas, the memories, the thoughts and emotions.

Everything came spinning out of his mind. Images, memories, childhood, high school, they flooded his mind. He could feel him, his breath, his beating heart, his pounding blood rushing through the veins. He smiled to himself. He looked to the lad; he was looking back at him and smiling.

He moved towards the stairs and began to climb them one by one. Moving through the people, a full drink held in his hand. He came towards the lad, the lad moved towards him, his hand reaching outwards.

"Hi. I'm Greg." He almost whispered to the man standing opposite him.

The man took it. "I'm Adam." They shook hands. Sat down. Leaned close to each other, to hear words, to hear the beating of Greg's heart.

They spoke, words spilling from each other's lips.

"Pardon?" Adam asked.

Greg leaned forward, his lips almost touching Adam's ear. His breath hot and fiery as he spoke into his ear. His skin almost touching, almost brushing against Adam's face. Adam smiled within himself, a secret thrill rushing, such easy games to play. Bodies almost touching, legs brushing against each other. Static energy passing, currents shifting and changing.

He nodded in agreement, to whatever Greg had said. People milled about them, lost in their own moments, oblivious to Adam and Greg. The world shifted, changed pace, slowed down to a single beat.

Greg got up, said he needed the toilet and disappeared down the stairs. A few moments later Adam followed. A drunken lad was trying to piss and missed the urinal, his piss spilling onto the floor, down his leg. His mates laughing at him. His words slurred as he told them to fuck off. Adam walked to the end cubicle, the door opened and shut behind him. 'Hmm interesting same cubicle as before.' He thought to himself.

Greg stood with his back to him, unaware. Cutting the powder, chopping and slicing, chopping again. White lines glistening in the fluorescent lighting. He leaned over and sniffed the powder up and through his nose. Like glitter it sparkled and dazzled as it shot through his body. Rocket man spinning into outer space.

Adam watched with fascination at this little ritual. Greg snorting and sniffing every bit of powder up. Moving his nose over the porcelain, like a hoover he took it all up. Brushed the back of his hand against his nose, residue powder brought and rubbed against his lips, teeth.

Adam raised his hands up, brought them forward and touched Greg's back. He turned round surprised, caught, stunned. Eyes like a rabbit in the headlights of an oncoming car. His words slightly slurred. His eyes dilating, pupils retracting, growing shrinking growing again.

Adam leaned over and kissed him. Lips touching. Electric kisses caught against the brilliant white tiles. Two bodies, two heartbeats, pushing, pulsating. Greg's eyes suddenly questioning, pulling away.

"I think you've got the wrong idea mate."

Adam looked at him. His hands moved down to Greg's dick beneath the demin jeans and began to play with it. Greg brushed his hands away. He reached down again; it was already beginning to grow, to stiffen, to flood with blood. To move and push against the jeans, a caged thing trying to break free.

"Are you so sure?" Adam questioned.

He moved closer, pressing his body against Greg's. The hard tiles behind them, cold and gleaming. He smiled at Greg. He brought his hands up to Greg's head and brought his face to his lips, his kisses. Pushed his tongue deep into Greg's mouth, fighting at first. But Adam wouldn't let go. The music outside dull and distant. Hearts beating, blood pushing, cheeks flushed. Emotions running wild. Hands beginning to grope, to push and pull. Wild.

"Come back to my place, I have some more of that white powder." Adam whispered into Greg's ears. The sound of his voice almost like an electric shock, coursing through his ear and igniting in his brain. He nodded back, spellbound, caught in a net.

They walked out of the club. The car sat waiting. Greg stared at it. Doors opened as Adam walked round and stepped in. The car reminded Greg of the Batmobile. He stepped inside and the doors shut, encasing them. Silence filling the space.

Adam pulled on the clutch and the car sped off along the roads. Dodging cars left and right, moving between them, past them. The leather seat hugging Greg's body.

They drove past clubbers young and old. Up through Lancaster and past the hospital. Adam suddenly pulled Greg towards him and began to kiss him. Car lights flashing past like camera flashes. The moment instilled, ingrained. Greg caught his breath, delirious. He wasn't sure anymore, confused and bewildered. Disorientated. If this was a trip, it was some trip. Cars speeding towards them, Adam's hand firmly on the wheel swiftly dodged them as there tongues entwined deep in each other's mouths.

They came to an abrupt stop. A black door. A stone house. Adam jumped out of the car pushed the key in and opened it. Warm air blasted out to greet him. A black Doberman came running towards it's master and jumped up. Adam patted the dog and followed it indoors. Greg followed inwards and looked around him in amazement. Marble tiled floors like a chequer board, paintings by Sir Edward Burne-Jones. He looked to the titles of these paintings. Wheel of Fortune. Pan and Psyche. White lilies hung in vases everywhere, there trumpet shaped heads open, the rich perfume filling the house, strong and luxurious. Light filtered through into the rooms, shafts of faded grey light catching everything, setting it alight. Like mist it settled on everything.

In the living room, a fire was burning, a glow. Red veined leather Chesterfield sofas and soft white curtains. At the back of the room were French windows that opened up onto the garden, a night scented garden of jasmine and deadly nightshade.

Adam began to go up the stone stairs, his hands holding the black iron banister and Greg followed him up and up. Spiralling, round and round.

"Where's the stuff then?" Greg asked after him.

"Just in this room." Adam moved quickly, hid behind the door. His wooden bed, like a sleigh was neatly arranged.

Greg peered through the door and stepped forwards. Adam came up behind him and grabbed his neck. His head bent back. Greg began to kick, his hands reaching out for anything, invisible things to grab onto. But he was weak. Adam held with all his might. His lips touching his neck. Opening. His teeth reaching down and biting into the skin. Biting deep and hard. The red blood gushing forth and like a hungry wolf, he lapped it up. His fingers stroking Greg's skin, pressing against his lips, the moans escaping.

The moon in the sky seemed to sigh, to moan. Clouds rushed by covering its pale light only to reveal it moments later. The room seemed to shrink around Greg and all he could see was Adam. All he could feel was the cool sensation of Adam's mouth against his neck. Everything seemed to stop, time had no meaning. A thousand images seemed to gather and explode within his mind. Temples, songs, hymns and prayers all burst into flame. Birth and death united as one, many lives spun as golden thread.

He felt himself naked against Adam. His clothes fallen away. His skin changing hue. Adam's body pressed against his own, the sense of life leaking from his neck filled him as the only sound and sensation. Despite Adam's hands, fingers gently caressing every inch of him.

His beating heart was pumping wildly. His vision blurring, his senses fading. He began to feel himself being rocked backwards and forwards. Suddenly a tearing sound filled him, a snapping sound as if flesh was being torn. But nothing seemed wrong, nothing seemed out of place. Something trying to break free, to set itself free. He began to feel cold, like winter had settled upon him. A cold chill passing through his body, like ice it froze him, stilled him. He felt Adam's arms around him, holding him, caressing his skin with his fingers. But everything felt so far away.

Relax, let go, let the things of the world slip away. The words formed in his mind, entered into his consciousness. Settled like snow.

The darkness was closing in on him. His eyes fluttered open and closed. He saw Adam but he looked so far away. He looked majestic, as if the sun had fallen into this very room, but was now setting, moving down below the floorboards. The colours radiating outwards, shrinking, disappearing. The yellows and gold's turning into amber and red, turning equally into black and silver. Turning into the moon.

He could no longer feel Adam's body next to his own. Could no longer feel his touch. Alone. He felt so very much alone. He tried to reach out to Adam, to clasp to his life, his energy. A dark fermenting taste filled his mouth, brushed against his tongue. His throat becoming dry, burning. The smell of Autumn filled his nose, crunching leaves, twigs snapping. Jack Frost dancing through the undergrowth. He called out to Adam, his voice almost a whisper.

Adam was there, holding, still drinking. His voice a sweet soothing caress upon him. He felt so tired, fell into Adam's arms, no longer fighting, surrendering to the moment, the passing moment of death.

Childhood images flashed before his eyes. Corn fields on a hot summer's day. Touching, that first awakening of emotions. A boy called Lee. Blond hair and flashing blue eyes, in the fields they touched, heads locked together, arms entwined around each other. It all began to fade. Like sand, it fell through his fingers, a passing moment, a stored memory, a little bit of history.

He could smell the scent of the lilies. Their rich perfume flooding his senses, his brain. Intoxicating, sweeping him away. Everything conspiring together, to seduce, to trip, to captivate him.

But then the sun was gone and the darkness descended. He was blind in no man's land. The black darkness was all he saw, all he felt. His beating heart faint, almost silent. A glimmer of light faraway. It shimmered, like a moth to a flame he was drawn towards it. Everything was silent and still, no sound, no noise. Just the blackness and the light ahead.

His soul finally broken free. He looked behind him. Saw his body; saw Adam holding the empty shell. Adam a bright red fire, his cheeks rosy red, his lips scarlet. He moved forwards, moved into the light, the void, the nothingness of creation. Returned to his beginning, his ending, the never-ending circle of life. The alpha and omega.

©NigelSymon2002