Cean Dubh Deelish by Maybedarkpink
i. Colin
Fabian (a fanciful name the boy had chosen for himself, as false as Colin) at the next mirror was shaping his white blond locks into spikes. "Hey, C," he commented, "I think you should feather it out some. Smudge the liner. Make it kind of smoky and sexy, you know? Would look pretty on you."
Colin, or Stephen as his mother had called him before he fled from her oppressive pastel reign, snorted. Fabian thought everything would look pretty on Colin. Colin preferred to save himself for the customers.
"I don't see a reason to bother," Colin replied. "It'll all be smudged after the first client anyway."
"That's true," replied the third boy in the room, Galen. "You'll look like you've been beaten. Or maybe like a raccoon."
"Colin already looks like a raccoon." Fabian reached over to Colin's cluttered counter top in search of mascara. "Did you sleep at all today?"
"Yeah," Colin replied, and it wasn't a lie. He had slept, although it had been a restless, disturbed sleep. He had dreamt of her again, the black-haired woman with the hypnotizing eyes. She had been cradling a porcelain-skinned doll and reciting some sort of poem, her unique accent turning the words into an eerie chant.
"Put your head, darling, darling, darling, your darling black head my heart above. O mouth of honey, with thyme for fragrance, who, with heart in breast, could deny you love?" And then she tenderly, so tenderly, snapped the dolls neck. Dolls shouldn't scream like that...
"Are you okay?" Fabian asked. "Gotta put a move on, C. We have work to do."
Colin shook his head, escaping from the memories of his disturbing, yet oddly enticing dream. "I know," he said, and applied a quick glaze of dark lip gloss. "Let's go."
The club was busy as always. Reggie, the multi-pierced bartender, gave the boys a cheerful wave. Colin smiled, something he did rarely, in reply. He was thankful for the club and its mysterious owner, Mr. Goode. A place that not only allowed tricks, but smiled on them, was rare, and Colin knew too many young men like himself who had to work the streets, constantly worrying about police, violence, and unreliable weather.
The dance floor was crowded and Colin wrinkled his nose at the scent of sweat and various fumes, but he danced the obligatory few sets with Galen and Fabian, shaking his ass and bending sinuously, showing off the goods, before he meandered to the bar and sat down.
"Can I have a water, please, Reg?" he asked.
"Sure thing," said the bartender in a kind way that made Colin feel uncomfortable. Almost like the older man felt sorry for him, and there was nothing to feel sorry about.
Someone cleared his throat behind Colin. He swirled around on the barstool, an unnatural smile plastered on his face.
"Hi," said the man. "May I buy you a drink?"
"I just ordered a water," Colin replied, "but I'd love some company."
As the stranger sat down, Colin could tell he was ill at ease. This was probably his first time at the club, maybe even his first time making this kind of transaction.
"I'm Colin," he said, holding out his hand.
"Pleased to meet you, Colin," said the man, and he had a nice smile, although it didn't send shivers of excitement down Colin's spine. And there, there was that name again, his now, but however many times he heard it on strangers' lips there was something missing. He knew he shouldn't be called Stephen, but and Colin had sounded so close, but there was something just off, it sounded too soft to be his own.
"Colin?" The man repeated nervously.
Colin smiled smoothly. "Sorry, got distracted by a thought for a moment there."
"Oh, okay. My name's Henry." Henry leaned in, lowered his voice to a whisper. "How much do you charge?"
Colin felt a momentary stab of pity for Henry. The poor guy was probably half expecting Colin to yell, "I'm not a whore!" and hurry off, offended.
Any sympathy Colin harbored for the shy customer disappeared ten minutes later as he was bent over in the tiny bathroom stall, his mouth banging against the toilet seat. He'd have a split lip or a horrible disease from that, he thought emptily.
Henry hadn't used enough lube and was sliding into Colin's hole with the aid of blood as much as anything else. Colin gritted his teeth and tried not to think of the black haired woman. It was best to forget her. He didn't want to his memory of her. She had been disconcerting, certainly, but pure in a way Henry and his like never would be.
"Cry out, bitch! You love to be fucked, don't you? Scream for me!"
And Colin screamed, although he felt no pleasure. He was even able to make himself come, with his own hand and desperate thoughts of the hungry-eyed girl from his dream. Henry seemed satisfied with the playacting. Colin collected his fifty dollars, feeling slightly guilty that he had resorted to bringing his dream lady into the filth of the real world. He moved back to the dance floor in search of his next john. And if he heard the dream woman's voice saying something else, some new if equally haunting verse, if her strange accent echoed within his head, he brushed it off as job time stress. Colin's job wasn't easy, after all, but he did it well.
"You are a beauty," she cooed. "A lucky little beauty." Drusilla picked up Miss Edith, and they left the cream tiled bathroom and stepped over one messy corpse to re-enter the sumptuous hotel bedroom.
The man who was lying on the queen size bed had tasted like buttercream. Dru rolled his body to the opposite side, and laid down, clutching Miss Edith to her chest.
"I keep calling him," she confided. "I call to him, every day and every night, and he doesn't seem to hear me." There were tears welling up in her eyes now. "We had an glorious time tonight, but I'm so lonely. I miss Daddy, I miss Spike, and they both have nasty souls now, so I couldn't have them back even if I wanted. I don't like being lonely. That's why I keep calling to my little brother."
Miss Edith nodded sagely.
"He'll hear me soon," Drusilla whispered, as she let her hand drift down, over her the soft fabric that covered her stomach. She lifted her short skirt and ran her nails along the inside of her thighs. Her flesh tingled. She scraped hard, and drew her own blood.
Dru brought the blood to her lips and moaned. "Connor, Colin, Stephen. Come to me, my love. Who, with heart in breast, could deny me love?"
And, hearts, who knew? They didn't have to beat to feel abandoned and alone, to yearn for someone with whom to share the feasts of the night.
Drusilla undressed herself, laid Miss Edith face down on the floor. She shed her knickers, wet and clammy, and climbed atop the dead man. As she rode him, she thought of sweet Connor, and how much he would love her.
"So you have weird dreams? That's okay, so do I. So does everyone. It's no big deal that they're about a girl!"
"It's the same girl," Colin said, annoyed that his concerns weren't being taken seriously. "The same girl over and over gain, and I've never even met her."
"She's a figment of your imagination," Fabian told him. "Embodiment of your fantasies, all that crap. Personally I don't know why you're fantasizing about pussy, never cared for it much myself, but that's okay, I guess you get enough cock during working hours. We'll get you a girl, C, you'll do her, and the dreams will go away."
Colin doubted the matter would be resolved that simply.
The girls were tricks, too, of course, and all too eager to be with someone young, "And attractive!" for a change. Or so the first girl, Katie, whose hair was dyed egg yolk yellow, assured Colin.
Katie was feverishly warm and smelled of sweat and flowers. She coiled her legs around Colin's back and squealed like a pig as she came.
Colin still dreamt of Dr-- God, for a second there, his mystery woman almost had a name. He felt like he had when trying to decide on his own moniker, as if the truth were just off the tip of his tongue, cloaked in consonants and syllable arrangements.
The second girl Fabian introduced Colin to was named Kelly. Her hair was ashy blonde rather than bright, and she was taller, skinnier than Katie, but otherwise they could have been twins.
Kelly tasted like vanilla and her chapped lips left delightful trails on Colin's skin, but her bony hips were too enthusiastic, her endearments too giggly. And, again, she seemed far too warm.
"Who's Drusilla?" Kelly asked afterward. "An old girlfriend? You called her name..."
And Colin knew Drusilla was the girl from his dreams.
Fabian told Colin he had figured out what the problem was: "You only want to fuck a brunette! And here I've been introducing you to blondes. What can I say?" He pointed to his own stunning head. "Peroxide is in."
The brunette was also, inexplicably, named Katie. She tried to explain to Colin that it was something about their generation, that every third girl was named Katie, but he wasn't concentrating. He was looking at her hair, thinking it was too light, too reddish, too short. It didn't fall softly around her face, where it should, right there...
Katie Two was very flexible, Colin was amazed at the way her long legs bent, and her breasts were pleasingly plump. She was soft and slippery. The mint gum she chewed constantly made her mouth slightly cooler than the rest of her, but she was still disappointing.
She was not Drusilla.
Katie Two turned out to be chatty after sex. She pulled the sheets up, cuddled Colin close, and asked him about his interests. Did he like to read?
Colin blinked in disbelief. Since when were girls like Katie Two interested in books? He told her about his favorite novels, how he loved Joyce and Orwell, and then asked her what literature she liked in return.
"Poetry."
Colin rolled over to face the girl, who was smiling. He felt positively murderous. "What's your favorite poem?" he asked her through gritted teeth.
"Of all time? It's hard to choose." She considered for a moment. "I like this one, I can't remember who it's by, Sir Somebody, it goes: Put your darling, darling, darling---"
Something broke within Colin. A rage was released. This wasn't his Drusilla, this wasn't she who called to him in his dreams. This girl had no right to the words...
Katie Two gurgled as Colin strangled her.
"Poor boy," she whispered. "Dru's here. Put your head darling, darling, darling..."
He laid his head over her still cold heart and wept. "I've finally found you," he whispered brokenly.
"We've found each other, Connor." She smiled brightly. "It's ironic, you know, you were born in an alley, and here you are, ready to be reborn. You'll remember everything soon. You'll remember who you are." She kissed his neck, pulled back, switched to game face.
"We'll neither of us be lonely any more."
Who, with heart in breast, could deny you love?
.End
Put your head, darling, darling, darling,
Your darling black head my heart above;
Colin stood at the mirror, skillfully applying black eyeliner. The line was smooth and confident, but it hadn't always been this easy; when he had first started wearing the makeup, his hand had shaken and he had drawn the liner on so heavy and crooked that he ended up looking like one of those half blind old women who shouldn't be allowed access to the makeup counter any longer.
ii. Drusilla
O mouth of honey, with thyme for fragrance,
Who, with heart in breast, could deny you love?
Miss Edith was a good girl. Drusilla wiped the blood off of the doll's lovely face.
iii. Katies and Kellys
O many and many a young girl for me is pining,
Letting her locks of gold to the cold wind free,
For me, the foremost of our gay young fellows;
But I'd leave a hundred, pure love, for thee!
Colin should never have told Fabian about the dreams.
iv. Darling, Darling, Darling
Then put your head, darling, darling, darling,
Your darling black head my heart above;
O mouth of honey, with thyme for fragrance,
Who, with heart in breast, could deny you love?
Drusilla found him in an alleyway. The stars had guided her to him.