ψ michael and lucifer promise they (willneverlie) wrote in doorslogs, @ 2012-04-29 00:12:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | lucifer, violet harmon |
Who: Michael and Jules
What: A random crossing of paths.
Where: The Venetian.
When: RECENTLY.
Warnings/Rating: None.
Las Vegas was covered in swelter, but then the place always was. It was heat coming off the sidewalk, and it was heat coming off the buildings, and it was even heat coming off the people, not a drop of sweat on them, wandering lost in the desert. Tourists, was what it was, all sure they could take the heat, then coming to learn it was harder to be hot when there wasn’t no sweating to do. Jules, he’d been lucky; he’d spent so many years working his way West, falling in and out of love between city limits and on melt-black asphalt, that he didn’t even feel the heat anymore.
That morning, Jules was leaning against the green felt of a table at the Venetian, but he wasn’t putting money on anything. He was on the arm of some old man, one that couldn’t, even if he wanted to, but Jules didn’t sell it. His momma had taught him all sorts of rules he still lived by, and never having sex for money was one of them. Only led to heartbreak, she’d said, and Jules knew she was right on that count. He was apt to fall in love at the drop of a cowboy hat, and money would only make the number of spurs he fell in love with bigger. He had enough trouble juggling that particular tendency as it was. No, the old man was sweet, and he liked Elvis, and Jules didn’t see the harm in blowing on his dice now and again. Anyway, it was his morning off, and there was no point wasting it on nothing at all.
But old men got tired quick, and Jules found himself wandering the casino about an hour later. Now, he shouldn’t have been able to go into the guest areas, but the security guard wasn’t minding his post, and Jules wandered down this hall, then that, and then he decided he wanted to ride the elevator and see if he could peek in a guest room. Innocent enough, and he exited at the ding that came with the elevator doors. The hall was opulent, and he whistled low and masculine, despite his appearance, which was nothing of the sort. He was wearing jeans that day, cherry red boots on his feet, and a white peasant shirt with red ribbons at the gathered sleeves. He was 5’10, all flat chest, willow-thin, and there wasn’t no telling him for a man, not unless you got real close.
Up ahead, there was a door open, something being cleaned, and Jules figured it wouldn’t hurt to slip inside. He didn’t see any housekeepers around as he approached, and they’d just shoo him gone if they caught him.
Michael could have lived anywhere he chose, which was just one of the many perks that came with possessing both wealth and power, and the Venetian had been more of a random choice than a deliberate decision. Perhaps there were more lavish villas, more spacious penthouses, but if he became bored with his current lodgings he could always move. For now, however, he found the staff more than accommodating and his penthouse was more than suited to his (and Lucifer’s) tastes. Today was one of those rare little gems where he had no pressing business to attend to, merely a few meetings with some lucrative associates much, much later in the day. Some things were best attended to away from prying eyes.
He whistled to himself as he left his suite, dressed in what might be described as business casual; dark silk shirt, sports jacket overtop, and black pants to match. His phone was in hand, an expensive model that had only recently been released, and he wasn’t initially aware that he had company in the hallway. He took two steps in the opposite direction before a flash of movement caught his eye, and Michael turned, regarding the back of the person with raised eyebrows; those boots were certainly an eyesore. Based on their state of dress he assumed, a few seconds later, that it was a woman, and he was certain she didn’t belong in this part of the building.
“Excuse me,” he said politely, approaching from just over the woman’s shoulder, “Can I help you with something?” Michael expected her to turn, flustered and babbling excuses, and a slight smirk tugged at his lips as he waited to be proven right.
Jules wasn’t real good at proving people right, and he didn’t turn with any kind of worry when he heard the voice from behind him. Instead, he finished his approach to the door the man had just vacated, and he leaned a hip against the frame and turned then. Cleaning women walked in and out, between them now, but since the owner of the suite was standing there, they thought it was just fine, the blond lingering in the open doorway.
Like all hallways in Vegas hotels, the lights were on the dim side, intending on being kind to eyes that had been drinking long into the night, and Jules’ adam’s apple wasn’t visible unless someone got real close. But no, there was no way Jules belonged there, not with the clothes he was wearing. “Depends. This one yours?” he asked, voice somewhere in the middle of everything, hard to pinpoint as either male or female, and he nodded into the open unit. “I was sightseeing,” he added, all Memphis smooth in his voice, a hint of too much Elvis in his smile.
Jules’ blue gaze slid from the dark-haired man’s shoulder, to the tips of his designer shoes, and then back up again. There was obvious interest there, but Jules, he fell for any pretty thing that crossed his way, and this man certainly was pretty. See, Jules fell in and out of love quicker than most folks changed their socks, and he wore his heart on his sleeve and never mind who saw it. One of the cleaning women stepped out, and before the pretty suite owner had a chance to answer, Jules ducked inside.
Despite the blonde’s obvious lack of concern, Michael still stuck by his initial assumption that she did not belong here. The lights were too dim for him to realize his error just yet, though perhaps he should have been more observant, and while he had been wrong about how she would react to his presence, it resulted in intrigue rather than annoyance. “It is,” he confirmed, seeing no reason to hide it. “If you’re looking to sightsee, I can suggest some locations that are far more interesting than this. You might start by looking outside,” he suggested mildly.
The interest did not, of course, go unnoticed, nor was it unwanted. Michael had admittedly grown less interested in ‘humans’ (as the voice in his mind called them, despite the fact that he was one as well) as of late, a side effect perhaps, but he’d always thrived on the attention of others. Before he could say anything else, however, the blonde had ducked inside his suite, and the cleaning ladies continued on their way as though nothing was amiss. He sighed, world-weary, before following the woman inside. Now there was a hint of something like annoyance, since Michael was rather possessive of his home turf and did not appreciate others entering his domain without permission. Perhaps he could forgive the woman her transgression, or perhaps not.
“Do you always sightsee by entering other people’s homes?” Michael stood in the doorway, eyebrows raised. The interior of his suite was lavish, to say the least, a strange mix of old and new, centuries-old and sleek modern chrome that somehow managed to work without explanation.
Jules smiles at the suggestion that there was something outside worth seeing, something more than roasting blacktop and sweating tourists in bad clothing. “Is there anything outside you think’s worth looking at?” he asked, all smug in the knowledge that the answer would be no. Living in a place like this, dressed like that, and with that air of owning everything he saw? No way this man went wandering down Vegas’ streets on his own two feet. Jules was good at men, and he knew what he was looking at; he didn’t need one bit of help figuring out the handsome man with the dark hair.
The inside of the suite was just like Jules was expecting it to be, with the added bonus of having a sullen owner attached to it. He glanced over his shoulder as he was followed inside, and he tried to imagine the life this man led within the walls of this fine place. “I bet you have a smile that’s to die for,” he said, which didn’t answer the question about sightseeing in people’s homes even the tiniest bit. It came with a sweep of fingers along the back of a decadently expensive couch, and Jules thought maybe he needed to start chasing himself some straight boys that lived rich. He could handle waking up in a place like this, he decided, and he wandered toward the bedrooms; finding bedrooms was something Jules was real good at.
Jules was expecting security at any minute, and it was turning into a thing, waiting to see how long it took before his pretty ass got hauled out of paradise. He rose his voice as he walked down the hall, loud enough for the owner-man to hear him. “Only when they let me,” he finally said of sightseeing in other people’s homes. “Just like you’re doing.” All grin and certainty and slow molasses on a hot southern morning.
Michael rarely thought there was anything anywhere worth looking at. Even as a child he’d been fickle, finding things to catch and hold his attention a challenge, and as an adult that particular trait remained. He liked enjoying himself, liked keeping busy, but it needed to be interesting. “It depends on where outside,” he answered with a smirk. “It’s a very broad term, after all. You might find something worthwhile if you know where to look.” Which, clearly, he did.
Now that they were out of the hall and inside his suite, which was admittedly better lit, he wasn’t so sure that the woman was indeed a woman. There were all sorts in Vegas, and appearances could be deceiving. This one was interesting, regardless. “I don’t know if it’s to die for,” he chuckled, making no move to stop his visitor from moving towards the bedrooms despite the implied invasion of privacy. Everything he wanted to hide was already hidden. Despite the sheer amount of money he was shelling out to live here with the utmost discretion, he trusted no one. He couldn’t afford to.
Security would be there in an instant if he so desired; Michael wasn’t worried about that. Oh no, not in the slightest. He followed the stranger in the cowboy boots down the hallway at a leisurely pace, though he controlled the situation with each step. “I suppose I am letting you,” he said with a careless shrug. “What’s your name?”
“Jules,” was the reply, and he wandered out of the biggest bathroom he’d ever clapped eyes on when he said it. He crossed the room, sat himself on the owner-man’s bed, just like he had every right to go sitting on strange people’s mattresses, and he leaned back on his hands. “Well, truth is, nothing’s worth dying for, though sometimes things sure feel like they are,” he said, looking over the aristocratic man in the room with him. “Good looking men especially,” he admitted, and something in his smile just then was all male, despite the red boots and the feminine shirt.
Jules could tell things about men real easy, and he figured this one hadn’t had a sacrificial day in his entire life. He was everything entitled, and Jules knew perfectly well that he (Jules) was a butterfly under a magnifying lens. He was an oddity just then, like snow Memphis, and he’d be shown the door soon as his wings weren’t interesting anymore. Didn’t matter, because Jules had his own butterfly he was looking at in the meantime. “Where do men like you look for things worth finding in that heat out the window?” he asked. And, sure enough, he’d been right about that smile.
Well, that certainly didn’t clear up the gender issue. Jules was the sort of name that could go either way. “Michael,” he offered in return, since he didn’t mind giving out his name, not in a situation like this. It was harmless. Personally, he was also of the opinion that nothing was worth dying for, since the bottom line was that one would be dead for someone, or something, they were no longer around to see. It seemed pointless, really, and a waste of someone who could have been otherwise useful. “I’m afraid I’ve never felt like good looking men are worth dying for. It doesn’t sound like a pleasant experience.” Not that he would know either way. Michael rarely felt affection for anyone outside of his family, and even that was questionable.
He was beginning to think his earlier assumption that Jules was a woman had been incorrect, though he refused to fully admit his mistake just yet. In a way, however, he was right; Michael was nothing if not entitled, as was the entity taking up residence in his head, and he could create as well as destroy whatever he chose depending on his mood. At the moment, he was feeling more of the former as opposed to the latter. “We don’t look in the obvious places, of course,” he said, approaching the bed with a slow step and coming to stop just against the corner. “Off the beaten path, far and wide,” he continued. “Places most people miss, or never even know exist.”
Jules ran his hands over the expensive sheets, and he tried to figure out why he was still there. Good thing he wasn’t too contemplative, or he’d be worrying right about then. But no, Jules took things as they came, slow and calm as the South in his accent. “Michael,” he said. He swung his long legs over the side of the bed, all idle slow, and he chuckled (definitely male). “Honey, it feels like hell, and there’s not a thing about it that’s pleasant. It feels like burning and dying, and there’s nothing like it. Makes a person feel alive,” he explained, pushing off the mattress and walking himself over to the man in the room. “Next thing, you’re going to tell me you think ugly things are beautiful, and I might just think you’re the best thing I’ve met all week.” He touched a hand to Michael’s shoulder, brushing dust off, dust which likely didn’t exist. “Tell me a place, and I’ll walk on out of here and report back on how interesting it is,” he challenged, wondering if Michael would actually have something to offer up.
Within his mind, Lucifer felt nothing but disdain for the human’s willingness to experience such pain all for the sake of ‘feeling alive’, but then he had no regard whatsoever for those he considered beneath him, and so Michael was hardly surprised. He might not have been privy to everything about the one who dwelled within him, but he had begun to draw some conclusions on his own. “I’d think there were less painful ways to feel alive,” he commented mildly, but there was a part of him (not Lucifer, but him) that thought he might understand. “Though that might defeat the purpose.” By this point he’d accepted the fact that Jules was indeed a man, and while he found it more than a little unsettling considering his original assumption, it wasn’t enough to get him to demand that the man leave. “I won’t say it, then,” he chuckled, “but beauty can be overrated. It’s defined by each person, just as ugliness is.” He looked down at the other man’s hand on his shoulder, a flicker of something like a frown crossing his features, but it vanished before it had really begun to settle. There were places, of course, he could not send this man, but there were some he could; harmless, really, likely enough to capture his attention for the time being. He gave the man an address just outside of Vegas, on the very outskirts of bright lights and flashing casinos, where a seemingly abandoned house held some vintage memorabilia that some museums would lose their minds over. “The door will be locked,” he continued, but the third window on the right around back will open if you use enough force.” He smiled, then, as though to say challenge met.
Jules ended up in lots of trouble for handsome men; it was a weakness of his. But his kind of trouble didn’t usually lean toward climbing in windows he wasn’t meant to climb into. But there was something about this man, with that smirk and the lure of hell lurking behind those eyes, that made him consider it. He took the address and smiled. He stepped back, all long legs encased in denim, and his smile said that challenge was tucked away in his pocket. He hadn’t gotten in a good spell of trouble in months, and it wasn’t his normal kind, but he knew he was going to climb in that window and see what was hiding inside. He didn’t ask for a phone number, for a method of contact. He knew where Michael lived, after all, and he’d be able to get himself back up here easy enough if he wanted to prove he’d crawled in that window. So he turned, and he stopped at the door, even as the cleaning staff milled around behind him. “I’ll be in touch, honey,” he promised, blue eyes alight with the truth behind the words. Oh, Jules did like his straight boys real well.
The last person to call him honey had been his mother, years upon years ago. None of the women he’d been with had ever used that particular term of endearment, not that Michael would have permitted them to do so if they’d tried, but somehow it suited the man who looked, from a distance, to be as much a woman as those he’d known. It made him wonder how many others had been fooled, which made him smile. It was amusing when it happened to other people, of course. “I hope you will be,” he told him, offering another of those to-die-for smiles before turning and waving at the cleaning staff, who promptly hurried Jules out of the suite, though with less force than they might have had Michael not just had a conversation with him.