Far from Perfect

Thank you so much for all the reviews guys... it keeps me pumped and reminds me that even though I have alot of ideas and directions for this fic, it isn\'t going to write it itself. So, without further ado, here\'s part two. I decided that instead of calling this \"Chapter Four\", it\'ll just be too confusing cuz the first part ended at chapter three.

It\'s not very long, but eh... the next part\'s going to make up for it. ;)

~Jade june


***

Part Two

*At Venus*


The atmosphere in the club warmly caressed the two arriving figures like a pleasant aphrodisiac and coursed through their veins with every thump of the pulsating music. Couples of various pairings grinded together in oblivion on the vast dance floor and colorful strobe lights. Sweat and heat radiating from the many bodies; encompassing and erotically hypnotic.

“Want anything to drink first?”

“Yeah, sure. Some scotch will be fine.”

“Hey, no beer?”

“Piss doesn’t travel easily down my throat.”

“I’m willing to bet other things do.”

Charlie chose not to reply to the bit of innuendo, and instead found an empty seat at the over-flowing bar. He stared transfixedly at the crowded dance floor; uneasy and unsure, for some strange reason. A pretty girl with dark chocolate eyes approached him and in absolute coincidence took the empty seat beside him.

“Wanna dance?” The words flowing out of her mouth like rich honey.

“Um, no thanks.” She scrutinized him under a glare.

“You a fag?” She asked, nonplused.

“Would that make me rejecting any bit different?” She sniffed poorly and immersed herself back into the throng of grinding bodies. Charlie writhed inwardly, as he watched her slim figure disappear.

Jason was no where to be seen, as he maintained a watchful eye and surveyed some of the people unhurriedly. Charlie grimaced– ten minutes since arrival and he was already forgotten. He began to uncharacteristically fidget in his seat, tapping his fingers leisurely on his knee to the beat of the song playing.

He noticed a couple, she in a short fur-trimmed dark leather coat, revealing tank top, he in a skin-tight sleeveless white silk shirt. They were perhaps in their late twenties. She was good-looking and aware-looking, surveying the room with large, very bright blue eyes. He was tall and rather handsome and in some way distinguished, and also seemingly semi-drunk. At one point she appeared to be looking at Charlie; so did he. Then they both went on observing around the club.

I wonder if they’re even American, he mused mildly. Their style looked American, but there seemed to be something European about them- French, or maybe Italian, Italian fashionistas, from France. Her father had a designer title, Charlie decided. He could trace his ancestry back to Caesar Augustus. They used cocaine.

His eyes roamed over half-groups and solitary drinkers; then he decided to procure a Scotch for himself. Suddenly he saw the young woman in the dark brown leather coat making her way it seemed, toward him, with her companion in tow. She stopped in front of him. “Whose looks do you like, mine or his?” She demanded with a mocking smile in a low-pitched, strictly American voice.

“Quick. Don’t stop to think. Him or me?”

“I, well, I guess I was staring, wasn’t I? ‘M sorry. I was just thinking- you do want to know what I was thinking, don’t you?”

“You bet.”

“I was thinking, actually, that you two looked too, well, sophisticated for this place.”

“And we were thinking,” she said with slightly widened eyes, “that you looked like a good lay.”

Charlie, totally knocked off-balance, struggling to say, laughing confusedly, “I don’t know much about threesomes.”

“You don’t?” She demanded, eyes widening a little more. “Well, hot stuff, you’ve found the right people to show you. Look. Blade and I, this is my boyfriend, Blade, by the way. I’m Jenn. Our apartment’s not far from here.” She studied his face with those large, all seeing eyes. “You want to come over? Come on. We can talk about it all there... talk about it... anything, everything... all three of us... you and me... or,” she finished lustily, “you and him. Want to?”

The invisible shield protecting Charlie lay in ruins. Stunned at her bluntness, he tried to somehow to avoid her encompassing eyes. “I um,”a forced laugh, “I’m just hanging around here... waiting for my friend to show up.” Nervously, he checked her eyes. They weren’t going for this story. The truth sucked sometimes.

“Baby,” she said smoothly, even sympathetically over the loud music, “you don’t have any friend meeting you here. Scared? You scared of us, British boy?”

“No,” he answered sternly, “of course not.”

“Then why not? We wont bite, if you want. Maybe we can get to know each other first... and then fuck..”

The absurdity of the proposition became too much for Charlie. “Sorry,” he said rather formally, “I’ve really got to dash. And,” somehow felt inclined to add, “thank you- for the offer.” He cringed on hearing those idiotic words come out of his own mouth.


As he edged away into the thumping crowd Charlie felt her searchlight eyes following him, analytically, not unsympathetically either, perhaps even, well, with pity. Terrible. Pity. He pushed his way brusquely through the last of the gyrating and groping bodies and toward the exit door.

What the fuck did they mean like that?

Did they take him for some male prostitute; a whore?

He was shaking, he was pissed-off to find; it was all uncontrollable- something, everything here, an uncontrollable challenge. He was supposed to issue the challenges. He was the one with the cold eyes and wicked tongue. They had thrown out the most blatant conceivable challenge. He’d been caught off-guard. Shit. Sodding Americans and their bluntness, he mentally scorned.

He was not ready for women or it or any variation or combination of possibilities like that, not yet and not now and maybe never and definitely not here; it was mortifying and sickeningly exciting and an abasement and it shook his hold on himself. Was it shaky, that hold? He may be gay, but he still had some virtues, if not many, and some odd god to pray to when things surpassed his will of power.

He reached the door, and was about to push it open when a hand grabbed him gently from his shoulder and pulled him back. The body molded itself perfectly with Charlie’s.

“You leaving so soon?” The husky whisper tickled his neck.

Charlie whirled around upon hearing the familiar voice and glared at Jason.

“Where the fuck were you?”

“I was getting the drinks, when along the way came a pretty boy wanting some attention. Always the giver, I am.” Jason sighed, in mock tiredness.

“You’re such an arse. If you brought me here so you can ditch me and sodd off, might as well stayed home.”

Jason pouted, his eyes lightly glazed over. Had he already drunk his fill or was he on a drug trip?

“Come on, now, let’s dance. There’s no need to get your cock in a twist.”

“Fuck. You.”

When Charlie opened his mouth yet again to retort, Jason stepped squarely up to him and covered his mouth with his sweaty hand. The heat radiating off him made Charlie slightly dizzy; he felt high.

“Just one dance? I promise to take you home before the stroke of midnight. No need to rush.”

Charlie didn’t know what to say, even more so didn’t know what to do when the hand covering his mouth lingered a moment longer than it should have. Making him fight the instinct to taste the sweaty palm. Lave the tender flesh with his tongue.

He looked into the foggy hazel eyes and studied him a moment, before coming to a decision.

***

Charlie: That was-
Jason: Horrible. Can\'t we get things moving on? I mean, how long does it take to arrive at the sex scenes...
Me: You mean skip all the other important parts which constitute to the fic and just deliver flat-out sex scenes? Bypassing character development, and building the plot?
Jason: Does it look like I implied something else?
Me: *shakes head tiredly*