Chapter Text
the walk to the elevator was awkward and littered with small talk that the two of you did not know how to compensate for. your eyes kept wandering and ending back on john , the man of the hour, and the flying breathies of the sky-high ceiling were looking at the pair of you with renewed interest. your hands were in his, and your sense of adventure called out as if you were two birds of a feather. ‘ vantas, help me.’
he felt familiar; although you have frequently been found to say that about anyone and everyone, his eyes were the same colour as yours, and the way his hand fit into yours reminded you of puzzle pieces. john seemed happy you were even there with him — his eyes kept moving to your intertwined hands, a blush flowing to his cheeks as he looked away. you get the sense he’s a virgin, and, well, that just does the trick for you.
“so,” you begin, and he turns to face you. the two of you enter the elevator by your lonesome, and he flashes his card to the security guard. it doesn’t seem to have numbers, and it starts moving on its own. mirrors reflect the two of you getting all awkward and hand-holdsy together. “ john . how important are you to get a ticket to the big boy lounge?”
your hands break apart as you move to adjust and hold his shirt. getting closer to him, he stands tall and gulps, your eyes catching on the movement, and you smile at him. “i’m, uh—“ he stops himself when you start pushing on him, backing him onto the elevator wall, trying for a reaction. his slippers — vantas, his slippers — slide until they find purchase, and his hands hit the bar. “uh. i’m a plus one to a head of - of house,” he stutters. you suddenly feel the need to know, to inquire, to see if you’ve finally found the power you’ve been looking for, but you stop yourself as the words hit your tongue.
instead, your body meets his, and you whisper softly into his cuffed ear, holding his wrist against the bar behind him. you’re dominating his space – he clearly didn’t expect this of you. did you misread this? is this alright?
“is this alright, hun?”
his breath comes out as a shudder, and he nods his head decisively. well, that’s just perfect, isn’t it? you lick your lips. ever so slightly and very lightly, you start kissing along the lines of his neck, pulling a gasp from him. he’s restraining himself from moving, either from shock or fear of you stopping, and, well. you smile against him. almost instantaneously, your curiosity gives way for something more carnal.
john turns you, and from those small, tiny kisses, he’s riled up. his eyes are dark, and his mouth is parted. immediately, you imagine this as his first time in forever, or his first time ever ever, and you - you stare at each other for a second, and he pulls you in for a heated kiss, your back against the wall. you can taste the champagne from earlier on his tongue.
he’s an amateur; his teeth hit your lip and his tongue touches the top of your mouth, but by vantas you can’t get enough of it. he’s simple and you’re too much, all at once, and combined it’s a long, drawn out series of heated kisses and pushes in the small, cramped elevator.
your hand slides up under his shirt, and he hesitates - then roughly grabs you and pulls you closer. you groan against his mouth. your nails dig into his stomach, moving down, exploring; he, suddenly, as if having an epiphany, gets the idea to do the same to you. hands move up and down your stomach, your side, your hips, pushing you closer to the wall, holding your back. he's touching anything he can.
your fingers hit the hem of his pants, and, taking that as a prompt, he pulls away just long enough to tell you, “keep going.” you greedily obey, and go down and under his sweatpants, touching his hips with vigor, outlining the bones as you go. he touches your ass with feather-light hands, bites your bottom lip, pants from the little you’ve done so far. heat builds in you as if you were a teenager with their first love, and, vantas, you want to ruin him.
you want to drop to your knees, take him in this small, dingy elevator, but the elevator dings, and the two of you reluctantly pull from each other. you’re both looking directly into the other’s eyes, clothes wrinkled just enough to notice and panting loud enough to take note. you blink at him, smiling, and he says, “you’re a national treasure, abel.”
there’s a reference there, but you have no idea what to make of it. the only thing running through your mind is the increduality of him willing to say that from making out with him in a fucking elevator. you open your mouth to reply, but the doors open, and he pushes you away as he whips his head around to see someone in a red hoodie whistling at the two of you.
you quickly try to fix your hair, completely wiping off your lipstick, but by the look on john’s face, it doesn’t matter; his neck is covered in red stains and his lips are very obviously bruised. his shirt is riding slightly high on his stomach and his pants are a little low, and your dress is wrinkled in the back. i…
“jesus, john, you need a minute?” the guy says, and you realize he probably can’t see you. the two of you are in opposite sides of the elevator, with you in a corner and out of mirror sight, and this guy’s wearing sunglasses at a dimly lit party. “you look like you need a minute.”
“uh,” john answers smartly, seemingly taking the minute to collect himself. you notice him fix his shirt and pull up his pants, adjusting his glasses to see minutely better than before. lipstick marks still litter his skin, but he only takes the time to rub his mouth with the edge of his shirt sleeve. a wave of short lived disgust washes over you.
when the silence draws on a little too long, you feel the need to explain yourself, or at least cover for john, as this guy has the aura of an undercover cop who's always a bit too obvious. his outfit is similar to john's, in the sense that he's important enough to not have to care, and, rapidly, the ludicrousness of having forgotten where you were hits you like a freight train. having forgotten due to a few good bruising kisses takes an entirely new meaning when you're at the most exclusive gala of the year.
you look to john, who seemed to be preparing a reply to whatever his friend was saying. his mouth was eternally slightly open, and you decide it might be best to help him out here.
you clear your throat, stepping out enough for him to see you. “hello. abel bringer, lo–”
immediately, this guy’s face goes neutral; what was a small smile is now completely blank, and he interrupts you. “you’re supposed to be downstairs.”
you recoil, opening your mouth, but john beats you to it. you imagine this... this important friend thinks you took advantage of john, and, while you kinda did, you genuinely enjoy his company. you weren’t going to deny a free pass upstairs, and you wouldn’t have denied a free pass downstairs, either, but the moment is gone. you stand straight.
“relax, dave, they’re… they’re cool. they’re with me,” john says, and he scoots closer to you. dave. “we met on the balcony. we just wanted to... talk somewhere quieter.”
a silence draws out, and you start to wonder who this guy is. his hair is albino levels of platinum blonde, and his accent is barely southern. your first thought was wannabe-dirk strider with the air of someone who eventually settled for what they had. “you mean fuck somewhere quieter. i’m not stupid, dude,” dave says, and you swear you can feel his eyes boring into you. you stare at him with the same resolve you did everything else.
“dave!”
“i can sense there’s an impending argument. i’m not here to do anything. i just want to get to know him," you break in, taking a step forward. your eyes briefly touch on john, just as you settle a hand on his shoulder. “and if something else happens? vantas be damned, i won’t mind.”
dave stares at you, and stares at you, and stares at you. you continually meet his gaze, and you can feel john staring at you while he sputters. is john impressed by me, or scared for how this will play out? entertaining the idea is sweet if not short lived.
then begins the interrogation, your back still to the elevator wall. “haha, damn. you a blood player, then? what’s your class?”
you cross your arms, now. “i’m only a confirmed. my tester says i was on the edge of heart, too.”
“a near dual-aspect with heart and blood is common among those getting tested. i wouldn’t be surprised if you only tell people you’re a blood for the brownie points.”
“my tester suspected i was a knight, so i would bargain there’s a possibility.”
you can physically feel john’s uncomfortableness in the room, and you very nearly cut the conversation even shorter to save him the awkwardness. you get the sense this is where you’re clocked as good or bad in john’s friend’s book, and, for some reason, this matters to you. you justify it as wanting to get in the good graces of whomever you just met just in case they're important. you know this is a lie the second the next thought hits your brain: john is the kind of person you usually wouldn’t glance at twice, but there’s something so benign and powerful about him – he draws you in, like a suicidal bitch to water, and by blood, you want to drown.
“you don’t think you’d be better suited to prince?”
you don't hesitate. “like the strider? thanks, but i’m good.”
john, finally, cuts in - the three of you knew you just opened a whole can of worms. for the second time this night, you implied you didn't like one if the creators in front if a random person. “dave, let them go. you can very obviously tell they’d be a knight.” he runs a hand through his hair, and you watch his fingers pull back down. you try not to linger on what he'd said. “plus… plus i genuinely like them. you know that’s rare, dave.”
dave, for all he is, finally stands down. are you one in a million? do you have a chance with john? the fact these are your first thoughts troubles you. “alright. but if this one,” he points to you, “turns out to be a piece of shit, just know i war–”
“yes, you warned me! great, now leave!” john cuts in, and you feel a wave of appreciation cover you. dave flips him off (you can tell its the kind friends do to each other, but it nevertheless puts you on edge), and he turns to you. “jeez! i’m sorry, abel, he always gets like this. i never bring people with me up here, so he gets worried, and–”
you put a hand on his shoulder once more. “hey, it’s okay, john. it’s good that he cares enough to yell at me for you.” john smiles at you, and you push down the urge to grab his hand. “confirmed blood, yeah? i know he has the best of intentions. and, maybe, if he’s that suspicious of me, you’re sure to have at least one other blood player here. maybe they can read me or something.”
john nods along in a way that you can tell he just wants to get over this conversation, and he grabs your arm to lead you out into the actual party. “yeah, sure! or, maybe, i can make my own decisions, but i don’t really think he trusts that. oh well!”
you know not to treat him like a case study, but the way he approaches anything he doesn't inherently like says a lot about his character. again, you think that he's pathetic, with every personal connotation that carries being pushed to the front of your mind.
your eyes catch the lights, the bustling gala-esque dance floor, and the small collections of couches scattered around the room. it’s a scene meant for friends and close acquaintances to relax, and the people there are spread out against each other. very few CEOs are here from what you can see, and only one or two ascended highbloods are scattered about. you note that you cannot see dave anywhere. john continues. “anyway, my room is really up these stairs, and i feel as if that’s more important than whatever’s here.”
you look to him as he leads you outside of the elevator doors, and he takes your hand to guide you. admittedly, now that you've seen the room prepared only for the top of the food chain, you don't want to leave just yet. you know this can come off as someone just using john for his ticket up here, but you can see trolls getting it on in some of the corners; asking to stay would be just as significant as following him.
"john," you say. he looks back to you with worried, if not frisky, eyes. you gesture around the gala, and his eyes follow – he understands what you mean, but he wants privacy. if you were ascended, you'd say you could feel it through your bond. "john," you repeat, this time with more fervor, "i... i am putting myself in a very vulnerable position here. i am a no-named, non-ascended human who happened to get an invite through a breathie. i understand you'd like privacy, but even being up here increases my chances of –"
he cuts you off, letting go of your arm. "no, no, i... i get it. i tend to forget how important these galas are," he states. and, well, ain't that a bag of worms. the last people to be this familiar with the top areas were the creators and their original sponsored ascensions. you nearly gulp at his implications. "we can stay out here, b-but i'd prefer i be in the corner. if - if you get what i'm putting down." he smiles at you, and this time you don't get the impression that it's fake.
your smile lights up the room. "thank you, johnny. that'd be lovely."