Chapter Text
Dr. Ryland Grace usually spent his Friday nights alone. In the past, he so rarely had plans, which meant that most Friday evenings were spent with documentaries, takeout from his favorite Thai restaurant, a glass of white wine and maybe, if he was feeling frisky, a David Bowie vinyl spinning lazily in his record player.
But as fate would have it, this Friday night found him at the vampire ball.
It was Olesya Ilyukhina's fault, as were most of their unusual work outings. Ever since the project's six month contract started three months ago, and seeing as most of them were out-of-towners, the team had opted to spend weekends with each other. The type of event rotated between the different factions: the scientists usually picked something fun like putt putt or karaoke, the command team preferred dinners or jazz clubs. But when the engineers got a say, particularly Olesya… that's when things got weird. Last time she chose the outing, they had gone to a taxidermy museum, which had given Grace the creeps.
Overall, though, Grace liked the outings, even the weird ones. It gave them all something to do in their downtime, some team bonding outside of their goverment contracted work. That, and it was interesting exploring Houston, getting to see more of their temporary home.
This particular Friday was Olesya's birthday, and she had chosen a vampire-themed charity ball. Grace had been somewhat skeptical, raised his eyebrows at the red and black invite she'd texted their group chat. He scrolled through the RSVPs, was surprised to see how many declined. One, though, stuck out to him. His boss, Eva Stratt, had accepted.
And he couldn't pass up the chance to see Stratt surrounded by vampires.
Grace parked his terrible rented sedan, shoes crunching across the gravel. Olesya had told him that the event was hosted in a historical music venue: the lower level was converted into a goth club on Fridays, while the vampire ball was a special charity occasion hosted on the second floor.
As he entered the front hall, he breathed deeply. He loved the smell of old buildings. There was another scent in the air, the powdery smell of makeup, maybe, along with the airy, papery smell of a fog machine.
Once he made it past the bouncer, he hiked the old stairs, gave a cursory glance to the posters lining the walls, and entered the upper level ballroom.
There was an open stage in one corner, rows of Christmas lights draped down the back curtain. The room was lit in deep red, a photobooth and vendors along one wall, a bar in the corner opposite the stage.
And the crowd was… well, it was what he'd expect for a vampire ball. Most of the attendees wore heavy goth makeup, black lace and fishnets. Some wore elaborate costumes, ballgowns, headpieces, long draping coats. Others wore… very little, harnesses, black briefs, even one man wore a puppy mask.
Grace immediately felt out of place. He hadn't known what to wear, so he opted for a pair of black slacks, the bottom hem of which hid a pair of red Converse, along with a white button down, the sleeves rolled up.
If this really was a vampire den, he'd be first on the menu.
But as he scanned the crowd, he felt a little more comfortable once he realized the age diversity. Most seemed to be in their twenties and thirties, but there was a healthy mix of people in their forties, like himself, and beyond. One couple was dressed in all steampunk garb, and they had to be well in their sixties.
"Ryland!"
He hadn't even recognized Olesya at first, her fishnet-gloved hand waving as she approached. Like the other attendees, her face was heavily made up in white paint, sharp wings of eyeliner, and black lipstick, which peeled back over her teeth as she grinned at him. She wore a lacy black top, frilly skirt over fishnets. Olesya looked like she belonged here, unlike Grace.
She threw her arms around his neck, smelling sickly sweet, like cherry. "You made it!" Olesya said a little loudly into his ear, betraying that she'd already indulged in several vodka neats.
"Yeah," he said with a nervous chuckle, returning the embrace. He held out his gift, which was still inside the plastic bag he'd used to carry it out of the store. "Happy birthday."
"For me?" she said, tearing the bag open with her black polished fingernails. "Socks! With little moons on them, oh you're sweet!"
"Read what they say," he pointed to the socks.
"'It's not just a phase'," she read, then clasped the socks to her chest fondly. "That's hilarious, thank you, Ryland! Come, come join us, the show is about to start!"
"Show?"
Olesya offered no answer, instead dragged Grace to their group of coworkers, mostly engineers as he expected, all dressed in various arrays of goth attire. They all greeted him, clapped him on the shoulder. All except Stratt, who gave him a soft smile and a nod. Even though she wore no makeup, she looked right at home among the goths, wearing an over-sized black sweater, hands in her pockets, standing at the edge of the group.
Grace and Stratt had a fondness for each other, a fondness that might have developed into romantic feelings if either of them were straight. As it was, though, they were good friends, and even better coworkers. He took a lot of pleasure in teasing her, and she pretended not to like it.
Grace asked her, "Come here often?"
"Actually, I have been here before." She indicated the room. "This building used to be a German heritage center. I came here a few weeks ago to meet a friend from Heidelburg."
Grace blinked at her. As he thought about it, he realized the building's entrance had been lined in old historical photographs. He hadn't thought to read any of the captions beneath them.
He opened his mouth to tease her with a quip, but the crowd erupted in cheers as a woman in heavy makeup and a glittering black dress took the stage. Red liquid was smeared over her mouth and chin, like she'd just fed.
She greeted the crowd, introduced the first performer. Grace hadn't known there would be a show, though to be fair he hadn't attended many balls, vampire-themed or otherwise.
The dancer stepped out to a twangy country song, wearing a red-fringed cowgirl outfit, her face half-hidden by a bandana. Solid start - they were in Texas after all. She moved with the music, aimed her fingerguns at the audience.
Grace leaned over to Stratt. "So is this like, a drag thing or…?"
Stratt glanced at him, her eyes flickering with amusement. "Olesya didn't tell you? It's a burlesque show."
As if on cue, the performer tore away her blouse, revealing a glittering red bra.
Grace could only blink in surprise, completely caught off guard. He glanced at the rest of the coworkers, who all cheered and whooped. Olesya caught his gaze and winked playfully.
He seemed to be the only one who hadn't known.
The cowgirl dancer sensually removed the bandana from her face, pulling back her lips to sneer her false vampire fangs at the audience, fake blood painted down her chin and neck.
Grace had never even been to a strip club, much less a burlesque show. From what he'd seen in movies, he assumed there would be poles involved and lots of sticking dollars in thongs. But no, this was a performance, a routine, and he was almost so impressed by the costume and dancing that he forgot this woman was getting completely undressed.
When she ripped open her blouse to reveal two heart-shaped pasties covering her nipples, Grace and Stratt both averted their gazes at the same time. Their coworkers joined the crowd in applauding as the woman bowed, her routine ended.
Grace and Stratt took the break in between to grab drinks from the bar: her a Shiner, and he a vodka cranberry.
"A burlesque show?" Grace asked. Both he and Stratt were used to being wallflowers at these events, and accordingly found a spot at the edge of the room where they could bloom in peace. "Is that… you know, work appropriate?"
Stratt shrugged. "We're off the clock."
"I'm just surprised you'd be willing to come out."
"Olesya was… insistent," she said. "And it is her birthday, after all. Besides," she nodded towards the vendors lined along the wall. One of the booths had a large banner for a local food bank. "It's for charity."
"Charity," Grace echoed.
A few techs appeared on stage, unfolding a large tarp. Grace guessed that, seeing as this was a vampire-themed burlesque, the tarp was to catch fake blood for the next act.
He and Stratt watched as Olesya and the engineers all chattered excitedly in the middle of the room.
Grace asked, "Do you know if anyone else from work is coming?"
Stratt sipped her beer. "I'm not sure. I overheard Olesya say something about Simon, though."
Grace cocked an eyebrow. "Engineering Simon? He never comes to these things."
"Who knows. Maybe he's…" she indicated the black-clad crowd. "Goth."
If that was true, Grace wouldn't be surprised. From what he had heard from the other engineers, Simon sounded… interesting. He had a few rumors circling him, conflicting stories about how he became an amputee, that he spent time in prison.
That, and Grace couldn't help but notice that he was a handsome guy, in that quiet, bulky, brooding way. Particularly Grace noticed his eyes: deep eyes, deep enough to drown in, and they always seemed to have this mournful sheen to them.
But he had only ever made direct eye contact with Simon once, the first time they met. Since then, Simon seemed intent on avoiding his gaze, never having said more than two words to him. Grace tried to be friendly, start up chatter in the break room, wave as they passed each other in the hall. But Simon only ever responded with grunts or ignored Grace completely.
Grace said, "I think he hates me."
Stratt scoffed lightly. "He doesn't hate you, Doctor. No one hates you."
"Except for you."
"Except for me," and they toasted their drinks. "Simon is… shy. But he's a good man. A great man, considering what he's been through."
"Oh?" Grace sipped his drink, thought for a moment. "Did he say how he lost his arm?"
"An accident. 'On the job', is all he said when I hired him."
Grace wondered what kind of engineering job could endanger his life like that. "Did he actually go to prison?"
Having laid out the tarp onstage, the techs retreated behind the curtain. The music started up again as the MC introduced the next performer.
"Maybe you should ask him yourself," Stratt said, which was her way of saying yes.
"He doesn't talk to me. He doesn't even make eye contact with me."
"Really? He's pretty friendly with everyone else."
Before Grace had time to process that information, the next performer stepped out. This dancer was a stocky woman, wearing ripped denim and a blood-stained muscle shirt, her hair cut close to her scalp.
He glanced at Stratt, pleased to see her eyebrows raise in interest. The dancer was maybe too young for her, but she was definitely her type.
Near the end of the routine, the dancer bit down on blood capsules. Her fanged mouth filled with the liquid, the blood dripping down her muscle shirt and onto the tarp.
Stratt's normally pale face had flushed. Grace smirked to himself: even though the burlesque thing had caught him off guard, it was worth it to see Stratt's discomfort. This was exactly why he'd come out in the first place.
Oh. And to hang out for his coworker's birthday. Which they were currently not doing.
"Come on," Grace said, nodding towards Olesya and the engineers. "We should be with the rest of the group."
When Olesya saw Grace again, she threw an arm around his shoulder. "Are you having fun, Ryland?" she yelled into his ear. Even though he preferred for people to call him Grace or Dr. Grace, he loved the way Olesya pronounced his name, with a soft trill on the R.
"So much," he said with a grin. "I think Stratt's having more fun, though."
Stratt sent him a death glare.
Olesya squealed. "Ooh, does Eva have a little crush? Do you want me to introduce you to her after the show?"
Stratt's blush had deepened. "No. Thank you."
Olesya removed her arm from Grace's shoulder and used it to cover a very loud whisper towards Stratt. "Don't worry, I think Ryland will get his next."
Before Grace could wonder what she meant, the stage techs carried in a large object and set it in the middle of the tarp. It was shaped like a bathtub, except instead of white porcelain, it looked like dark rusty metal, more like a tank.
Olesya addressed Grace, her voice almost a low purr, "I'm so glad you could make it, Ryland." She had a strange expression on her face, a wicked grin. It was the face she wore when she had accomplished some kind of impossible, harebrained engineering feat. "I think you'll really enjoy this act."
The lights dimmed so that a man concealed by a hooded cape could take the stage. He stood with his back to the crowd, the gathered goths going silent.
The music began.
It was a slow, sensual beat. The man rolled his shoulders, and the cape fell.
He had shoulder-length dark hair, half pulled up. His long robe wasn't glittering red or black like the other costumes, but a neutral dark green, a light fabric almost like linen.
The left arm of the robe draped loosely over his shoulder. An amputee.
Grace's heart leapt into his throat.
No. No way.
Still facing away from the audience, the man raised his chin, rolled his head around to stretch his neck. He swayed slightly in time with the slow beat, lifted his arm to rub at the top of his spine.
Then, slowly, he turned around.
"Oh my fucking God," Stratt said under her breath. She rarely ever cursed, though Grace thought it suited her. "Is that-"
Simon's deep eyes had lost their mournful sheen, now glinting with power as he cast his gaze over the room, pushed his hair back with his hand. Like so many of the performers, his mouth and chin were red, the fake blood painted down his neck and the center of his chest.
He certainly didn't seem shy now. No, he commanded the stage, hip confidently cocked to the side, completely at ease with the cheering crowd.
Until he locked eyes with Grace.
Both men tensed at the contact. So many times, Grace had hoped that Simon would look him in the eye, and now, he wished he hadn't. It was too much to bear, those dark eyes. Both of them seemed to be under a terrifying spell, rooted to the floor, unable to break. Fear flashed in Simon's expression.
The song continued, a voice coming through the speakers.
There's something in the look you give
Simon seemed to come back to himself then. His eyes left Grace's only for a moment to scan the whooping audience. He squared his broad shoulders, lifted his chin, and he was performing again.
I can't help myself I fall,
I can't help myself at all
He swayed his hips in time with the beat, ran his fingers along the hem of his robe, tugged it aside to show a sliver of tan skin. Simon bared his teeth, revealing a set of false fangs.
Grace had almost forgotten how to breathe. In his peripheral, he saw Olesya grinning like a madwoman, her eyes on him.
That… little… rat. She had known Simon would be here tonight. They were both engineers and, apparently, goths. She knew he'd be performing.
Did Simon know that the coworkers would be there? He didn't seem surprised when he saw the rest of them, just by… Grace. Was that part of Olesya's scheme, embarrass Simon by bringing the one coworker he hated?
Simon toyed with the belt of his robe, found Grace's eyes again as he tugged slow, so painfully slow.
I scream god forgive me please
Because I want you on your knees
The belt fell to the floor. Simon turned to the side, kept the robe clasped with his hand, allowed the fabric to slip over his shoulder, showing his bicep.
Whoa. Had he always had muscles like that? How had Grace not noticed?
Then again, at the lab, they all wore either uniforms or lab coats.
I know I won't get out if I fall in
Simon faced away from the cheering crowd. He slowly let the robe fall past his shoulders, his waist.
It's dark in my imagination
The fabric fell to the floor, pooled around his feet.
Simon was wearing a back harness, a pair of black booty shorts, and boots. That was all.
His back was muscled beneath the harness, and scarred. Grace's stomach flipped when he thought about where Simon had gotten those scars.
For a while, he genuinely thought the prison thing was a rumor. But to hear Stratt all but confirm it, and what had she said about how he lost his arm? 'On the job'?
What kind of strange, horrible, fascinating life had Simon lived? And how on Earth had it led up to performing at the vampire ball?
Simon turned to the audience, flexing his chest beneath the harness. He stood with his hips forward, drew his shoulders back, and hooked his thumb into the hem of his shorts. The crowd whooped and whistled. His bloody mouth quirked into a half-smirk at the reaction, like he knew he was hot and was flaunting it.
And God, he was so hot.
How had Grace not noticed how insanely hot he was?
There's something in the look you give
Stratt leaned towards Grace and murmured, "Don't forget to breathe, Doctor."
Grace swallowed the lump in his throat and washed it down with his vodka cranberry.
Simon's eyes found him again, flickering between him and Stratt. There was almost a question in his expression.
Now are you giving it to her
'Cause I'm not entirely sure
Grace didn't know why, but he felt the need to shake his head, and did so.
Simon's gaze relaxed, remained locked on Grace as he lowered himself to his spread knees. He slowly moved his hips back and forth.
Can't help but wonder where you've been all day
Just say when I'm so far away
That you give yourself a taste
Simon swiped his thumb across his lower lip, baring his teeth to show off the fangs.
He just kept staring at Grace. Why was he staring at Grace? And why was Grace hoping that he would never look away?
'Cause I don't want to think about it now
I know I won't get out if I fall in
Simon broke eye contact to lean forward, putting his legs behind him as he did a series of slow, one-handed pushups in time with the beat. Then he began rolling his hips against the floor, bracing himself with his hand. He looked at Grace again, smirked as he thrust against the stage.
It's dark in my imagination
It's dark in my imagination
Grace felt like he was going to pass out. Fantasies sprang to mind, unbidden, fantasies of Simon rolling those hips against him instead of the stage. Grace shifted his weight, hoping and praying that none of his coworkers could tell that he was hard. It was like some kind of terrible, sexy nightmare.
It also occurred to him in that moment that Simon probably didn't hate him. Or he did, and he was doing this to Grace specifically to torment him.
Is it all in my head?
Are you somewhere waiting for me?
Grace had forgotten about the tank in the middle of the floor, but Simon stood and stepped down the stage towards it, his approach crackling the tarp. He placed one boot on the edge of the tank, unzipped it slowly, pulled it off and rolled down a black sock so that he was barefoot. He did the same with the other boot, then stepped inside the tank.
"You can't see from back here," Olesya said to both Grace and Stratt, still wearing her mad grin. "But the tank is filled with blood."
Oh. Cool. Maybe.
Is there something unsaid?
Are there secrets that you keep?
The music slowed. Simon lowered himself into the tub so that he was kneeling, cupped some of the blood water in his hand and dripped it down his body, smearing red across his chest.
The crowd closed in front of Grace, and he got on his tiptoes to try and get a better view. He sensed the smug look exchanged between Stratt and Olesya and decided to ignore it.
Simon pulled out a metal cup filled with the blood water. He rose to his feet as the music began to ramp up again, lifted the cup above him, and bowed his head. The blood water poured out, dripping down his hair, his shoulders, his chest. As he poured, Simon slowly raised his head, pushed out his chest so that it caught the stream instead. He kept rolling his hips in time with the music, dropped the cup when it was empty and slicked back his wet hair.
He looked like a demon in human form, bloody and beautiful.
It's dark in my imagination
Simon searched the crowd again, met Grace's gaze once more and held it. He placed one foot on the edge of the tub, smeared blood-water down his chest and used his hand to cover the bulge of his shorts, thrust his hips sharply forward once, twice, groaning as he did so.
The crowd was screaming and applauding. Grace was dead silent.
The music began to fade out, the audience taking up the sound in a wall of noise. The announcer came out in her glittering dress, clapping her hands against the mic.
"Give it up for the Butcher!" she cried out, and the crowd matched her energy.
Simon smiled, a relaxed, shy smile, so completely unlike the cocky performer he'd been moments before, and waved his bloody fingers. A stage tech handed him a black towel, which he used to dry himself off.
For a moment, Grace was worried that Simon would disappear backstage, head straight home to shower. Then again, maybe that would be for the best. Maybe they should go back to the way it had been, avoiding eye contact, avoiding each other. Maybe this night had been a bad dream, maybe it should stay that way.
But Simon remained by the stage as he put his boots back on, the techs removing both the tank and the tarp. The show was breaking for intermission, though Grace had no feasible idea how anyone could follow that performance.
"Let's go!" Olesya said, seizing Grace's arm. She dragged him to the edge of the crowd, where Simon was still drying his hair. "Simon! Here!"
When Simon saw Olesya, his expression softened. He held out his arm as she leapt to embrace him, not caring about the blood-water still staining his chest.
"You were amazing!" Olesya crowed.
"You think?" he said with a half-grin. He still hadn't looked at Grace. Maybe he wouldn't look at him. "It wasn't too much?"
"No, it was perfect," Olesya insisted.
Simon chuckled, slicked back his wet hair as the other engineers gathered around him, sang his praises.
Grace stood back, unsure. He felt like an invader, having seen something deeply personal about someone he barely knew. At the same time, Simon had been the one who kept staring at him. Maybe he'd mistaken him for someone else?
Stratt joined Grace, hands in her pockets.
He asked, "You gonna go talk to the Butcher?"
"No," she said, the line of her mouth pulled taut. "It was an incredible performance, but not one that his boss should have seen." She sighed. "I'll have to have a talk with Olesya on Monday. If she had disclosed that someone on the team was performing, I would have never made an appearance. I only hope I didn't make him uncomfortable by being here."
"I mean, I'm here too," Grace said, chuckling nervously. "You think that would make him uncomfortable?"
She turned her head to blink at him, like a sage owl. He hated that look, the look she gave when she thought he was being stupid, but was trying to think of something nice to say. "I'm leaving. You should go talk to him."
"Should I?" Grace asked, rubbing the back of his neck. "Would that be weird?"
"He just bathed in blood dressed as a sexy vampire. You're the one being weird." The corner of her mouth quirked. "Have a good night, Doctor. Don't fuck it up."
And with that, she left him, exchanged a few words in Dutch with the bartender on her way out.
He heard Olesya say, "Oh, and Ryland is here too! Ryland!"
Grace took a deep breath, tried to calm the nerves roiling in his chest, and put on a smile.
Olesya smirked as he approached. "He loved your performance, didn't you, Ryland?"
Simon looked past him, his shoulders tense, his expression dimmed.
"Y-yeah," Grace said, cleared his throat. "Yeah it was…" Hot. Sexy. Gorgeous. "Good."
Olesya said, "We made the blood ourselves, it's cherry-flavored." She put a hand on Simon's shoulder, indicated his smeared chest. "Wanna taste?"
Grace felt his face flush and looked away. "I-I'm good, Olesya."
Simon still said nothing to him, looked to Olesya instead. "I'm gonna go… clean up. Then I'm gonna head out."
"No!" Olesya cried out. "No, you can't leave! We haven't danced yet!"
"I'm tired, Les."
"Ryland has never been before!" she said, pointing to him.
Grace frowned. "Never been where?"
Simon finally met his eyes, and Grace held his breath. Those deep eyes were even more spellbinding up close. "The basement. You know, the club?"
Grace hadn't been to a club in years. He remembered them being loud, packed, with sticky floors and scowling bartenders.
He should go home, shouldn't he?
Olesya said, "You'll love it! Please, Ryland, come dancing with us!"
"… Okay," he said, shrugging and smiling half-heartedly. "Sure."
"Yes! You will not regret," she said, pointing a finger at him.
Simon murmured something about changing, grabbed his towel and disappeared behind the stage.
Grace mingled with the engineers, but he could feel Olesya's eyes on him, her knowing smirk burning his peripheral. He felt pinned in place, the butt of a joke that he didn't know the set up to.
So he excused himself to the bathroom where he could collect himself, wash his face off, and hope that his half-chub would finally go away.
He opened the door to find Simon standing at the bathroom sink, still covered in blood. And alone.
They were completely alone.