CLUB TEPES - by Loyal Integra Fanboy - Anime - http://www.hellsingfanfic.net/hellsingfanfic/Club

Take note of the above rating, readers. NC-17 for sexual themes, drug references, strong language and violence.

PART ONE

Steven was already drunk by the time Emily arrived at his door. He faintly heard the buzzer, and he stumbled to the intercom. He leant lazily on the button. ‘I’ll buzz you in, my love.’

‘Christ, Steven, you look like shit.’ Said Emily, when she saw him in the hallway. ‘How much have you had?’
‘Not bloody enough…’ he slurred.
‘I would disagree.’
Steven felt he had every right to get drunk. He deserved it. Not only had he been sacked that day, due to ‘unforeseeable needs to make cutbacks’, he’d only been freshly dumped a couple of days earlier, by Haley, the miserable sow who thought that Russ, the copy boy, was a much better fuck than he was. All he had to keep him from being depressed about it was his work, at the Head office of Woolworth’s. Now he didn’t even have that. So now he was depressed.
Emily knew how much Steven loved Haley. But it was fine for her, because now, she could finally get round to revealing to him, her best friend since Secondary school, that she loved him. She’d loved him for the best part of five years, but she never had the courage, since Steven never really saw her as anything but a really close friend. Sure, they’d fucked on a few occasions, just for fun, but it was never anything serious. Emily wanted to tell him her feelings, but alas, she couldn’t, in the hallway of his flat, because he was too drunk. But if there was to be a sympathy fuck to come out of it, well, she’d have no problem with that.
‘You need some relaxation therapy, sweetheart,’ she announced, as Steven was groping for the bottle of vodka on the table, ‘Honey, put that down, I’ll make you a coffee.’

‘Okay flash, what’s your plan?’ enquired a more sober Steven, half an hour later, after the strongest cup of black coffee and the coldest shower he’d ever had.
‘Well, darling,’ said Emily, ‘I was thinking of taking you to this ‘alternative’ bar in Soho. Called Club Tepes, or something. Real gothic place, real nasty – you’ll love it.’
‘I’m not so sure…’ Steven pondered, leaning back in his chair and brushing a hand through his blonde, wavy hair.
‘Oh, come on! Live a little.’
She had dressed for the occasion already, in a long black gothic dress which hugged her curvy figure, and her brunette hair was straightened and hanging down as far as her shoulder blades. She was a beautiful young woman, with cherub-like facial features, and full lips, which she had adorned with black lipstick. Her deep green eyes were decorated with matching green eye shadow. She knelt behind Steven, placing one arm around his shoulders.
‘You never know until you try… And you need to have some fun.’
With her other hand she fished a tiny parcel wrapped in tin foil out of her handbag, and waved it casually in front of Steven’s face. Leaning in, she whispered, ‘I’ll cook up.’

The sinister, heavy rock music in Club Tepes, in combination with the candles lighting the place, and typically gothic arrangements of candelabras, stained glass paintings and assortments of torture equipment on display, made for an atmosphere that gave Steven a welcome exhilaration of being on the edge. It felt like a dangerous place, a deadly place, and the cocktail of hard drugs coursing through his veins only enhanced that feeling. The sting he felt when the needle pierced his skin has faded long ago, as had the warm sensation in his veins when he squeezed the plunger of the syringe in, but the disjointed and unearthly state of mind it induced had remained. He hadn’t recalled a lot between then and the moment he arrived at the club. He stood with Emily, similarly intoxicated, nursing a drink, not quite in synch with the world. She was talking her usual bullshit, the result of being high as a kite, to a man with long wavy hair and clothes that looked like they were straight out of the eighteenth century. He gazed at the man warily. At his side was a slender, pale skinned, but very beautiful woman, aged it seemed, about nineteen. She clung to his side like a trophy.
Clarity returned slowly to Steven’s mind, or at least, as much clarity as the drugs would allow. He decided that he would enter the conversation, and save Emily from the embarrassment of sounding like a twat.
‘Who are you?’ he was subtly polite, naturally.
The man turned to him and smiled a sharp smile. The woman looked at him through sultry eyes.
‘Hello, friend. My name is Vincent.’ He said warmly, with a voice that seemed placeless and timeless. ‘And you?’
‘Steven,’ the friendliness of the gentleman made him feel sheepish for being so rude. ‘I do hope Emily isn’t being too irritating for you.’
‘Quite the contrary, friend,’ Vincent said amicably, ‘your friend has been most enlightening.’
‘I see,’ Steven had never heard her described as that before.
‘You’re such a gentleman,’ giggled Emily.
‘How rude of me,’ said Vincent, ‘I did not introduce you to my lady. Steven, meet Lydia.’
Lydia removed herself from Vincent, and sleekly stepped forward, regally extending a slender hand. ‘Pleased to meet you – Steven.’
Steven felt compelled to take her hand and plant a kiss. He did so. Her hand felt somewhat cold against his hand and his lips.
‘It’s a pleasure to meet you too, my lady,’ he said, pretending to be as chivalrous as Vincent.
With her hand still holding Steven’s she turned her head to Vincent. ‘I like this one,’ she said sweetly.
‘So, tell me,’ Vincent said, ‘what do you think?’
‘Of what?’ asked Steven.
‘Of this place.’
‘Oh, I’m quite impressed. It’s so… gothic.’
‘I’m glad you approve. You see, I own it.’
‘Really?’ Steven was impressed. By the sheer number of people dancing, drinking and kissing in here, which amounted to a lot, he reckoned he must make quite a killing at this place.
‘You must make a killing out of this place,’ mused Steven.
Vincent chuckled knowingly. ‘Yes… quite.’
Emily giggled nervously at Vincent’s tone. It was dark, suddenly, with a hint of malice. But as soon as his mood had shifted, it returned to that of a friendly host.
‘You don’t happen to have any vacancies, do you?’ Steven half-joked, ‘I’m between jobs at the moment, as it happens.’
‘I may consider you, my friend. I like you Steven. Emily has told me all about you, I hope you don’t mind that.’
Emily responded to Steven’s look with an expression of ‘Sorry.’
‘Ah, that’s fine. Emily does like to talk.’
‘Yes, she does,’ smiled Vincent.
‘It’s such a pity you had to suffer like that. I feel so sorry for you.’
‘Excuse me?’ Steven despised people’s pity.
‘I’m sorry, friend, I didn’t mean it like that. I meant simply that I should help you enjoy yourself again.’
Gazing alluringly at Steven, Lydia said to Vincent, ‘Shall we?’
‘Yes,’ he nodded decidedly. ‘And young Miss Emily too.’
‘Yummy.’ Giggled Lydia softly.
‘Shall we what?’ Emily asked aloud.
‘My new companions. Consider yourself formally invited to my exclusive VIP area. Only those I like are ever permitted to enjoy it. If you would care to join me, I would be most ingratiated.’
Vincent offered his hand to Emily, and Lydia offered hers again to Steven. They both accepted, and their gracious hosts led them away, through the throng to a door at the back of the club. At the door stood a large man in a suit.
‘Good evening, sir,’ the man said to Vincent.
‘Yes it is Boris. These two are my guests in the VIP lounge.’
‘Understood, sir,’ the man stood to one side, and opened the door to let them through. He said ‘Enjoy your evening, Sir, Madam,’ as they went in.

The VIP lounge was a different atmosphere altogether to the main club. It felt luxurious, decadent. The carpet felt soft under Steven’s Doc Martins, and it was a deep scarlet in colour. Plush furnishings adorned the seats and tables, arranged as if it were a living room for a large house. Finely crafted wooden tables that were highly polished, a large glass chandelier suspended grandly from a high, art-deco ceiling, and a plush bar attended by a smartly dressed man who could have been a butler, completed the picture. There were Other guests sat comfortably, drinking from luxurious crystal glassware, speaking inaudibly to each other. All the men were as handsome and youthful as Vincent, and there were women equally as beautiful as Lydia.
Steven noticed there was a definite difference between certain people in the lounge. The men that were in the company of the beautiful, elegant women who were as seductive as Lydia was, did not seem to be regulars, but seemed like invited guests, as Emily and Steven were. Steven also realised that there were young women who also appeared to be invited guests were in the company of the handsome men, who looked like they were well-established members.
Maybe it’s singles night, Steven thought to himself. And he shrugged it off. He instead turned his gaze to Lydia, who to his surprise met his eyes with hers. She came in close to him, and placed her hands upon his hips. Awkwardly, but not wishing to keep his hand by his sides and appear rude, he gingerly placed his hands on her hips. Lydia said softly, ‘We’re going to have a wonderful time,’
Steven noticed, from this close, that her eyes seemed to have a reddish tint. Glancing briefly over her shoulder, he saw Vincent put his arm around Emily, and led her politely to a chaise-longe.
Feeling a little nervous, Steven said, ‘What have we got to drink here?’
‘Only the finest champagne for our guests,’ smiled Lydia, and almost immediately a steward appeared with a silver tray, with two flute glasses of champagne. Steven noticed that the steward, who also was handsome and youthful, wore white gloves. How quaint, he thought.

matoska_2000@yahoo.com

Visitors: 00767

Page Updated Mon Sep 7, 2009 12:04am EDT