"Whether I live and love, or love and die, I care not: either way I understand...For I, I also, shall come again."- Aleister Crowley

Still 1989

Feels so good being bad
Oh oh oh oh oh
There's no way I'm turning back
Oh oh oh oh oh
Now the pain is my pleasure cause nothing could measure
Oh oh oh oh oh

The music continued to play through the speakers as Dylan stood there in shock. Hera's voice was indistinct, trying to pierce through the veil, to his left, but he couldn't distinguish any of the squeaks and garbles apart from each other.

Ignoring her completely, he left her there with the broken remains of their drinks on the floor, alcohol seeping out making the floor slick and sticky, and pushed his way through the crowd, forcing himself closer to the stage.

Love is great, love is fine
Oh oh oh oh oh
Out the box, outta line
Oh oh oh oh oh
The affliction of the feeling leaves me wanting more
Oh oh oh oh oh

Dylan's eyes remained fixed on Elijah's movements, following him around the stage as he did things with his hips that should be illegal, and movements with his legs that surely couldn't be possible. No one could be that flexible.

'Cause I may be bad, but I'm perfectly good at it
Sex in the air, I don't care, I love the smell of it
Sticks and stones may break my bones
But chains and whips excite me

Elijah continued around the stage in this manner, playing to the crowd, and directing all the lust being thrown his way back outward. The music faded from Dylan's ears as he finally made his way to the front of the stage, pushing between two disgustingly drunken middle-aged men. It was a good thing Elijah was the last act for the night. Anyone following after him wouldn't have been able to compete, or keep the level of energy, that Elijah was inspiring from the crowd, going.

Dylan continued to watch in awe as Elijah danced to the song, not even registering anything but the jerks and rolls of his body, and the circles and dips he made at certain moments. He knew he shouldn't be turned on by this. He had seen Elijah's eyes after all. He knew that deep inside there somewhere, Elijah was hiding, allowing his body to do what it needed to do to make money.

This should have some impact on Dylan. And to a certain extent, it did, but apparently not enough. Damn it. Dylan tried to think of anything else, focusing on what this meant for Elijah's life, if he was working here. Anything that would kill the arousal growing inside him with each swivel and grind Elijah's hips made. But all he could think about were the times that Coop's hips had done that against his, under his.

No.

Think of something.

Anything.

He started to think of the last time he had seen Elijah, the only time he had seen him. As the innocent, little boy at the playground. But he had to stop himself, slamming that out of his head. That just felt wrong now. Dirty. He couldn't think of that Elijah while drooling over the one in front of him. The entire time Dylan was fighting over this in his head, Elijah had continued dancing, now moving closer to some of the men at the side, doing extreme movements up close to gain more money from them.

A surge of jealousy shot through Dylan. It was irrational, he knew that. But it still didn't stop it from happening. It's not like this meant anything to Elijah. And he technically didn't have a claim over him, but Dylan's emotions had always been like that. Uncontrollable. Wild. Extreme.

Dylan gritted his teeth trying to move on from the seething mess inside of him. He attempted to convince himself that punching those men repeatedly in the face wouldn't be in the best interest of Elijah or himself. More satisfying, yes. But not helpful.

As all these conflicting emotions crossed through him, in the matter of seconds, Elijah made his way back up near the front of the stage making eye contact with Dylan. There was a flicker in Elijah's eyes. Dylan wasn't sure if it was an unconscious recognition, or whether he had been able to read the emotions and thoughts that Dylan was so sure were clearly written all over his face.

But whatever it was, it seemed to bring a new life to his eyes and by connection, his movements, if only for that second. Not breaking eye contact, Elijah danced his way up to Dylan's area, rolling his hips and lightly singing along with the music.

Of course, he was singing. Dylan hadn't noticed before, but seeing this made him smile slightly. It made sense that Coop wouldn't be able to resist. And it was just another way to distract himself from the crowd.

Oh, I love the feeling you bring to me
Oh, you turn me on
It's exactly what I've been yearning for
Give it to me strong
And meet me in my boudoir
Make my body say ah, ah, ah
I like it, like it

During the course of this, Elijah had gotten incredibly close to Dylan without knowing it and had never taken his eyes away from him. He seemed to be singing directly at Dylan, even if he hadn't realized it. As Elijah started his routine for the final part of the song, he seemed to startle himself, realizing what he had been doing, and subtly flinched back, breaking the eye contact. He made sure to move away from the center stage, avoiding it as he went around again.

'Cause I may be bad, but I'm perfectly good at it
Sex in the air, I don't care, I love the smell of it
Sticks and stones may break my bones
But chains and whips excite me

The song trailed off with Elijah finishing his routine, making his way back to the pole in the middle of center stage with his back turned as he waited for the second and final song of his set.

When the music started, Dylan groaned, recognizing the song once again and already knowing no matter what Elijah did on the stage, it wasn't going to help him stop thinking about him inappropriately. Elijah waited until the words started before turning his body, gripping the pole and swinging around with his leg wrapped closely against the pole. He ground his hips on it, arching his back and throwing his head, before letting go of the pole and strutting his body forward, completely owning the stage, as he surely did every night.

Dylan smiled to himself. He really was treating this like it was a concert or a show, and not the strip tease it was. It's probably how he managed to survive them intact. If he pretended that this was him singing or acting, then it wasn't really him dancing sexually for men that threw money at him.

So hot out the box
Can we pick up the pace
Turn it up, heat it up
I need to be entertained
Push the limit, are you with it?
Baby, don't be afraid
I'mma hurt you real good, baby

Let's go, it's my show, baby, do what I say
Don't trip off the glitz that I'm gonna display
I told you, I'mma hold ya down until you're amazed
Give it to ya till you're screaming my name

Elijah seemed to have forgotten the incident from earlier. Either that or he just didn't care, as he made his way back to the edge of center stage where Dylan was, again. Looking down at him he rolled his hips far more than he should have in front of him, softly singing. The emphasis he put behind each word and movement was enough to make Dylan want to jump the stage.

No escaping when I start
Once I'm in, I own your heart
There's no way to ring the alarm
So hold on until it's over

Oh!
Do you know what you got into?
Can you handle what I'm 'bout to do?
'Cause it's about to get rough for you
I'm here for your entertainment

On the last line, Elijah cocked his head to the side and lifted his arms in an arrogant shrug, as if he himself recognized the irony and truth in those words. Dylan loved it. His cocky little bitch was in there somewhere. Even if he was hiding.

"Innocent, little boy, huh?" a shell-shocked, squeaky voice came from right behind him.

Dylan turned his head away from the stage, momentarily distracted.

"Uh...yeah," Dylan chuckled awkwardly, coughing behind his hand to clear his throat, as he looked back up toward the stage.

"Well...apparently that didn't last for long. Some things have...certainly changed. I don't know what happened, but there's no mistaking it."

"That's definitely Coop. Elijah. Even if I didn't recognize his eyes as the same ones the little boy had, there's no mistaking the lust pouring off of him. He's practically feeding off it. That's not natural. No one but Eros could pull that off. It's Coop. No matter what cycle he was in, Coop always kept that natural eroticism that he was born with."

Oh, I bet you thought that I was soft and sweet
You thought an angel swept you off your feet
Well I'm about to turn up the heat
I'm here for your entertainment

Woah
Do you like what you see?
Woah
Let me entertain you till you scream

He finished the song, softly fading in the background, as he slowly brought his body back up from the bend he'd made, making one final turn on the pole his gaze lingering on Dylan for one last moment, before shaking his head in inward chastisement, and stalking off the stage toward the back much to the disappointment of the men surrounding the stage. Ignoring the groans and angry, drunken mumbles, Elijah lifted his arm to wipe the sweat from his neck and face before lifting the curtain and disappearing behind it.

The momentary void that was left behind was practically tangible. It was like he had pumped the club completely full of lust and hormones that could be felt and breathed in, dripping from the air, and then he had sucked it back out within seconds when he left, leaving an empty nothingness.

Only it was worse, because everyone had felt what had been there before. It ached. Dylan ached for Elijah. And not just in the physical, as everyone else in the club was experiencing, though that was present as well. He wanted to see him. Away from the stage. He wanted to see him. Not the person he pretended to be when everyone was watching.

Dylan tried to follow Elijah to the back, pushing his way through the crowd with Hera trailing on his heels, to get around to the side door of the main floor next to the stage. As he got within distance of the door, finally breaking out of the crowd that was now taking over the previously bare dance floor with electronic pop music filtering out from the speakers, one of the men manning the bar had apparently noticed his direction and stepped away from his station to block Dylan's path.

"You can't go back there," he heard an unexpectedly thin voice come from the solid brick towering in front of him.

"You don't understand," Dylan attempted, leaning around him to see the door barely a few feet in front of him. "I just need to speak to him. I just need to-"

"Look, you don't understand," the man continued. "Do you really think you're the first person to try and worm their way back there? Do you really think you're the first person tonight to try and get back there? Or that no one else has tried the whole, 'No, I just really want to speak to him,' approach? I honestly couldn't give a fuck why you need to get back there. You're going to have to wait like the rest of them."

"But I just need to speak to Elijah," Dylan threw out when the man started to walk away with an air of finality. "It's incredibly important. I-"

"How do you know his name?" the man turned around suddenly suspicious. The performers on stage never actually used their real name. Not anymore at least. Years before they had when the bar had just started out. But that had led to problems. Some of the best dancers had gotten unwanted, and sometimes even threatening, phone calls. One had had to deal with issues involving an obsessive stalker, and one had even been beaten up pretty badly when he'd gotten home after work one night.

After that incident, Saints had taken huge steps to try and protect the dancers from things like these; one of the policies stemming from this, being the anonymity of the performers. Elijah was actually the first boy they had hired after they had made this change. He certainly wasn't a boy anymore, but Steve still saw the frail seventeen-year-old who had come in and faked his records to try and get a job. The boy who had cowered and tried to run when he and Jim had called him out on this.

It had taken years to get Elijah to trust them. But he finally did. Or at least Steve thought he did. They had reassured Elijah that he wasn't in trouble, and that, if he needed the job that badly, they would hire him, but god, it was always such a hard thing to see. Someone as young and innocent - though he would scoff if you ever told him that - as Elijah being thrown into that world. Steve shook his head, turning back around fully and staring down at the man and woman in front of him.

He always took his job of protecting the men seriously. They might be grown men - most of them, anyway - and they might be what most considered strippers. But they were still unbelievably fragile, when they thought no one was looking.

But there was something about Elijah specifically that always scared Steve. He cared about all the boys, but for the most part they could take care of themselves, or were easily protected. Elijah didn't want any help from any of them. He wouldn't take it. Even though something told Steve he needed it far more than anyone else in the bar.

Most of the boys were young. Not that Elijah was old, but he just wasn't the untarnished, naive boy he had been nine years ago. The young ones - they'd be here for a couple years. Maybe more. However long they needed to get on their feet, and then they would leave, as well they should. Jim and Steve never had any hard feelings about this. They knew it was a fact of the business, and they never lacked for replacements.

In fact, they did everything they could to make sure the eventual move out of this building happened for all their dancers. It's one of the things that made this the most sought after bar in New York specializing in this line of work. Most times you couldn't trust the people you worked for anymore than you could trust the people you danced for in the end.

But Saints was different. It's the only reason Steve could sleep at night after hiring people in Elijah's situation. He comforted himself knowing that no one else was going to take pity and help what basically amounted to children - the young that everyone liked to overlook and pretend didn't exist because it offended their "delicate sensibilities." And he wasn't going to keep them here for forever.

Well, except for Elijah, it seemed. There were only two dancers older than Elijah, and Steve could accept them being here. He hadn't started them off in this line of work. They had come to Jim and him from the other clubs, begging for work. They were past the point of getting out and starting over. They weren't jaded necessarily, just able to countenance it better. As far as he knew, they weren't overly bitter over their lot; they had long ago accepted it.

They weren't actively pursuing a way out, and Steve didn't have a problem with that, because they weren't letting it ruin their life like Elijah was doing. They were still out living relatively normal lives when not on the clock. They weren't secretly an emotional wreck like Steve had for a long time suspected Elijah of being.

Elijah pretended that everything was fine, and, in fact, became overly cheery and defensive when anyone questioned his facade. But he didn't have a life. Not really. Not one that didn't center around Saints. He went through the motions pretending he did. Heck, he'd even been in a relationship with this sweet kid from Jersey, named Bryan. He'd moved in with him last year, much to the surprise of everyone that knew him.

Steve felt so much sympathy for Bryan, and he wanted to hate Elijah for what he was doing to that kid, but he didn't think he could. After seeing Elijah change so much over the past nine years, he just couldn't do it. Steve was appalled by the things he knew Elijah had been through, and he couldn't even begin to fathom the things he was still hiding. And if he were being honest, he didn't want to. He didn't want to know. Not when it came right down to it.

Bryan would do anything for Elijah. And when they had first started the mess that their so-called relationship is now, Steve had thought it was exactly what Elijah had needed. Foolishly, quite possibly. But at the time, it had seemed like such a good idea, and a much needed step in the right direction. Someone to care about him. For him. Something he had not experienced too much of in his life.

He'd watched carefully, knowing he shouldn't let his hopes rise, but not being able to stop them anyway. After three years together, there was still no change. Well, no, that wasn't entirely true. The fact was that Elijah had retreated even further into himself. Steve felt that Elijah might as well have been in a walking coma. It seemed like he never felt anything, or let anyone affect him. Good or bad.

And after so many years like this, Elijah didn't even see any need to worry about his behavior. He was completely comfortable in his numb separation. He was only ever uncomfortable when someone tried to overstep his carefully constructed walls and break down his boundaries. It was scary sometimes, how adamantly he guarded those walls, like a kid that guards the house he built from Legos, or the castle he made out of sand. He wasn't immature about it exactly. At least not usually. He was just like a dog with a bone. He never stopped. He never trusted anyone long enough to relax, so letting his walls down was never an option.

It was unhealthy. He was unhealthy. For Bryan. For himself. He had Bryan wrapped around his finger, and the poor kid didn't even see that Elijah wasn't involved in the relationship, whatsoever. He didn't have any prior experience to base it off of, so he thought this was normal. The poor kid never stood a chance.

And the more Elijah pretended to care for Bryan, the more he himself disappeared. And he was helpless to stop it. But he refused to allow anything else to happen to Elijah that would cause what little bit of him was left to vanish. There wasn't much he could do, if he were being honest. He couldn't legitimately interfere with Elijah's relationship with Bryan, as that could cause even worse problems that no one wanted to deal with, most of all him.

And he couldn't force Elijah to reappear, as much as he wanted to be able to just snap his fingers and make everything better. But forcing Elijah into anything, would just make it worse, and Steve feared that more than anything. So there was really nothing within his power that he could do to fix everything. But he could damn well make sure that no one else caused Elijah pain or more numbness. Whatever you wanted to call it.

He would do everything he could to protect him. Sometimes Steve laughed over this, realizing, perhaps somewhat pathetically, that this had become more his job than anything else. It was far more important to him than anything else. Even more than Saints, the bar that Jim and he had worked their fingers to the bone and scraped by for years to create. His baby.

Steve's thoughts rushed back to him, as his mind raced through every memory and connection he had with Elijah. And there were a lot of them after nine years. His mind finally calmed and settled on this point. Steve stepped closer to the pair in front of him, looking intensely down at them, as he repeated his question with even more authority dripping from his voice.

"How do you know his name?"

The man and woman in front of him looked at each other hesitantly which just raised his suspicions further.

"Well, I...I know what this probably seems like," the boy rushed out. "But I swear it's not that. I'm...I'm a friend. He...well, I guess he might not remember me, but I am a friend."

"Elijah doesn't have friends," the man said coldly. "I know. I've known him for nine years."

When he said this, they boy in front of him flinched and looked like he had been stricken with a skillet or electrocuted or something. Apparently the news that Elijah didn't have friends didn't sit well with him. Either that, or it was the information that Elijah had been here for nine years. Whichever. Steve didn't know. Both were equally disturbing.

If this bothered him, maybe he wasn't a threat to be eliminated after all. He still didn't trust him. He couldn't afford to, after all. But he might have a minute to spare to find out what the boy wanted now.

"Look, kid," the bartender relented. "I don't know why you're here, but I can't just let you go back there, no matter what your intentions might be, okay? I'm not even sure I should let you stay, yet or not."

"My name's Dylan," he said slightly disgruntled by the use of "kid." Though he supposed he deserved that, he thought wryly. "And, I swear, I'm not here to cause trouble. I just need to speak with Eli. I can wait out here if you feel more comfortable with that, but I just can't risk him leaving before I can talk to him. I-"

"Okay, okay, kid, calm down," Steve chuckled, trying to get a word in edge-wise, as Dylan basically ran over him, bursting forth with everything he wanted to say. "You can stay out here, ki-Dylan. Elijah usually comes out to grab a drink before he leaves anyway."

"I'm Steve, by the way," he added as he went to walk back behind the bar. "And I'll be watching from over here. So don't even think about making a break for that door. Cause then you really aren't staying. Understand?"

Dylan nodded emphatically, and moved for the bar to take a seat to where he could easily see the back entrance to behind the stage from his spot. Hera as usual trailed after him, biting her lip, unsure what she should do in this situation.

"Oh, and before I forget," Steve said, once more turning around for a second before going back to his employees behind the bar. "Just a word of advice, don't call him Eli. Or Elías. Either one. He'll rip your face off. Which normally might be entertaining, but you seem like a nice kid. I felt obligated to warn you. I have no idea why, but he's demolished men before you who've tried, so just don't do it."

Dylan's eyes widened in realization, because unlike Steve, he knew why Elijah would have issues with people calling him by those names.

Depressed with this new knowledge, Dylan sank down onto the stool next to him and turned to Hera to find her staring worryingly at him.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Dylan asked momentarily distracted.

"What do you mean 'why am I looking at you like that'?" Hera shouted exasperatedly. "Did you not just see what I did? Did you not hear the same things I heard? How can you ask me why I would be worried? Plus, once you add in the fact that you just had a look on your face that made it seem like someone told you glitter body paint and hairspray had been made illegal, it isn't any wonder that I would worry about you!"

"Glitter body paint, Hera? Really?" Dylan asked, somewhat amused.

"What?" Hera snapped. "Don't pretend you don't have a secret stash of it hidden in the hall closet that you like to get out and play around with when you think I'm not home. It's alarming the rate with which you go through it. Did you really think I hadn't noticed the jars in there every time I go in there to get out my coat?"

"What do you use that stuff for anyway? No, really, I want to know. I don't understand what you could possibly use it for. I mean, I know you like shiny things, and all that, but just, what gives Di?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, Hera," Dylan said blinking owlishly at her and shifting uncomfortably under her gaze. He then turned away from her to situate himself back at the bar so he could see the door.

"Uh-huh," Hera muttered, rolling her eyes at Dylan's usual avoidance of things that made him uncomfortable. It wasn't like she was suggesting anything by asking about the glitter. She was just honestly curious. There were only so many things he could make with the glitter, and she hadn't seen any evidence of him using it.

When Dylan looked up toward the door he almost yelped, and jumped off the stool, because at some point when he'd been talking to Hera, Elijah had come out into the main room.

He looked so much better now that he was away from the stage. He was dressed in everyday clothing. Or at least what Dylan assumed to be everyday clothing. It certainly wasn't what he'd been wearing earlier. Now that he was out on the main floor he had on just a pair of what most would take as "work day" jeans, and a thin t-shirt with a button over shirt. Nice, sturdy clothing, if a little worn.

What worried him the most about them was the fact that they did seem worn to the point of almost being threadbare. That surely wasn't enough for him to wear in the cold weather they'd had lately, and Dylan looked at Elijah's hands hoping to see a coat of some sort. Something to make him feel more comfortable with the situation. The only thing he could see, however, was an equally worn jean jacket, that was probably suitable for a light wind, but was incredibly ill-used for the winds outside.

Dylan started to get up to go over toward him, before he took in the fact that he was already talking to someone near the bar, and sat back down. They were incredibly close as well, much too close for Dylan's liking.

Well, he supposed he could wait until Elijah had finished whatever conversation he was having with the man, though why they needed to be that close during it, he still didn't understand. Fine. He was being childish, probably. But he didn't care. He didn't like it. At all.

Dylan attempted to watch them discreetly from across the bar, tensing up every time the space between them diminished even more. Just as he didn't think he was going to be able to control himself any longer and was going to end up doing something that was going to get him in trouble both with the bar and with Elijah, he noticed the man invading the last piece of Elijah's personal space to grab his arm, and he saw Elijah immediately flinch and jerk back, trying to get away.

Dylan didn't even stop to think. He immediately burst up from his chair, leaving a shocked Hera behind him, and he shoved through the people in between him and Elijah. He came up behind the man almost silently somehow, and immediately ripped him away from Elijah, not even bothering to find out what had been going on. Dylan didn't need to know. If Elijah didn't want him touching him, then he wasn't going to. Plain and simple.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, pip squeak?" the man yelled indignantly, as he swung around drunkenly.

Dylan looked over to Elijah to gauge his reaction to what had just happened, and was relieved to see the momentary relief and the deep breath that had slipped through the stone mask that he had been wearing. When Elijah opened his eyes back up and saw Dylan looking at him, there was a brief second of a flicker in his eyes, the confusion and defensiveness immediately visible on his face, before it went immediately back to the blank cold he wore like a fashionable scarf.

"Well, it seems to me that he didn't want you touching him," Dylan responded, turning back to the man in front of him with the coldest look he'd ever given anybody. The man might have been towering over him, but he honestly couldn't say he was all that scared of what would happen. Something told him this guy didn't actually have any spine to make him worth anything at the moment. "So, you're not going to be touching him. Is that clear?"

Disgruntled, the man shook his arm out of Dylan's grip, and smoothed the wrinkles in his expensive jacket out, sneering his nose in disgust at the sleeve as if Dylan had left something contagious behind on the sleeve. Of course, he would have money. Probably wasn't used to be told no, either, if that's what had been going on, which Dylan suspected it was. With one final brush of his sleeve, as if to say that they weren't worth his time, the man gave a chilling glare to Elijah and scoffed at Dylan tensed before him, before turning around and walking away while shaking his head in disgust.

Dylan turned back toward Elijah with what can only be described as bright eyes and a small smile on his face, as if this was the happiest he'd been in a while, if ever.

"What the hell do you think you're smiling about, kid?" Elijah questioned, bluntly.

"What are you..." Dylan trailed off, looking at the stare Elijah was giving him, like he was a bug in front of him. Or worse, one on his shoe. "Nothing, I guess. I'm just glad that didn't escalate."

"I mean, I'm not saying I wouldn't have dealt with it if it had, but just, it would have been pointless. You know?" Dylan finished off, trying to regain the smile that he had had before, and trying to provoke one from Elijah as well. He always had been good at making Coop smile, especially when he didn't want to. No one else had been able to do so. But he always could. But...nothing.

"I could have handled that," Elijah said, coldly. "I don't need anyone to fight my battles for me. I can take care of myself. Been doing it my whole life, I don't need some idiot who has a "knight in shining armor" complex to swoop in and screw me over more."

Elijah started to walk past him, toward the area where Steve was at the bar, curiously watching them, as if they were the only sense of entertainment in the entire bar.

"Whoa, wait, that's not what I was doing," Dylan breathed out, hurrying after him, while at the same time making sure he wasn't touching him. He wasn't that guy. He wouldn't be that guy. No matter how much he needed Elijah to talk to him. To give him a chance.

"Oh, really?" Elijah said in a superior voice, before turning around and giving him that icy bitch glare that he had perfected every cycle. "Then what exactly was it that you think you were doing, child, pray tell?"

"Okay, one, I'm not a child," Dylan said, his irritation rising fast. "And two, I saw that he had grabbed you and wouldn't let go. What was I supposed to do? Ignore it? Turn around and walk away?"

"Yes!" Elijah shouted, moving up into Dylan's face. "That's exactly what you should have done! Who do you think you are that you have any business involving yourself in my life and how I go about it?"

"Oh, well, excuse me, for caring whether or not some ass was manhandling you!" Dylan shouted right back.

"Why the fuck would you care!" Elijah screamed, throwing his hands in the air. "You don't know me from Adam! Just because you have a conscious issue that means you apparently can't mind your own fucking business, doesn't mean I should have to suffer! I'm not some damsel that needs saving. The only thing you stopped was that guy getting a swift knee to what were most assuredly the smallest balls in the bar tonight."

Dylan couldn't keep a smile off his face at this, breaking his resolve, and cracking a grin at that line and the complete seriousness with which Elijah delivered it. Coop was definitely in there. If there had been any doubt before, this eradicated it.

"Why the fuck are you smiling!" Elijah yelled in frustration, not understanding the humor and emotion he had evoked in Dylan by his threats to unman the asshole from earlier. "This might be a joke to you, but this is my life, you jackass!"

"Hey, guys, let's all calm down and take a step back," came Steve's voice from beside them as he apparently decided that they had reached the point where they were no longer idle entertainment and actually a problem for the bar.

"No, you stay the fuck out of it!" Elijah snapped viciously, turning around and poking a finger at Steve's chest, before bringing the finger around and stabbing it repeatedly into Dylan's chest. "And you! You pompous, chivalrous, big, strong man. I guess, I should thank you, right? Demurely bat my eyes, and look down shyly and in submission, while I laud you on your perfection, because you obviously have no flaws, and then offer to meekly bend my head and open my legs for you? Right? That's what you were expecting, wasn't it?"

"NO, god Elijah, just fucking stop, that never even was a thought in my head," Dylan shouted in exasperation, rolling his eyes at how fast this conversation deteriorated. He should have expected it, honestly. Coop always ran with strong passions, and Dylan, himself, had always been quick to temper. Things that normally shouldn't work as well together as they do, but somehow had fit together for them seamlessly without even trying.

"Don't tell me to fucking stop," Elijah raised his voice yet again. "Jesus Christ! You really are a pompous ass, aren't you? First you stick your fat nose where it doesn't belong, and now you're ordering me around. In case you haven't noticed, I happen to have a penis as well. I'm not someone to just be bid around at your wishes."

"Believe me, I know you have a penis," Dylan muttered in chagrin.

"What was that?" Elijah asked, annoyed.

"Nothing," Dylan said, quickly, trying his best to regain some ground in this conversation and steer it back around to normal levels. "Just, can we stop, Elijah, and talk about this?"

"What is there to talk ab-" Elijah started, before narrowing his eyes at Dylan and standing up straighter. "Whoa, whoa, wait. That's twice now you've used my name. How the fuck do you know my name?"

"Who are you?" he spat with venom.

"I...I," Dylan stumbled over what to say, because it wasn't exactly like he could tell him the truth. And he couldn't lie like he had to Steve and say he was a friend. Yeah, because that would go over well. Especially now.

"I'm Dylan," he said, deciding to keep it simple and just go with the obvious truth. "Just someone who saw something that shouldn't be happening and stopped it. It was never my intention to suggest anything about you and your capabilities. I just wouldn't have felt right with myself if I had ignored it, okay?"

"And I know your name because Steve just mentioned it, alright?" Dylan said hesitantly, still unsure if this was the route to go. "We were even talking about you earlier. You are an incredibly talented dancer, you know that? Incredibly. You should know that."

"Oh, and now it all comes together," Elijah muttered sarcastically, trying to recall if Steve had actually mentioned his name or not. He couldn't remember. "There's always an ulterior motive. Of course, there is. You weren't looking out for my well-being. You were looking out for yours. And any possible chances you might have of getting laid tonight. Complementing my dancing isn't going to get you there, if that's what you honestly think."

"Oh, my god, you are such a prima donna," Dylan said exasperatingly, not even paying attention to what he was saying anymore, he was so caught up in the intensity of their conversation. While the topic of discussion might not be familiar at all for them, the bickering wasn't anything new.

"And now we're on to insulting, since we've found out flattery won't get you in my pants," Elijah said mockingly. "Oh joy! Your methods are so new and inventive! Really, you must teach me your ways, as they seem to gain you so much progress."

"I can't even have this conversation with you right now," Dylan said, barely able to restrain his laughter from bubbling out. The funny thing was, that if Dylan didn't know any better, he would say that Elijah was actually enjoying himself. He might be making things up in his head, seeing what he wanted to see, but there was a sparkle and gleam in Elijah's eyes that hadn't been there before. And something told Dylan that this was the most animated Elijah had been in any conversation for a really long time. If ever. And it would make sense.

As much as they had liked their quiet times together, they had often picked fights with each other on purpose just so they could pit themselves against each other. They were such equals. In every aspect. It was like a certifiable battle of wills whenever they did it. And they always purposely riled the other one up just to see how far they could push each other before collapsing into fits of giggles. Or the occasional time where the arguments ended in sex. Those weren't entirely bad either.

"I know you're trying to be cutting and quick, and slay me down to the size you think I deserve, but you're honestly just making me laugh so hard right now that I can barely breath," Dylan tried to finish as calmly as possible, anticipating where this was going already, and not sure whether it was something he was dreading or looking forward to, whether it was something he should put a stop to, or instigate even further.

"And here comes the third tactic," Elijah said fake excitedly. "The cliché line of 'Oh you, stop it, you! You're so funny! How do you even exist? I've never met anyone like you before, and I doubt I ever will again. You're so perfect! Please let me take you home so I can show you just how perfect you really are'."

"Save it, jailbait, I've heard it all before," Elijah said with an attempt at finality. "And it doesn't do anything for me, so it's not going to do anything for you."

"Look," Dylan said, still chuckling from how easily all of this just flowed from Elijah, and always had. "If I promise that that's not why I helped you or why I'm talking to you now, can we move past this?"

"I mean, as nice as I'm sure it would be to get into your pants," he said ironically, slowly trailing his eyes over Elijah's frame. "That's not what my original intention was, believe it or not."

"But it's your intention now?" Elijah pointed out, humorously.

"Not necessarily," Dylan said, playing along. "We'll have to wait and see how the rest of this conversation goes, and you'll have to let me know how well my chances have improved."

"You're awfully sure of yourself for a child," Elijah said amused.

"And once again, I would like to point out that I am not a child," Dylan said, feeling a sense of lightness in his heart, as he was absolutely sure now, without a doubt, that Elijah was playing with him just as much as Dylan was playing with Elijah. They had fallen back into their old pattern of behavior without even trying. "In fact, I am so much not a child, that I'd like to buy you a drink. You know, to prove it to you and all. I mean, obviously I'm old enough to buy you liquor."

"Believe it or not, Prince Charming," Elijah said, still refusing to use his name for some reason. "I am perfectly capable of purchasing and imbibing my own alcohol. It's one of those things that goes along with me being able to take care of myself. And as much as the offer is tempting, I really do need to be going."

"So I'm just going to get my drink and leave you to all the prime, fantastic specimens of male conquests around you," Elijah managed to say with a straight face as he survived the majority of the crowd. Which it seemed mostly consisted of either overweight and balding men, or drunk jackasses that were busy groping their unwilling partners.

"Scared?" Dylan hesitantly asked, unsure what response he was going to get, but within seconds he found out he wasn't to be disappointed.

"Excuse me?" Elijah asked quietly, slowly turning around with one eyebrow raised imperiously.

"I said, are you scared?" Dylan said, this time grinning.

"Never heard the word before," Elijah said, staring at Dylan intently, like a cat does at a mouse it's about to pounce on. "It's not a word in my vocabulary. As I'm well sure you know by now. But that wasn't really what you wanted when you said it, was it? You said it, because you wanted me to prove you wrong. But tell me, why should I feel the need to prove anything to you?"

"I don't know," Dylan said smugly, almost positive that he had Elijah right where he wanted him, and he decided to pull out his piece de resistance, as he leaned forward, invading Elijah's personal space, only hesitating for a second, before seeing Elijah stay perfectly still allowing him in, and then he completely went for it.

He brushed his lips lightly across Elijah's ear, breathing hotly into it for a second, before taking his time to breath in his scent. When he was satisfied and content with his time there, and he had seen a slight quiver in Elijah's frame, he opened his mouth to finish what he had started.

"Maybe, because you want to?" Dylan said softly. Deeply. Drawing the words out and lingering there at his ear, before pulling back slowly, allowing his cheek to graze Elijah's cheek, and his eyes to scan and strip Elijah bare as they met the dark brown lust-blown eyes before him. Something told him his plan had succeeded, as Elijah's eyes narrowed, determination mixing with the lust still present, and suddenly Elijah's arm whipped out roughly grabbing the front of Dylan's shirt and brought him up to his face where Elijah could look him straight in the eyes as he breathed onto his lips, returning the favor no doubt.

"Do I want to?" Elijah said slyly, seeming to debate it with himself for a few minutes. "Well, I don't know, now that you actually asked me. Maybe I'll just have to take you up on that offer of a drink. Or maybe, we should just skip that and hit the dance floor."

"Who knows?" he trailed off, moving his lips to Dylan's ear seductively. "Maybe your moves will impress and seduce me enough that you just might get lucky tonight. Let's go see, shall we?"

"Come on, Dylan," he said, finally using his name for the first time, as he left Dylan behind, walking past him while trailing his hand down his chest and dangerously close to an area that was indecent considering the public space.

"Hey, fake I.D.," Elijah called in a sing-song voice from behind, waiting for Dylan to turn around to look at him, and jerking his head to the side beckoning him toward the dance floor. "Get your tight ass out here and show me why exactly I should be going home with you tonight."