It was both odd and strangely normal to be out by himself again. He hadn't had the luxury of a getaway since going to Hogwarts - he was expected around the castle a bit too much. And it didn't do to be hungover with students about. Cyhirae and Georgiana understood the signals, thankfully - if Daddy's on the couch with an icepack over his face and contemplating suicide, it wasn't a good time to ask questions. Students...and fellow professors...were likely more interested in how he'd rendered himself hungover in the first place.

Not that it was any of their business, of course. And, well - there was something bizarrely liberating about nightclubs. By himself, it was easy to drink just enough to dull his sense of shame and lose himself in the music and the crowd. He wasn't here to meet people, though he occasionally did, and he certainly wasn't here to go to anyone's home but his own. He enjoyed the music, the dancing and the vitality of it all.

Spellpunk was an odd choice for him, though - he usually stuck to the muggle clubs, mostly since he actually knew the music and routine. But he'd wanted to see what the fuss was about, and what a wizarding club was like. Spellunk was proving as much an education as he'd hoped - and it was new and exciting. Aside from the music being a bit...odd...the crowd itself was fascinating to watch. Wizards following muggle punk fashion had some of the most amazing hair he'd ever seen. Wizards following their own sense of fashion had done rather amazing things with their...well, with everything. And mini-skirts were still in no matter where you were, apparently. Not that he was complaining about that, no sir.

Their drinks had lovely names, too, and they were every bit as bizarre and non-descriptive as muggle ones. They'd called whatever he'd just drunk a Dragon's Tit, and whatever was in it was...well, delicious and odd. It seemed to have heightened his innate desire to observe and inspect anything that caught his interest, as a younger woman with towering, moving pink hair had discovered. Thankfully she'd just found his rather academic interest amusing.

He hadn't danced much, content for now to observe and see what and how wizards did this. It was during a lull in the music and dancing that he got out of his booth, watching with general interest as the bands switched. He stretched, popped his shoulder, and meandered off towards the bar - when an all to familiar flash of red curls caught his eye.

Darian Morgan. Tapendra paused, blue eyes locked on the younger man. Darian had the capability of drawing people to him - even now, the man wasn't sitting alone (did he ever?). There was a draw there - there was something fascinating about the utter lack of shame Darian displayed, especially since he coupled it with intelligence, a slyness and cunning, and genuine sense of fun.

It was terribly attractive, too; there was something in that mix that Tapendra envied, even if he didn't want to admit it past a vague feeling.

He ignored that rather disturbing wave of thought and strode closer, his quizzical expression turning to a slightly concerned frown as smoke drifted gently up from the table, the smell that hit his nostrils not one of tobacco...

Closer, closer, as sparking smoke wreathed a small table and the group of wizards and witches who passed cigarettes amongst each other, lounging against Spellpunk's padded chairs like they were floor cushions. Closer 'til the gleam of gold became a curiosity rather than a club feature, and until Darian happened to look up and over and see Tappy's approach.

He leapt to his feet so fast he seemed likely to fall over; one of his companions grabbed him about the waist to steady him as he swayed and slid a hand under their jaw in a grateful caress. Smoke trickled from his lips as he leaned down, still cupping the man's face as though for a kiss - but he only pawned off his cigarette to his erstwhile savior, who took it easily and inhaled. The man's eyes flashed gold before his lids sank in pleasure, and Darian untangled himself to stroll across the floor to Tappy.

He was a glittering creature in these lights, this night. His thickly-lashed eyes were lined in kohl and his lips as they curved had a silver sheen like gloss or some little spell, something to attract attention and then keep it. He was bare-chested and slim-torsoed under a dark vest of burgundy-dyed fur, some fluffy faux material lighter than the real stuff which tufted and shone deep with gold clasps. His legs were clad in leather, hip bones showing knife-sharp and hungry above his low-slung waistband, and he slid through the crowd like a predator. But as he got closer he turned mortal: the kohl was smudged, his hair stuck in little tendrils to his face and his chest shone with sweat from where he'd been dancing. His eyes flared wide with excitement, hooded lids lifting away to reveal blown pupils and a jittery stare.

"Tapendra!" he said, nearly falling into the other man. Under the deep thump of the music his voice was lost, but he spread a hand against Tappy's chest and looked up, his mouth moving to shape the name, pulse jumping in his throat like to match the beat. He seemed pleased to see Tappy, genuinely happy about this unexpected encounter, smiling and smiling as he straightened again.

Darian was, as ever, gloriously himself. Even with pupils that blown, Darian's aura was going at full force, and Tapendra could feel himself being drawn in. He had to admit it: Darian was fun. His world was less structured, less full of worries and responsibility and rules. In a bizarre way, Darian's world was utterly free of worry.

It was also over a line Tapendra wasn't ready to cross. Toe it, however...

No! He blinked, and smiled at Darian even as he carefully pulled away just enough to peel Darian off him. He patted Darian's shoulder, unable to stop himself from looking Darian up and down. Only Darian would wear that.... he looked around the club. Okay. Only Darian would wear that and look that good in it. Wait. No! Except that blonde at the far end of the dance floor; she could pull it off. Better than Darian. Yes. Definitely.

"Good evening," he said, cheerfulness edging on desperation, and got a good look at Darian's face as the lights flashed. His concerned look reappeared; the smell aside, he knew that look and that kind of inane cheerfulness. "What ever you've been doing, you've done enough," he chided. "I do hope someone's cut you off."

Darian only laughed, as if Tappy had made the most marvelous joke. "What are you doing here?" he asked, leaning in, taking advantage of a lull in the music to float the words to Tappy's ear. Wide eyes took in Tappy's ensemble,the normal shirt, the skinny jeans; Darian plucked at the v-neck shirt, bemused. Hardly club wear. "You didn't come to dance...?" He turned his head towards the dance floor, where the surging tide of humanity writhed and transformed under the colored lights. Like beasts that melded and flowed into one another, their heat flowing and sparking even all the way over here. Darian's gaze slid over them like a supernova, one white flash that should have turned them all to ash. Or was that a muggle microwave? He never could tell the difference.

"You have such long legs, Tapendra. Don't you get tired of being so high up?"

Tapendra didn't bother to swat Darian's hand away, instead crossing his arms and unconsciously forming a slight barrier between the two. "I -" Somehow admitting why he was here to someone like Darian was odd. Most of the friends he ran into didn't ask why he was here; he just was. "I came to unwind," he said, after a moment's thought. Technically, it was true. "And I - dancing -  sort of - wizard music is different." A sputter of excuses ended with a resigned sigh.

He took the momentary change in Darian's gaze to look at the table Darian had come from; the people there looked as drugged out as Darian himself did, if not more. They were relaxed, lethargic even, drifting even as the club hopped and flashed around them. Tapendra certainly could remember - that is, he could understand that utterly relaxed feeling, but...

"What?" He asked, as a reflex as Darian blurted a bizarre question. Well - being shorter would be nice, yes. It'd be so much easier to blend in and not be noticed if he didn't stand a head over everyone else. He wouldn't have to bash his head on doorways or be too tall for parking garages. "How did you kn-" He cut himself off as his consciousness caught up, and his cross arms loosened - one hand gripping Darian's shoulder, in a firm but friendly manner.

Bloody concern instincts. Darian's question had thrown him off guard, but didn't stem the rising tide of worry. Which was silly. Who worried about Darian Morgan? Actually - did anyone actually truly worry if Darian overdosed or something? His family probably cared, but...he knew purebloods. It was an issue of heritage that'd upset them, not...heck, Landis would probably even crack a smile. Darian...probably didn't worry about Darian, come to think of it.

Silly, nattery thoughts. They didn't help, nor did they make him feel any less concerned, and nor did they make him take his hand off Darian's shoulder. "I think you need to go home, Darian," he said. "Don't wizards have a...a cab of some sort?"

"It is different," Darian agreed. "But Muggle clubs are vanilla in comparison - you may not agree. No magic, nothing unknown, no surprise at all. If one goes home with someone, one has to behave. No spells, old tricks, those uncomfortable crinkly rubbers... it's almost not worth it. But you know, on the topic of music you are completely right. Muggle music is so much more alive. Easier to move to, remarkable lyrics - astonishing, isn't it? And... Tapendra..." A smile, slow, sly, and smoldering. "I know everything."

The intensity drained out of him and he sighed, his shoulders going limp under Tappy's firm grasp. He slouched into a graceful Grecian curve like a Renaissance god, head tilting, eyes drifting almost shut. His hand on Tappy's shirt fell away, lingering empty in the air half-reaching and forgotten. Benediction. He touched his third finger to his thumb.

"Dreams, Tapendra," he said. "I see them. Do you know, the other night I dreamed I was shagging myself... What a strange, beautiful little dru - oh."

Darian's eyes flared like a cat sensing danger, revealing flat black and white, blue irises drowned in the deep. This close they possessed a faint opalescent haze, the clouded eyes of a blind man, contributing to the impression that whatever Darian was looking at, it was far far away. "Oh. No. I can't go home, I'm celebrating. Yesterday was my twenty-eight birthday. It's party or cry, don't you think? Ah, but you're older than me, aren't you..." He looked briefly regretful about his faux pas. "Why would I want to go home? Then what has happened already would be a waste, including the advances of that cunning little blonde." He tilted his head back at the direction of the table, a languorous roll of the neck and slide of curls, as his voice lowered to a secretive rasp. "She says she's half-Veela, but she's lying. I'd know. I'm not going home alone tonight; don't be cruel to me and take that away."

"I don't come to these places for the surprises! Usually," Tapendra protested. "I only go home with my friends-" He paused, his tone sputtering from indignant to embarrassed. "That wasn't - I don't mean like that. I go home by myself, okay? I come to listen to music and relax! Not to..." He trailed off hopelessly. Darian hadn't really been trying to start a discussion on their clubbing habits, anyway.

The music was better, though. He wasn't about to protest that -

And then he lost Darian, at least temporarily. The content of the man's words mattered little, at this point; it was clear that whatever he was on clearly had the smaller man firmly in its grip. Though the fantasy of sleeping with himself was...well, did Darian really need drug trips to have that dream? It seemed like a pretty normal fantasy for him.

"Well, congratulations on your birthday," He said with no hint of sarcasm, though he was surprised Darian was that old. He tried to ignore the crack about his age. "Look, you've clearly had too much of..whatever you've been smoking." He shook Darian slightly, trying to figure out what to do. He didn't want to move a scene, he really didn't. "Or maybe you've had just the right amount, I don't know, but - Look, if I put a wig on a lamp-post you'd think it was that blonde." He glanced at the lady in question. "And possibly some balloons," he added after a moment. "Look, if you're that worried about - if it'll get you out of here, I'll go home with you, okay?"

Tappy shook him. Darian paused in his lolling to shoot him a look of annoyance, a really well-crafted one he liked to call The Morgan Glare. Irritation sharpened his senses - he made an effort to focus.

" 'If I'm too worried,' " he repeated, shaking his head. Such a good man, with such bad timing! He must make an excellent father. Though his kids would be clawing their own faces off by the time they were eighteen to get out from under Daddy's thumb; Darian knew all about that, didn't he? "You're too sweet, but kindly bugger off. She is not a lamp-post, I can tell the difference. The difference being that lamp-posts don't have a - " A new song started with a roar that obliterated the last of his sentence. Darian smirked as if he'd planned the censor himself.

Then something twigged. His expression changed, that dreamy languor shifting. With deceptive quickness he was pressed against Tappy, eyes lowered, mouth smiling, radiating heat and looking thoroughly debauched. Already at arm's length, he hadn't had to move far - just fall forwards. He stretched up an arm to cup the back of Tappy's neck, fingers sliding through the short hair there. He remembered that weakness.

"Is that an offer?" he asked in a throaty murmur, like the build-up to a really bad joke. The answer he'd get was so obvious that it was funny; baring his throat he threw his head back and laughed.

Tapendra was fully able to ignore glares - he had Landis and Georgiana to practice that on, after all. But the slip of the tongue was a more pressing matter. As was the fact that Darian was now firmly pressed against his side, fingers in his hair and voice purring.

Tapendra's reaction was textbook; he startled first, gawked second, and stuttered some utter indecipherable nonsense about not meaning it that way and turned the same shade as his hair. The slight arch of his back and his open mouth was new, though, as was the minute shudder and the flash of something -

"That's not what I meant and you know it!" He said as he recovered his composure, though his feathers were clearly completely ruffled. "Honestly. Yes, it's a bloody offer but not for - for - you know." He frowned at Darian. "Look," he said, more seriously. "You are going home," he said, the  "young man" automatically added by his tone. "You're far too gone to make reasonable decisions yourself anyway!" He waved at Darian's...were they really friends? "And so are they, frankly."

And with that he stared at Darian for a moment and then used Darian's own position against him. Tapendra slung his arm around Darian's waist and, with a slight grunt of effort, lifted the other man off his feet.

"You are going home. You're far too gone to make reasonable decisions yourself anyway! And so are they, frankly."

Really? Tapendra was keeping this up? Darian'd expected the stutters and he'd expected the anger, but most of all, he'd expected to scare Tappy off. Experimentally, as the other approaches had failed, he tried The Morgan Pout.

"I'm not gone," he said. The urge to drift was powerfully fierce; he shouldn't have moved so fast. It was a good thing Tapendra hadn't pushed him away because Tappy was really... very comfortable, he, he was solid and so very tall. Darian's limbs felt weightless and weighted at the same time, deliciously languid. Time to dance, once he could manage to stop leaning on Tapendra. He didn't really want to, that was the problem. Not to dance, he wanted to dance, but he didn't want to stop leaning on Tappy either. This might be his only chance. "I'm here, and here's where I'll stay. What are you even doing? You seem to be forgetting that I'm an adult - "

This drug was not really meant for being swung about, it was meant for lounging artfully against cushions. The sudden movement sparked an immediate barrage of colors and lights in Darian's vision, a protest-explosion as the world smeared sideways and sang. Faces spun past, laughter ringing in the sun; he caught a glimpse of green grass and white fences, a bed, a woman, some water, a snake. A demon writhed in a containment circle. A girlchild reached for his hand. He would have clutched his head but Tappy was manhandling it. Darian's eyes rolled.

Tappy was walking towards the door, colored lights and friends receding. For about a minute after the world stopped spinning Darian was too breathless to speak, not to mention too astonished.

Then: "I guess if you want me home that badly, I'll go," he said into Tappy's broad back.

Carrying Darian had been a spur of the moment thing, the decision mostly fueled by the alcohol in his system. Darian was lighter than he'd expected; it wasn't actually that difficult to sling the man over his shoulder, one arm on Darian's legs and the other on his back. Walking was another matter. Darian's sudden docility was a godsend, in this case, and he made his way carefully to the door, trying not to hit Darian against anything.

Though part of him really wanted to.

The street outside was cool and a breeze was whistling between the buildings. He walked across the street from Spellpunk's decorated front, looking sideways at - at a part of Darian that he didn't really want that close to his face, come to think of it.

He slid Darian off his shoulder gently as he could, even if dropping the guy on the cobblestones was tempting and justified. (Probably, anyway). The tone of Darian's voice indicated a bit of defeat, which certain took a pit of the edge off his annoyance. He patted his shoulder vaguely. Even with the nearby crowds, they could actually truly hear each other now; nightclubs were not, on the whole, good places to chat.

"Sorry," he said, unable to keep from feeling a bit sheepish. "Look - where do you live?"

Flopped over Tappy's shoulder, chin propped in hand, Darian watched the nightclub recede. He let out a long sigh, sweet and sad. This wasn't how things were supposed to go at all.

The breeze was warm but the club'd been hot; he could practically feel the heat rolling of him, in eddies, in waves, dispersing into the night. He was losing it all. It made him cold, it made him shiver on Tappy's shoulder. Oh, he was so unhappy, away from the people and the light. With them went the dreams and the dark was so lonely. Tappy put him down and he staggered against a wall.

"Diagon," he said, wiping his eyes with the back of his arm to make the kohl came off in streaks. "But I can get there on my own. Really, believe me, do. I've been worse. I'll be fine."

I am sad. I am sad. I am so so sad. You should leave me so I can sneak back in. ...Sad. See how sad I am. And how trustworthy, I'll go home, right away...

Tapendra frowned, arms crossed. He too was feeling a bit chilled, as the sweat from the club started to evaporate, and this shirt really wasn't meant to keep heat in...

Darian looked lost and forlorn and for once, Tapendra really did feel sorry for him. It was bizarre to see Darian, who was usually so much bigger than everyone around him simply via sheer personality, seem so small and upset. He shuffled his feet awkwardly.

"Sorry," he muttered again, as Darian wiped at his makeup and smeared it. He looked bizarre, rather like Georgiana when he'd caught her in Judy's makeup. The admittance that he'd been worse didn't help at all - he'd been worse? No wonder he looked so unhealthy in certain light...

"I'm coming with you," he said, firmly but not unkindly. "Can I...make it up to you somehow?" His firm tone was gone on the question, instead wavering slightly.

Merlin, this man was unbelievable. What did he have to do to get him to go away? He'd looked as wan and piteous as he knew how! Darian supposed he could insult him, could belittle him, could spit... he could make him feel really terrible, make him angry enough to walk away. Darian knew enough about Tappy to do that, he thought he knew which buttons to push and how to pry up those accidental truths. But that was a delicate process at the best of times - tearing someone apart was an art form. This wasn't the time to try. Darian was still having trouble focusing, the wind whittling the ephemeral visions of his erstwhile habits away and leaving the pesky physical symptoms. If he wanted to watch what his brain was telling him he'd need stimulation, he'd eventually need another dose - lying in bed would only be a waste, and if he'd wanted to sleep he would have gone in for a spell, not this, not this. What did he make all this money for, if not to have fun?

But he'd want Tappy back eventually. He oughtn't drive him away. Even if he had the worst damn timing, he was one of Darian's idle projects and Darian shouldn't ruin that on a whim. There'd be other nights with the mortal children, to drink their drinks, to share their souls. He'd had a good night last night on his real birthday, with Dolly, so it was all right to give this one up. Oh, but it was barely after midnight, it was so early. Darian couldn't remember the last time he'd had a full night's sleep; frankly, the idea of getting one now was disgusting. Yet it looked as though he had no choice. All his cunning was dried up, he was a creature of pleasure, not intellect, mewling for warmth and craving beauty. Impossible to hold together a plan like this, even more impossible to follow through. He was limited to one-go protests and Tappy had already faced all of those.

"You owe me a bet, too." Darian was never one to forget things owed. "And this, you can make it up to me, but I can't think about it now. Just tell me," he said, leaning on Tappy again, pressing his forehead to the other man's shoulder, "When did I become one of your children?"

Bugger. He did owe him a bet, didn't he? Damn. And he'd already walked into - damn!

Darian seemed to give in, and for once Tapendra didn't mind the head on his shoulder. He couldn't think of a reply to Darian's question, though; he settled, after a long pause, for a warm stroke on the head, his fingers tangling with Darian's hair. Then he sighed, and reached into his pocket, drawing his wand.

"What's your address?" he asked, as he fumbled, his wand in hand. He poked himself with one of the pointed ends as he got it caught on his sleeve. He didn't wait for an answer, though; he gently stepped away from Darian and thrust his wand arm into the air, wand in hand.

It'd taken him a few minutes to remember exactly how one did this, but the Knight Bus's arrival was no less spectacular than it had been in his youth. It appeared almost from nowhere, a red blur that crashed into being with a clatter of beds and a squeal of tires. People had to hurry out of its way and it took a moment for the red doors to open, as people on the bus got back to their feet or back into their beds. This promptly dashed his hopes that they'd improved the effects of riding the damn thing; last time he'd been aboard, he'd been sent off the bed and into his own luggage. Twice.

When the door did open, the operator looked down at the two doubtfully, and Tapendra had to stop himself from stepping away from Darian a bit more, given the look the man gave Darian's outfit. "You getting on or are ya'gonna stand there all night?" The short, squat man barked, and Tapendra stepped forward.