The previous post was inspired by equal parts "Phantom of the Opera", Bach's Toccata and Fugue in D minor and the Anita Blake vampire hunter series. Jean Claude, Asher and Jason are the intellectual property of Ms. Laurell K. Hamilton.

I wasn't supposed to be down here. This was, after all, his lair. His sanctuary, the one place he could hide away from the world, though he would never admit to that. After all, the members of Belle Morte's line do not hide from the world. We slink through it like great cats on the prowl. But Asher was ever one for slipping away from the hubbub of the court. Do not think wrong of what I say for he could stalk and seduce as only the best could, but left to his own devices he was happier with a book of poetry or down here in the cavern. Not that Julianna or myself ever knew where he was.
This was the one secret Asher kept from even us, his beloveds. But when Julianna was torn from us and Asher's own beauty stolen away, he disappeared more and more until at last I could no longer stand the secrecy and followed him. Down and down and down into the earth, treading along silently behind him with only the torch in his grasp to light the way. At one point a small rock slid out from under my boot, skipping down the path with a clatter. He stopped then and I froze, pressed against the cold stone wall and fervently doing my best to press myself through the rock face in hopes of remaining unseen. I had no need to worry as he simply set the torch into a wire rack on the wall and walked on. And so I stayed where I was, peeking around the corner to watch as he lit more and more torches until the cavern was ablaze with the fire light and the truth was revealed to my spying eyes. The truth of Asher and his mind. To see him sitting on the bench, fingers poised, body held perfectly still as though he were listening for something. The anticipation was almost more than I could take and I nearly cried out to him, if only to break the silence, when suddenly his hands slammed down on the keys and the first notes ripped through the air. I understood then why people claimed that prodigious musicians had sold their souls to the Devil and briefly wondered if this applied to Asher. His fingers flew over the ivory keys of the pipe organ, sometimes harsh and demanding, other times caressing and soft as a lovers touch. The music grew louder and more emotive. He played with his whole body now, rocking in time as though by doing even that he could pour himself into the music and perhaps escape the demons that had driven him here. The more he played on, the bolder I became until at last I stood in the center of the room, feasting my eyes upon the sight of his soul laid as bare as the scars upon his face.
As much as I claim to love all things beautiful, there is also something to be said for the tormented being. To this day I am sure that part of what keeps Asher by me is that I am drawn to him as the moth to flame. An apt analogy, since surely I am playing with fire and shall be burned one day. But in watching him play I realized that had I not loved him before I most certainly did then.
The music came to a crashing finale and before I could stop myself I applauded him. He whirled around, flinging hair over his face to slide across the scars, to hide his flaws from sight as he fixed me with an ice cold stare. I was caught.
"You," he growled, "are not meant to be here."
"Forgive me, mon chardonneret, I could not help myself." I winced slightly at the look he gave me.
"Stop calling me that, Jean Claude." He was glowering now. "And go away."
I've never been good at listening to people and proved it by taking a step closer.
"Calling you what? Mon chardonneret?", I smiled a little, trying to tease him gently. "It is what you are to me."
"I am not a goldfinch!" he snarled.
I shook my head sadly. "Non, you are more like a cantankerous old owl these days."
That only earned me another glare.
"I am not an owl either."
"Then what are you, mon ami?"
His muttered reply was lost under the sound of his boot toe scuffing against the floor.
I cupped a hand to my ear, smiling playfully. "Could you repeat that?"
"I said I wanted to be a hawk!"
"You're too big to be a hawk," I was grinning now. "Perhaps you would like to be a pelican?"
I was fairly certain that he was going to attempt to harm me somehow. Perhaps by pulling my hair out by the roots, though it wouldn't have been the first time.
"If you weren't already dead I would kill you myself, " he grumbled. "You're a smug, little undead bastard."
The effect of his statement was ruined by his mouth twisting into a wry smile, which I could not help but return.
"If you want, you could be an eagle.", I said it with sincerity and truly meant it. If calling him an eagle would make Asher happy again, then I would do so.
He shook his head, making the hair slip away from the scars.
"Call me what you will, Jean Claude. I merely do not think myself fitting of being called anyone's goldfinch anymore."
Restraint was out of the question and so I took the last four steps across the room and pulled the taller man into a fierce hug.
"No matter what Belle Morte says, I still think you're beautiful, Asher. I always will."
He was hesitant but in the end he returned the hug, pressing a kiss to the top of my head, much to my delight.
"You're an insufferably smug bastard and a spoiled brat, but you are a good friend, Jean Claude. Never change, no matter what happens. J'taime, mon ami."
I promised and then grabbed him by the hand and dragged him back over to the pipe organ, making him explain it all to me and chastising him for not sharing it with me sooner. I didn't really matter what he said to me, I'd made him smile and after waiting for over fifty years, I had finally heard the words that I longed for him to say.





"Jean Claude."
The raven haired vampire slammed the book in his lap shut, hastily shoving it under the arm chair he was sprawled over.
"Oui, Asher?", he was trying for innocent but figured he was probably failing horribly.
The bigger man leaned over him, grinning, baring a hint of fang, "Are you writing in your dairy again?"
"It is not a diary, it's a journal!" Jean Claude huffed, crossing his arms and giving his golden haired companion the evil eye. "And whether or not I am writing in it is none of your business."
"Not even if I do this?" Asher whispered softly, leaning in closer, getting near enough to brush his lips against the smaller vampire's mouth. Jean Claude froze, staring back at the other man who suddenly grinned again and jumped back, the book in question in his hand.
"Give that back!", jumping to his feet Jean Claude made a grab for the journal as Asher danced back, staying just out of reach.
Laughing the taller man turned and headed out of the room, pretending to read from the book in a girly sing-song voice.
"Dear Diary, today Asher kissed me, it was soooo romantic...."
Jean Claude gave chase, running after the other man, yelling, "Mon Dieu! And you called me the brat!"

Jason flattened himself against the wall, narrowly avoiding being run down by the two vampires. Watching them disappear down the hall, he shook his head, smiling, "Hope I'm still like that after 300 years."