bending at the waist his body arches, snaking into the eerie beginnings of the song, then his body snaps into the harsh beat thumping from the speakers, rumbling through the floor of the dance club, hard industrial softened here and there by occasional radio picks, black coated lips curling as he belts out the lyrics, falling to his knees and arching back into the music

"beating me down, beating me beating me down down into the ground screaming so sad..... beating me beating me down down... into the groooounnnddddd"

his arms wrapping around slender torso, twisting, turning, throwing himself completely into the powerful rhythmic thunder, before lifting himself from the floor with a kick that leaves his thick knee high leather boot above his head, well over six feet in the air, and he spins again, wallet chain and straps attached to his painted on black bondage pants flailing through the air in order to keep up with his speed, slender body a rubberband as it snakes back and forth in the ill timed strobes, long fishnet covered arms extending to their full length from fishnet covered chest, pale black fingernailed hands delicate as they cut through the air, his body whipped into another spin in his own little world on the dance floor...... thick black lined eyes closed as his head leans back, moussed gelled and probably elmered hair in spikey disarray over the top of his head...... Edward Scissorhands with a bowlcut...... thick heavy leather collar and restraints dominating his neck and wrists, rings jangling with each spin and turn

and he stays out for the next set...... spinning hitching and jumping his way through ApB's stolen strains of Carmina Burana, stretching with toned ease from one move into the next, his body used to the hours of dehydrated abuse a dance floor and good DJ bring...... most of the time he'll stay on the floor half the night before a break, occasionally lighting a clove..... he's been a regular here for the past few weeks, always coming and going alone, never seeming to care for the other patrons, just dancing the night away.....

again the song changes, his body never breaking beat, tired muscles sole protest the gentle gleam of sweat on his forehead, finally eeking its way through the light coat of makeup, but not standing a chance of breaking down the armored spikes of his hair...... Robert Smith eat your heart out..... he flows up to stand perfect still at all but full attention, arms wrapped over his lean chest, painted eyes closed, merely mouthing along with the mechanical

"enjoy the silence"

before his body jumps into the heavy beat like a marionette on a string, impossibly lithe, entrancing...... same rhythm and intensity of his weaving arms torso hands throuhgout the 14 minute song version, glowing ember from the clove adding to the melting effect his smooth movements bring, each ripple of muscle, stretch of tendon and fluid grace of bone slowing with the dying beat of the strobe, as if he himself were the cello mourning through the speakers, supported by the waves of violins premeating the air, every stroke of every bow visable in the club's lighting as if Fantasia come to life, swelling back into the storm of movement when the words begin again

and he turns away from the floor, as if a continuation of his dance, falling into long steps towards bar, flowing across the black and white checkered tiles and around the tables and people, ghosting his way through, as if no one sees him, a healthy mix of predator and prey stalking creeping to the lifeline the bar provides, one of the few things that doesn't move around the building as the lights start flashing, KMFDM thundering through the speakers in their growling version of Mysterious Ways, he continues to dance his way over until leaning almost completely across the bartop, blowing the tender a kiss as he pays for his drink, then turns away, pale brown, almost tan eyes peeking out from under the jagged devil's lock hanging over his brows, observing the rest dance as he restores the hydration he lost with a simple glass of water

he leaves at the same time every night, beyond the doors of the club is another world altogether, each powerful step driven so expertly on the dance floor becomes skittish and shy, the confidence shining so brightly dims to hidden terror

his mother crept beyond this world when he was still a child of single digits - his father never recovered, instead turning to the bottle, more than once he's turned up to the club and the black around his eyes isn't make-up

questions raised recieve shakes of his head for answers, gaze in tan eyes distancing, only one person has been tenacious enough to wait for his walls to crumble, and the one thing Chloe never did was push

then an angel appeared....

 

 

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(Top image stolen from some cover of Carpe Noctem other two found somewhereabouts and pixel picked by yours truly, ©2000)