Series: Memento Mori (wider- world, not cannon)
Pairing:Khalid & Liam
Warnings: None
Word count: 1390
Khalid ducked his head as the group of aunties passed; he hoped that the brim of his baseball cap hid his glittery eyeshadow, the only make-up he was brave enough to put on in public. He checked his phone again, sighing heavily when he saw that Lilah hadn’t even read his last message, let alone responded. She was supposed to be covering for him; if his mum called, they were studying together in the library. If his mother knew where he really was, she’d take off both of her slippers to smack him around the head with.
Beside him, a group of college students were chatting amicably amongst themselves. With nothing else to do, other than wait for Lilah to respond to him, he let himself eavesdrop and people-watch to pass the time in line.
The students next to him were dressed in sequins and lace, exposing midriffs, thighs and more flesh that Khalid himself would have been comfortable with. He felt stupidly out of place, in his oversized hoodie and baggy jeans. They all laughed and giggled together, so at ease with their youth and bodies. His phone pinged.
Stop freaking out; you’re twenty-seven years old, Kal. You’re allowed to go to a party.
Lilah had finally responded. That was easy enough for her to say; her parents had offered to take her to get her belly-button pierced when she was twelve. Khalid’s parents weren’t as supportive when they’d caught him trying lipstick.
“Hey. I like your eyeshadow.” The guy in front of him nudged his elbow, giving him a gentle smile. “You been hung up too?”
“Thanks,” Khalid blushed, shoving both hands into the kangaroo pouch of his hoodie. “My big sister helped me. I’m just here on my own.”
“Couldn’t get someone to join you at the Bacchanalia? I get that,” the man shrugged, causing the fairy wings he was wearing to bob slightly. “I get that. A couple of my friends wouldn’t come after last time; I’d told them not to drink beforehand. But they didn’t listen.” He shook his head, chuckling to himself. “I’m Liam, by the way. This your first time?”
“Khalid.” He shook Liam’s hand; it was warm, but not clammy, unlike his own palms. “How could you tell?”
“If you’d been to one of the Bacchanal’s gigs before, you’d not be wearing that hoodie; you’d know you’d sweat to death in it!” Liam’s smile widened, showing off his dimples. His eyes crinkled as if grinning was his natural expression. Khalid felt his shoulders cave further inwards.
“Don’t worry; you can just check it into the cloak room. Just don’t lose your ticket for it to get it back at the end of the night. I usually take a photo of it, because once the Bacchanal takes the stage, you know things are going to get wild, and who knows what might fall out of your pockets!”
Khalid, unsure of what to say, opened his mouth in disbelief, but Liam’s attention turned away from him as the queue surged forward at that moment, the doors to the venue opening.
Inside it took him several moments for his eyes to adjust to the dark. Liam stood to one side, as if he had been waiting for Khalid whilst he checked in his jumper to the cloakroom. Khalid stuffed his hands into his jean pockets, feeling exposed, even though his t-shirt was two sizes too big, and hung off his frame. He was the most conservatively dressed person here.
“You’re a fan of the Efervescent Space Badger?” Liam pointed to Khalid’s top, giving an approving nod. “Have you heard their older stuff, from like, before they were famous? I have a couple of bootlegged CDs that I got from the Barras, and they’re bangers!”
Khalid muttered ‘cool’ as a response, unsure why this young man was being so nice to him. He felt like a fraud; he didn’t fit in here, with these people who wore glitter and leather, and little else, just as much as he didn’t fit in with the people outside.
He’d made a mistake coming here. He turned to leave, just as the lights dimmed, and Liam gave a small squeal, squeezing Khalid’s bicep in excitement.
The air left Khalid’s lungs as the lights on the stage slowly raised upwards to show off the god they had all come to worship at the feet of.
The Bacchanal, dressed in a white and gold toga, so short it was almost scandalous, raised their arms and threw their head back in a laughing howl. Khalid’s heart pounded in his chest, his pupils dilating to take in the sight before him.
“They’re so beautiful,” he whispered to himself as the low vibrations of the music began to pulse through his body.
“Greetings, my beautiful deviants, devotees, and debutants!” The Bacchanal’s voice echoed over the sound system. “We’re all here for a good time, not a long time. Leave your shame at the door; know you are all welcome and loved here. You are home, my children, and tonight we dance!”
The lights pulsed in time with the music, and a sea of bodies swayed, lost in the rhythm of their diety’s abilities. The Bacchanal stood at their decks, blending each song into one another, until all he could focus on was the beat that thrummed through him, connecting him to everyone in the room.
Something in Khalid’s chest broke, and he felt tears tumble down his face. He was transfixed on Liam, who moved lithely to the music, his face in pure ecstasy. Liam caught him looking, and moved closer to him. He took Khalid’s hands, holding them in his, helping him move in time with the music.
The shame, embarrassment and hatred that had coiled itself inside of him for so long, weakened its grip; he stood straighter, allowing himself to move and breathe with ease. He mirrored Liam’s moves, a laugh bubbling up in his throat.
“You have a lovely smile.” Liam had to press his lips to Khalid’s ear to be heard over the music. His breath was warm, and Khalid could smell his cologne. His head felt dizzy, his thoughts fuzzy, like cotton. He’d never drank alcohol, or even gotten drunk, but if this is what it felt like, he could understand why so many enjoyed a tipple or two. Khalid giggled, allowing himself to be spun under Liam’s muscular arms. His dance partner dipped him before expertly pulling him back upright. Khalid’s head spun, and he held on tighter to Liam.
They continued to move with the music, their bodies pressed together. He was aware that he was sweating through his t-shirt so that it stuck to his frame, but he didn’t care.
A long fingernail traced its way down his back, and Khalid turned to meet the Bacchanal, who cupped their fingers under his chin, making him look at them.
Giving him a beatific smile, the Bacchanal pressed their lips to his forehead, and gave the same blessing to Liam.
“Here,” they said, gently squeezing his shoulder. “You are free to be yourself. You are safe here. My little cherub will look after you.”
Before Khalid could say anything else, they had moved on, stopping at a group of dancers who were gyrating and lost within the bacchanalia.
With the words of his deity in his head, Khalid swallowed his fear, and pressed himself closer to Liam.
“May I kiss you?” The words felt thick on his tongue, and they tumbled out as he shouted over the bass line.
“I thought you would never ask!” Liam’s smile widened.
He tasted like grapes and summer. His lips were soft, his kiss gentle, but urgent. Khalid wanted to stay here, in this temple where he was safe and accepted, where he could kiss a man and not be stared at, or hated. Where he could love as he did.
Liam pulled back, albeit reluctantly, his eyelids half closed.
“I knew you’d be a good kisser,” he mumbled into Khalid’s shoulder. Khalid blushed, but rested his head on the crown of the man he had just kissed. He closed his eyes, content to dance in his lover’s arm, and himself, truly and wholly, for the first time.
This may be his first bacchanalia, but it would not be his last.
