High Priest Of Babylon
by Käthe

It's another night at Babylon, high temple of Canal Street, and Vince is the high priest to its god -- Stuart Allen Jones.

His heart thrums along with the heavy bass line. It's something he recognizes as middle range Depeche Mode. Not the stuff from when he and Stuart first started going out, not one of the songs made for lighthearted kids looking to dance and cop off for the first time. It has a slow grinding beat, one that Stuart is taking full advantage of.

Vince watches from above, just like always. Separated and removed even though he's in the midst of all the adoration and hedonism of a modern pagan temple. He watches as Nathan tries to follow in Stuart's footsteps, the future King of Canal Street. He watches as Donna slips easily into the role that Hazel occupies, supreme fag hag and mother to all her boys. Daz is the hanger-on, too daft to leave for greener pastures.

He watches the cycle start over again, the same characters and the same faces. It's a dance that never ends, an endless remix.

Vince loved the days before remixes. Songs were just what they were, no change or deviation. Simple, straightforward. No thinking involved.

Now there's entirely too much thinking involved.

His gaze tracks back to where Stuart is. Was. Gone. And for a moment Vince panics. It's irrational yeah, but if Donna and Hazel are the mother's to their brood, then Vince is the keeper, the watcher. Any deviation and...

"Stop watching." Stuart's voice is low in his ear, but Vince can still hear it above the music and the crowd below. That's what a high priest does for his god. He listens. He serves.

Stuart grasps his hand, warm and tight, and pulls him down the stairs.

A high priest follows his god.


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