Disclaimer: I do not own Fright Night

Summary: Charlie gets a job at a Burlesque Club. Turns out though, his boss prefers blood rather than the risque alcohol and the men's favorite dancers.

A/N: I am SO SO SOOOOO sorry on the extremely late update! AGH! I've been SO busy! Nine projects in one class, ACT's and the PTA's…gahh! I'll get better, I promise! Sorry, short chapter! Setting things up though. :D The good stuff is coming up, more slash in the next chapter-a LOT more. It may bump the rating up to 'M'. Can't WAIT to write it! :)

It was shrill and beeping. The noise shattered the peaceful tranquil sleep and Charlie groaned, scrunching himself ever further down into his bed. He felt the warm cloth of his pillow under his cheek, the thick comforter draped around his cold frame, his toes curled and his face hidden. He'd like to remain like this, he concluded, not wishing to move or work or-work… He bolted up as though he had been stung, head darting to stare at the little dreaded red numbers on his clock: 12:45 pm. Confusion washed over him as he looked around his small apartment, noticing nothing out of place but puzzled on why exactly he couldn't remember coming home. He couldn't remember much of anything really, nothing except…

"You almost want this more than I do." Jerry mused, his nails trailing sharp and bleeding down Charlie's exposed chest. He sucked in a breath as the groping fingers didn't stop their mission down, and he felt his head roll back as Jerry's hand wrapped fully around him.

"You're damned, Charlie. So don't fight this." He didn't after that.

Charlie felt his stomach lurch, his neck throb in extinguishable hurt and he flew from his bed, rushing to the bathroom and hurling his guts out into the white porcelain toilet. His back and chest heaved with the effort, and his stomach acid stung his throat and gums. He felt disgusting, miserably so. What the fuck had he done? His body shuddered, and Charlie flushed his mess down, staggering to his feet and opting for bending over the sink instead of the foreboding bowel. He then noticed the dull ach in his tailbone and groaned indignantly, his throat tightening and his eyes moistening in ashamed frustration. Oh yeah, he was screwed. He rinsed his mouth of the acidic taste, the putrid smell fading with the water and although his stomach didn't feel any better his head seemed to clear slightly. Last night felt like a dream, a fucking nightmare, but he couldn't remember not feeling something. His neck pulsated in reminding and Charlie lifted up an unsteady hand to lightly dab his fingers over the gathering nerves there. His neck was wet, and he glanced a look at his fingers. Blood. His neck was fucking bleeding.

He grabbed a washcloth from above the sink, wetted it, and roughly scrubbed his neck, his hands shaking so badly he thought he'd drop the cloth. He flung the wet thing to the ground, digging in the cabinet once more and fumbled panicked to get a band-aid. His hands were jittering like he was on speed, and he tilted his neck to try and see the damage in the mirror. His heart stopped. It literally felt like the world was spinning, like he was insanely high and the light weight of his body made his stagger and crumble against the tiled wall behind him. Charlie's back hit hard, he slid to the floor with his head lolling around on his bleeding neck. It felt like all his limbs were rubber and weighed about 100 tons. He couldn't find the energy to move, his stomach tumbling violently again.

"Fuck…" He whispered, voice ragged and sore, and he closed his eyes to try not to see the image of his neck in his head: the image conceiving of pale flesh dirtied with two perfect red bite marks…

Charlie walked briskly down the street, the cold inky blackness enveloping him completely in its mirth. The street lamps produced some sort of light, dull and sputtering yellow, but at least Charlie could see where he was going. The club lay in all it's glory ahead, bright and flashing. He could hear the muffled music from here, could see the staggering outlines of crowds and under aged drinkers that Peter probably had no problem serving, just as long as he got some of his piss alcohol. Three girls staggered by then, the one in the middle swaying and rolling while her arms were draped loosely across her other friend's slender shoulders.

"I'm so OLD!" The girl in the middle slurred, knees buckling inward with each step. Her friend's tried not to meet Charlie's eyes as they passed, the acrid bitter smell of alcohol hanging off of them like perfume. "I'm 22, guys! That's OLD!" The wasted girl's voice fluttered and faded down the street and Charlie wondered distantly if he should have called them a cab. Either way, he had no time for this. He quickened his walk, his shoes clacking menacingly across the street and he disappeared into the growth of a nearby alley, following the familiar littered broken bottles and burnt out cigarette butts to the back door of the club. He fumbled with his keys, the cold air around him cutting through his skin and hair, and his hands shook violently as he threw open the metal door and pushed his way inside. The music screamed him in welcome as he stepped shadowed behind the curtains of backstage. He wasn't sure where he wanted to go at the moment, where the safest place would be. He felt the jagged wooden cross in his pocket, the small bundles of garlic and holy water deeper into the pockets of his jeans. He had actually been so frightful as to call Ed but his friend didn't pick up. He still hadn't received a call back. Charlie didn't notice the girl's floundering around behind him, just kept his senses sharp as he circled around the vanity mirrors and discarded clothes. Soon enough the lilac lace curtain was obscuring his view and he pushed his way through, almost sprinting up the metal twisted stairs. If he gave himself more than a second to think, he'd back down with fear, shrivel up and run. The bites on his neck throbbed as he neared the top, and before he even had the chance to set his foot down on sold ground he was shoved-not hard, but roughly enough to push him back into the black metallic thin banister behind him. He groaned at the uncomfortable blow his spine felt, turning quickly on his feet and reaching into his pockets to retrieve the cross when-

He saw a girl standing before him, arms crossed over a comfortably small chest and thin long legs spread in a sort of dominance stance. He recognized the girl's heavy blue eye shadow first, thin lips and tangled blonde hair. Her neck was long; Charlie realized, long and pale, and his heart began to throb at the sight. He was instantly struck with the thought on why her neck aroused him more than her skimpy dancer's outfit. When her eyes landed on him though, her steely suspicious gaze softened and she smiled, lowering her arms and holding her hands out to Charlie.

"You've gotten big, haven't ya?" She quipped, flashing a toothy smile. Charlie studied her for an instant more, debating whether or not she was bidding him to come over.

"Charl, don't tell meh you've forgotten? 'Member me? Doris, your momma's friend!" Charlie felt his heart drop into his stomach in deathly realization and the mere mention of his whack job mother made his surprise melt dangerously high into concealed rage. His breathing came out in shorter spurts, and as he studied the woman's made up face he felt the need to smash something. It had been so long since he had felt rage like this.

"Yeah, I remember seeing you over sometimes." He ground out, voice dangerously low and sharp. She pouted her bottom lip petulantly, shifting on her feet and seeming to debate whether she should hug the young man in her wiry arms like she used to.

"Why're you so mad, doll? You don sound too happy." She winked prettily up at him but Charlie didn't move, the anger came pulsing through his veins with such force that it surprised even himself. He remembered Doris all right, she'd come over with at least two men and whatever hell kind of drugs his mother requested every tuesday and friday night. Early in the morning when he came downstairs after the moaning and shouting had stopped he would find her stripped naked and laughing hysterically by his mother on the floor to the kitchen. High and disgustingly used. The two men had left by then.

"I dance 'ere now." Doris supplied, clacking closer on her tall hooker heels. She was almost eye level with Charlie now, and he noticed the white specks of powder dusting her nostrils, her darkened dull eyes and clammy skin. Charlie said nothing.

"What you mad for?" She whined, turning her head to look nervously around them. "You come 'ere lookin' fur Jerry? He'll be back soon, but when he does you best leave." She laughed suggestively, a dry crooked huff, and backed away from Charlie, her stale breath breezing by his face. Charlie felt the stirrings of jealousy in the pit of his stomach, and the feeling itself disgusted him. Why the hell was he jealous…of Doris, no less?

"Just tell him I need to see him, okay?" Charlie grumbled pushing past the ditzy woman and beginning to make his way downstairs.

"Will do, doll! See you later!" Her voice made him grit his teeth and curse at nothing.

He felt lost now. Hurt, confused, frustrated and scared. It was closing time, the club was shutting down, the music slurring off. Charlie sat in a lone bar stool swinging his feet absentmindedly as he texted Ed yet again. He thought writing:

'You were right. Jerry's a vampire. Get your ass down here and help me kill it.'

Would be enough to send his friend flying but he assumed he guessed wrong. He was starting to get paranoid with worry.

"Heey~." A voice rumbled off behind him and Charlie's head turned, eyes coming into contact with the drunken ones of Peter's.

"You're texts are fucked up." Charlie jumped slightly at this, glancing down to his phone and realizing that the screen was in plain hindsight to Peter. Inwardly, he groaned.

"Yeah, well-"

"You high on some new shit?" Charlie regarded Peter with mock amusement before he turned around completely in his stool. Vincent looked drunk enough already; it was obvious by how fully he leaned up against the counter.

"Have you noticed, anything strange about this club Peter?" The man in question shrugged, taking a heavy swig of whatever he had in that bottle. The alcoholic man's teeth rattled against the glass as he shook, and he soon smashed the empty glass bottle upon the ground.

"I dunno what you're talking about…" He slurred, eyes rolling around loose in his head. "I never 'member anything about the nights I work here." It was then that it struck Charlie on why Peter was still here. No one would put up with such an addicted slacker, no one except Jerry. The reason? Peter didn't remember anything. He didn't do anything. He was too drunk all the time to know what was real and what wasn't. If anyone here had been able to catch onto Jerry's secret it would've been Peter. Problem was, Peter forgot everything in the morning. Charlie turned back slowly around, his eyes gathering the dust collected on the floor.

"Brilliant…" He murmured, a small sadistic smile spreading across his face. "Fucking brilliant."

It was then that he heard Doris scream.

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