I'll be Watching You! (Zander, Casual)

[VICTOR FRANKENSTEIN]

Sometimes James went to go work out, just to keep fit and all (not that he was in danger of becoming un-fit), and Victor liked to go and watch him. Victor didn't work out, because he didn't like exercise, it was boring and hard and repetitive. Like eating and sleeping and shitting. But those were things you had to do, sadly - working out was not a literal must. Sure he might die a few years earlier, but who the fuck cares? And anyway, he had the kind of body type where he was pretty sure he was remaining skinny forever, period.

So here he was, sitting in the corner with his back against the wall, wearing a old t-shirt and alternately staring off into space and staring intensely at James. But James was turning a corner now, to go work out on some different machine, and Victor didn't want to get up and go lean on another wall, this one was warm already. So he sluggishly switched his gaze to another man - one he recognized vaguely, but didn't know.

He had dazzling, pale blue eyes and pretty, longish blonde hair, and he had great muscles, really. Not a dancer, but the kind of man who works out for his own benefit, for the goodness he found within himself. Bullshit, if Victor were asked, but he didn't care if all he had to do was stare at the guy. So he sat, cross legged and looking more than a little special, at the man who was working out a few feet in front of him. It was a fixated stare - he could keep this up for quite a while, and this man was a new target, so there were all sorts of new things to memorize, statistics - he already knew all of James' so it was less interesting. He was cataloging, though he'd likely forget it purposefully later; he didn't need this information but it interested him right at this moment anyway, and he had to go with it.

[ZANDER “ZEUS” DEVEREUX]

Zander Devereux was admittedly vain. Who wouldn’t be with his looks, money, and power? Oh, now he was branching into conceited, but he honestly couldn’t help it. Every time he got to thinking about how amazing he was, he naturally stayed on that topic for a long time. Now, if only his memory for people was better, but there was only so much he could do. He could control the physical part of himself, however. His body was something he took pride in, and going to the gym was part of maintaining that pride.

So it was really no surprise to find him working out at the gym near his home. The fees were very high, as one would expect from a gym in his neighborhood, but he was willing to pay them. There were several advantages when it came to going to a gym, after all. First, he didn’t have all the equipment cluttering his spacious penthouse, and secondly, he could show off his physique. He was used to people watching him with appreciation as his muscles moved and bulged under the shirt he wore. It amused him to no end, actually. He soaked up attention of any kind and played up his work out a lot.

Today, however, he was rather disconcerted. The thin man not working out had been staring at him for a rather long time. Staring was worse than just watching. He felt like this man was picking each movement apart and that was far too...intimate for his liking. For the record – because he knew from experience that some crackpot inspectors didn’t seem to get the message – he was interested in women. He’d never slept with men, he had no interest in men, and he didn’t find it flattering when they were all over him like it was something he would change his mind on. Either this guy had it bad or he was just crazy. Either way, it was throwing off his concentration to be watched like this. He felt like a crawdad in a tank before it got picked for dinner.

So finally, he decided to throw his weight around and talk to the man. Surely he could clear things up easily.

“You’re staring. I find it to be rude,” he started off, glowering down at the other man. “I recommend you stop.”

There. Problem solved.

[VICTOR FRANKENSTEIN]

He was studying the other man's movement, but he wasn't supposed to move that way - oh, close, this was close. Well, now he could see the other man without straining his eyes, which were a bit crap from years of staring at screens and reading in the dark and all. He continued to stare at the contours of the man's arm until he spoke.

“You’re staring. I find it to be rude,” said he, and he sounded annoyed. Oh, right, staring, that was bad, that's what James said. But... Victor didn't really want that. Er, he didn't want to stop. “I recommend you stop.”

He finally switched his gaze up to the man's face instead of his muscles - once again, he was touched by the prettiness of his eyes. He stared for a second longer in silence before he remembered he was expected to reply, and said dully, "Oh... sorry."[/b] He wasn't really sorry, but he said it anyways. The man recommended he stop, so Victor said politely back, "No thank you."[/b] There, that should fix things.

[ZANDER “ZEUS” DEVEREUX]

It took a while for the other man’s eyes to drag away from his body to his face. Oh, he was really asking for it. Had Zander swung that way, he may have been flattered, but as it was, he was just annoyed, creeped out, and wishing Jeffry where the one here to deal with this. He had a talent for PR, after all. Zander himself was not as efficient at this. In fact, most of his impulses were PR nightmares for the company to clean up later. He’d behave himself...to a point. But this man already was stepping on his nerves. This was his time to relax and burn off steam, and well, he might end up blowing it off on this guy.

"Oh... sorry."

Well, yes, as he should be. It was rude, after all. And the guy wasn’t even working out, so lord knew where he came from or whether he was even a member...

"No thank you."

Zander blinked. He was a very strange little man, and apparently one with no self-preservation instincts. Zander could break him in half, easily.

“I’m sorry, did you just decline to stop staring at me?”

He didn’t think the man could get any ruder. This was ridiculous. How had no one knocked his teeth out before now if this was how he treated people?

“Let me be more articulate. Stop. Staring. At. Me,” he said, glaring down at the other man, hoping he got the hint. It would be a shame to be banned from his gym for a week because he’d punched some jerk. “It’s not a request, suggestion, or idle musing. Do you understand?”

There. He hoped that there was some sense in the guy’s skull.

[VICTOR FRANKENSTEIN]

“I’m sorry," the man said, aghast. He seemed upset, kept ordering Victor around. He couldn't bother listening, it was all too angry. Politeness was the only way to get something out of anyone, manners were vital. Usually, at least. Victor was cold, he rather wished he'd worn a hoodie. But not his usual one, that was getting far too threadbare for his liking, and he'd only had it a few months; "We always throw away old clothes, ending is better than mending, ending is better than mending...." Victor forced the repetitious phrase out of his head - Huxley wasn't meant to be in the gym, Huxley wasn't gym material, and he was blind and all, couldn't even watch with him. We're he alive, of course. So, no, Huxley wasn't in the gym, wasn't allowed to be. He found his consciousness drifting back to the man standing above him, seeing as it had no-where else to go, blocking Huxley, his thoughts, as it was.

"It’s not a request, suggestion, or idle musing. Do you understand?”

Whatever the man said, no doubt repeating his request for Victor to stop staring at him, Victor hadn't heard but assumed he would have understood, and he nodded yes. It was really quite unfair of this man, to be coming at him like this. It wasn't like Victor was staring at him, exactly, he was staring at his angles, and his data, and anyways even that was hardly 100% consciousness - his thoughts were far away from the man's body, and Victor couldn't bring himself to feel legitimately apologetic that he couldn't see the faults in.

But all the years of pretending he could see faults like that had trained him, and the words, "I understand my name's Victor nice to meet you,"[/color] tumbled out, quickly and without the appropriate thoughts or pauses that ought to come with the phrases. Victor made eye contact, but it wasn't like seeing the man's eyes, even if they were a brilliant pale blue, because he was seeing ovum and spermatozoa and spermicide, his mind let open the gates and let back in the thoughts of Brave New World, and oh, how fantastic that was, perhaps Huxley could make the gym more interesting, even if he didn't belong there.

[ZANDER “ZEUS” DEVEREUX]

"I understand my name's Victor nice to meet you.”

Alright, that wasn’t quite the response he was thinking of. The way the guy’s eyes just wandered let him know that there was most likely not saying that because he meant it. This Victor clearly needed to have some proper medication. If he was going to have to put up with this at the gym, he was going to have to make sure one of them was. So he narrowed his eyes at the little man and made sure he was still physically crowding him enough to be impressively oppressive.

“Good. I’m Zander Devereux, as in Devereux Industries.”

It was a name well known, not just for the money, but for the power behind it. If this man knew anything, he’d figure out that this was not the kind of game he wanted to play.

“I’m going back to my workout. Find someone else to stare at,” he directed, giving Victor a long, hard look before turning to go back to what he was doing. There, problem solved and dealt with.

[VICTOR FRANKENSTEIN]

The man looked a little put off. That was a shame. Victor understood that emotion was supposed to be directed towards garbage and homeless people, not other people or food people served you, unless it really was complete crap.

“Good. I’m Zander Devereux, as in Devereux Industries.” Devereux? Ooh, that was French sounding, Victor understood French, it being the native language in Geneva and all. He liked talking French, it was fast and smooth, and there was the ability to be passive just be conjugation. Grammar made sense. Except devereux wasn't a word, pity. Then he could know what object the guy was.

“I’m going back to my workout. Find someone else to stare at,” Zander said coldly, before turning promptly around to get back on his machine. Victor wanted to tell him that machines and people shouldn't mix, otherwise they'd get too mixed and over-organization would destroy the idea of mankind, but Victor decided he wouldn't listen.

Victor kept staring. Frankenstein meant "stronghold of the freemen," in German, that was his meaning. What should Devereux mean? It sounded kind of rich. Kind of like sweetened mild chocolate. Oh, Zander's muscles were kind of smooth like that. He stare became more intense, and disturbingly intimate for just eyes. But Victor had been told he had rather piercing eyes, it hadn't been a compliment he didn't think but he took it as one, because if his eyes were sharp enough to puncture, that was something to be proud of because nobody else's eyes were that sharp. Oh, he suddenly realized for the first time, sharp could also mean good vision for eyes, but still, he liked to think of them as sharp as in a thorn still.

He hummed a funeral march because he liked it. His eyes didn't leave Zander's body, moving on the machine... so interesting, the human body was.

[ZANDER “ZEUS” DEVEREUX]

He was back into his workout, finally hitting his stride when he felt those eyes on him again. It was like he was back to being on display, like the first lightening bug on a hot New Orleans night. He was determined to ignore it. He would ignore it. The man could look, but he wouldn’t get further than that, after all. So he’d go back to his workout and forget the stranger because he was Zander Devereux and Devereux men could ignore stuff like that. He had been the subject of scrutiny ever since he was named. He was the heir, the head of the family, the...one being ogled.

He didn’t like being ogled. It wasn’t something he ever got used to, even though he should have a long time ago.

But what got to him was the funeral dirge Victor started to hum. Like he was implying he was dead or passé. He was neither. He was just thoroughly annoyed beyond all reason. So he stood up again and stalked back over to Victor.

“What do you want?” he asked, wondering if he was like every other person out there, wanting just a dime of the Devereux fortune or an iota of the stock or even just a night of his time. Of course, he never gave into any of that, not unless he wanted to. He was about as stubborn as a bull frog that way.

“Because I assure you that whatever you do want, this is the wrong way to go about it.”

[VICTOR FRANKENSTEIN]

Minors keys, minor chords, they went through his mind and his lips, and his fingers twitched in the chords. His eyes kept on Zander, until suddenly he was in front of Victor again. Huh, how did that happen? His eyes had been on Zander, but he'd missed those seconds of movement. How curious. It was usually the opposite, for the brain.

“What do you want? Because I assure you that whatever you do want, this is the wrong way to go about it.” Zander looked angry. Oh, it was more than before. Before was annoyed. Now it was angry. Victor knew this because he had flashcards. James made them for him, they took pictures and labelled them.

"You're angry," Victor states, because he was proud of knowing this, he was almost smiling, in a dull, non-lips sort of way. "Oh, that means I should apologize. Again? Okay, I'm sorry."[/b] His tone was completely conversational. Because this was a conversation, wasn't it?

[ZANDER “ZEUS” DEVEREUX]

"You're angry."

Zander’s eyes narrowed because the man sounded almost pleased by that. There was nothing to be happy about in making him upset. Only crazy people thought that way. Well, not that he hadn’t suspected before – Victor was off in ways Zander didn’t lower himself to ponder.

"Oh, that means I should apologize. Again? Okay, I'm sorry."

“I’m not angry, I’m irritated,” Zander corrected, thinking there was a huge difference.

Anger was something out of his control – it took hold and he lashed out. The fact this guy still had his nose in the right place was clear evidence that he hadn’t slipped that far. Irritation meant that he could still reason with not only himself, but this cuckoo.

“So stow the apology and stop acting like a mental case,” Zander growled. “Again, what do you want? Why are you ogling me like I’m the belle of the ball?”

Honestly, he wanted to know what was going on in this guy’s head and why he seemed to be this psycho’s focus. He swore that if he turned into some beautiful missing person’s report, he was going to throw a tantrum that would rival all other tantrums.

[VICTOR FRANKENSTEIN]

“I’m not angry, I’m irritated,” Zander said briskly, but his face was still angry and anyways angry and irritated were nearly the same, he thought. They both made people mad, the mean kind of mad and not the crazy kind, and Victor didn't like mad.

“So stow the apology and stop acting like a mental case. Again, what do you want? Why are you ogling me like I’m the belle of the ball?”

Victor's leg was starting to fall asleep. He stood, supporting himself against the wall, pushing up, and - ah, there we go. But the tingling in his leg continued, and the worms crawl in, the worms crawl out; having sleeping body parts was the strangest sensation that felt like ants going up and down. Victor fidgeted, unhappily stomping his foot on the floor to get it to stop throbbing, saying whilst doing so, "I said I don't want anything." Now he was a bit annoyed - he didn't like repeating himself, and he didn't like his leg sleeping like this. He cringed - oh, he didn't like this feeling one bit, either one. "And besides, were not even at a ball - oh, stop it, Leg![/b] His indignant cry was shrill and tears in his throat seemed to choke him a little. But it was going away, now, Victor sighed in relief and hopped from one leg to the other, looking at his naughty foot, practically forgetting there was someone else talking to him.

[ZANDER “ZEUS” DEVEREUX]

Zander watched as the other man stomped his foot, looking unhappy. If this was the start of a temper tantrum, he was not going to be happy. He had no reason to be upset. He wasn’t the one being stared at. He wasn’t the person who was being eyed by this strange, beady-eyed man. If anyone was going to stomp about, it was Zander.

"I said I don't want anything. And besides, were not even at a ball - oh, stop it, Leg!”

“It’s a metaphorical ball,” Zander huffed, because it was obvious. “Playing dumb will get you nowhere.”

He may as well have not spoken at all. The other man was just staring at his foot, ignoring Zander completely. It was the first time since he’d entered the gym that he felt the other man’s eyes off him, like he was back in his own skin – alone this time. Good, let the freak stare at his own body for a while. Maybe now he could get back to his workout in peace.

“I’ll leave you to your foot. I’m sure you’ll be very happy together.”

He turned, deciding this time to make his way over to the punching bags. It would help keep him from punching something, or rather someone else, at least.

[VICTOR FRANKENSTEIN]

Zander said something about dumb. Victor knew that word pretty well. People called him dumb a lot. James called him dumb when he forgot to do things or burned food, and Elizabeth called him dumb except she meant it like silly. He didn't mind when they called him dumb, he didn't know why he didn't, but he did mind when people who weren't them did. Because then they meant it mean, and Victor hated being demeaned.

“I’ll leave you to your foot. I’m sure you’ll be very happy together," huffed Zander, and Victor's eyes grew dark and now he was angry, because he wasn't dumb, not usually, and Zander was the dumb one, spending his days away in some stupid attempt to keep fit. And for what? He wasn't army, Victor could tell at a glance. He was just fit, and that was stupid.

Despite the fact that Zander's 'playing dumb' quip - of which Victor had only heard 'dumb' - had come several seconds earlier, too long ago to still be thinking about it, Victor was and he did what he liked. He got in the way. He stuck his foot out in a lousy attempt to trip the man.

[ZANDER “ZEUS” DEVEREUX]

Zander was only a step away when his foot caught on something and he stumbled to catch himself. Whipping around, he glared at the man that the foot he’d tripped over belonged to. This Victor freak had purposely tripped him. He’d been patient, he’d been exceedingly polite towards someone who wasn’t worth being polite to, and now he’d been tripped when he tried to walk away from the situation. He wasn’t a violent person, even if he had a temper. He was like the thunder in a storm – all noise, no action. He was a kitty cat when it came to other people, or so his mother always said. He’d never been in a fight, he’d never hit anyone. He just always walked away, like his mother taught him. He turned the other cheek and everyone came out well.

Well, there was no walking away from it now.

Reaching forward, he grabbed Victor by the collar of his shirt, slamming him back against the wall forcefully, feeling the thin frame absorb the impact. He wasn’t packing any muscles to absorb the impact. So Zander imagined it hurt more than he had intended it to.

“Mr. Victor. It’s no secret that I have a temper. What is a secret is that I have never lost it enough to injure another person. So I’m warning you not to push me to it.”

He let go of the other man and stepped back a pace, still feeling the anger under his skin. It was ridiculous how he’d let this man rile him up like this. Had he been a woman, Zander was sure they would have been having sex by now.

[VICTOR FRANKENSTEIN]

Suddenly he was being slammed against a wall and Wow, okay, that really hurt. He made a small noise of pain and annoyance. This wasn't good; he didn't like this, and Zander was leaning far too close to him as he hissed, “Mr. Victor. It’s no secret that I have a temper. What is a secret is that I have never lost it enough to injure another person."

Why was he being told this? He didn't care if this man had a temper or not, and while he was good looking, he was also sweaty and close and it wasn't a nice combination. Dirt, dirt. His back ached.

"So I’m warning you not to push me to it.” Victor breathed in relief when Zander let him go. This guy was dumb, he thought. Victor had tripped him, not pushed him! The lack of clarity made him angry.

"Oh, shut up![/color] Victor cried, annoyed, and bit his lower lip angrily. It would bleed by the end of the day, but then, it always did. "You're confusing me and I don't like it! I didn't push you, I didn't!" He glared at Zander, muttering, "Idiot," under his breath.