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Seul, Ensemble



 
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Bishop

This was the last time.

How many times had those words left Bishop's lips? Every time he believed it to be true. His hunger would be satisfied and back to business as usual. The fact he was willing to be so close to someone, so vulnerable, was terrifying; yet exciting. How long had it been since he allowed someone to actual touch him?

This was a mistake. Never again.

Yet he always gravitated back. Fight as he may, resistance was practically futile. All it took was the slightest spark to reignite the lust. They knew exactly how to rile eachother up, how to press eachother's buttons. There was no escape. It was a high the Frenchman hadn't felt in decades, and here he was feeling it with someone so despicable.

Exciting.

Infuriating.

Familiar

Selfish.

Intelligent.

Monstrous.

Beautiful.

Bishop's mind was shredding itself to ribbons over the man. How could he have let someone have such an effect over him? Since the moment they met there was an undeniable attraction he could not shake. Every interaction he was an addict getting his fix though he'd never let the man know.

Indifference was his mask and the world, his audience. For years he had played the part of the distant loner with no interest in personal connections. The act had become convincing to the point even Bishop began to believe. There was solace in the numbness. A mind without turbulence; he was in control.

Then there was Jameson.

THWAP!

A punch was launched at the hanging bag before him. It had seemed punching things was all he could do to calm his mind anymore. Cold blue hues stayed trained on the swaying sack before him as he unleashed another flurry of punches. Aggression focused his mind; a quality he picked up from his training in the knight guards. In a fight one could not afford their thoughts to wander. With every strike they must sharpen their saw, their mind.

Today, the thoughts were deafening. Every punch, he saw Jameson's face with that stupid smirk. Snide as always. It fed into his anger. Each jab he attempted to cast the image away to no avail. He became less precise, more frenzied. Jameson remained, tempting, beckoning.

Bishop, he beckoned same as the many times before in that sickeningly intoxicating tone.

Finally, he couldn't hold back anymore. A final punch collided with the training equipment sending it backwards with incredible force, breaking the chains that held it. Upon collision with the wall it exploded into a cloud of sand.

Bishop's chest heaved shaky breathes through his gritted teeth, his eyes assessing the destruction caused by his impulses. With a frustrated growl he retreated from the scene in defeat as the phantom images lingered still.

Cursing under his breath he dabbed a towel to his forehead removing the lingering sweat that glistened in the eerie lighting of the coven halls. He hadn't even made it halfway to his room when there before him stood the totem of his torture.

A pointed look was given to the man, though the skip of his undead heart may have betrayed his disgust. Toned arms crossed over his bare chest looking callous as usual.

"Jameson. Fancy seeing you here." His stance was stoic but refusal to make eye contact told a different story.

Something had to give. And soon.
July 29, 2019 10:14 pm

Jameson Orlav

Depending on the day? The moment? The second? Jameson's opinion on the matter varied greatly. If you'd gone ahead and asked him about it, he wouldn't have readily offered up any kind of viable answer. Bishop? Bishop who?

But of course he knew the man. Knew him, maybe, just a little better than he was comfortable admitting. Interesting was a good word- great word- to describe their relationship. How it had started off, oh. Unexpected. Delightful. Jameson Orlav was no stranger to indulgence; since 'the big change' he'd rarely deny himself any craving or whim. It just so happened that once Bishop had come sauntering through the doors of his (then) newly acquired Moscow compound...

Oi.

He had become the Whim.

Jameson could, and did, pretend like he hadn't noticed the small shifts in Bishop's demeanor. Every 'last time' seemed to stack higher and higher, and he couldn't help but wonder if there would be a breaking point. Privately, of course, and never verbally or... Physically.

Well. Maybe just a little.
The vampire would not deny that he found some amusement in continuing to press his buttons. All of them. At once- if he could help it.

Without realizing, the doctor had become all too familiar with Bishop's schedule. Suddenly those hours of silence between, ahem, appointments, seemed all too drawn out. Blocks of time in the armory. The weaponry. The range. Some days it felt like he'd do anything to avoid his leader— this of course, only working this ornate desire he had to tempt him further.

The evening progressed quickly once the brunt of his work was done. Though he'd regressed into a significantly less than civil life since his turning, he'd still found himself reeling from the plague of bureaucracy. Papers. Appointments. Peace to be kept. Most of it disgusted him, but he'd had people to please. He would not let them down, not even if his life depended on it. But he could smell the way the sun faded from the sky, and as twilight settled over the city of Moscow, a more vile part of him would begin to scratch beneath his surface; demanding tribute, as it always did.

He was happy to oblige. But first.

The tall man towered in the door frame, shoulder pressed against the faded wood that propped him up with ease. Sure, it'd have been easy enough to track Bishop down, but waiting for him? Unexpected?

Glorious.

"It is, isn't it?" He'd retort, a soft smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Took you long enough. I'd started to think you were avoiding me."

Lie.

"You busy?" Although it sounded a whole lot more like, will you make time for me? "I am absolutely famished."
August 06, 2019 10:32 pm

Bishop

Jameson thought he was so clever. His leader's tendency to coincidentally appear in his path at random intervals of the night was hardly by chance. Every opportunity he'd alter his schedule to throw Jameson off was for naught.

He was a persistent f-cker; a quality that, unfortunately, drew Bishop closer to him.

Nothing seemed to deter him. Threats were shrugged off, avoidance was rendered useless, and murder was out of the question.

At least for now.

The man's reply was met with a dramatic roll of the eyes. Unable to resist any longer Bishop's gaze finally met Jameson's. Hypnotic, those cruel hues were. Already he could feel that familiar itch rears it's ugly head; the tension had begun to build just from a simple interaction.

"Now what would make you think such a thing?" Every word dripped with venom. Why he continued with such hostilities, he did not know. If anything, they only enticed Jameson to further push him; thus Bishop to do the same. It was a sick game of hot potato.

Who would be the one to drop it?

You busy?

The nerve. An incredulous scoff left the man while the towel was retrieved from around his shoulder, making a loud crack from the speed it was removed. Running it over his bare skin he made a show of it, though he'd never admit to it. It was moments like these he couldn't help but stoke the fire. He needed to get back at Jameson; show him he wasn't the only one who held the cards.

If there was one thing he knew Jameson couldn't stand, it was not getting his way. And, boy, did Bishop hate complying.

Finally, their gaze broke and Bishop continued past the man and down the hall. And thus began their game. Why he thought this would work despite multiple instances of failure, he could not logically decipher. In a way, he enjoyed the game. Making Jameson work was a part of the fun.

"Absolutely famished, and yet you stand around waiting for me?"A feigned confusion was dusted on his words to play stupid. "What? Need me to hold your hand?"

Everything in Bishop ached to join Jameson in his room and yet he yearned for the scorn, the hatred of the rejection. Clashing desires of lust and self-preservation had begun to give him a headache. Or maybe it was the hunger.

Suddenly it hit him, and he stopped. Turning on his heels he stared at Jameson for a moment. This would be it, the last time. One last meal. Then, the doctor will desist.

Or else.

Arms crossed over his chest once more as he called out across the way. "Dinner." He let the word linger for a moment. "Then I will consider dessert, but I make no promises." Though indifference filled his every word he was filled with both excitement and fear.

Excitemtn for it may be the end of this confusing waltz between the two, and fear that he may end up sabotaging himself.
August 06, 2019 11:47 pm

Jameson Orlav

Every movement he made Jameson feel like Bishop were moving in detest. Whether he detested Jameson, or the situation, or both was neither here nor there. The vampire made no effort to conceal the way his burnished hues fell upon the other, trained on him as though to concede would result in any kind of threat.

It would not.

He's shameless. Enjoys this little game they played. He's sure that Bishop knows that, too. Quick-witted, and smart as a whip. Never boring. A challenge.

Oh, how Jameson missed the challenge.

As the other man pushed passed him and continued down the hall, the doctor was quick to turn on his heel and follow behind. This was no surrender of pride; he didn't come all this way just to succumb to being walked away from. "Of course, můj drahý. What do you take me for? Why, you've been working yourself ragged. What kind of leader would I be if I didn't offer sustenance."

Bullsh-t, bullsh-t, bullsh-t.

There was a smirk on his lips as he'd spoken. Undoubtedly evident in his tone. What fun was it for him, playing pretend all the time? "Oh," and he'd stopped, a small distance now separating the two of them. "You dangle the idea of dessert in front of me, and threaten to take it away in the same breath. You are cruel, drahoušek." The word slips from his tongue and dances across his lips with a certain ring to it; in the way he breathes it to life.

"I do love a challenge." He taps the very tip of his finger against his own chin, "Dinner: Extraordinary." Little did Bishop know, their dinner would be much more involved than it had been in the past. Jameson was peckish, but restless, and in need of a proper hunt. He'd use the opportunity to more properly assess the other vampire. In a way he hadn't had the opportunity as of yet.

"Find me in my study when you're ready." Jameson takes a full step backward, "... but don't keep me waiting."
August 10, 2019 07:48 pm

Bishop

Just as expected, he followed. Even with his back to the man he could feel those eyes on him. Chestnut pools of desire that beckoned him come closer. Something about how Jameson looked at him was different from others. It was easy enough to slip through the halls without drawing attention; it was how he operated.

All his undead life he had become an expert at being nothing more than a face in the crowd. Even with his status of leadership in the coven before Wahnsinn he was capable of slipping by undetected to avoid interactions. It was easier that way. And yet as soon as he walked through those doors into his current coven, he was seen.

Jameson *saw* him. Always.

The very thought should have infuriated Bishop, much like most things involving the Czech man, but that was only the start of his problems. With that knowing gaze came an unforeseen situation even Bishop hadn't anticipated.

He *wanted* Jameson to keep seeing him. Had he actually begun to desire the man's attention? The very thought disgusted him to his core; but not as much as it should have.

Watching the taller man close the space he remained stoic in his decision. Eyes narrowed in quiet rage when Jameson utilized one of the few weapons in his arsenal that could possibly sway the situation in his favor.Drahoušek. A silly pet name Jameson had gotten into the knack of calling him whenever he wanted something. Hearing it fall from the man's lips would typically bring him right into his arms.

Not tonight.

Clearing his throat, and mind, he gave a sickeningly sweet smile."Only for you, mon ours." At the mention of a challenge bright blue eyes rolled once more, paired with a sassy pop of his hip. Clenching his jaw he watched the male start his retreat, clearly scheming. Otherwise, his persistent suitor wouldn't have given in so quickly.

"I wouldn't dream of it, monsieur Orlav." Sarcasm coated his tone and a sardonic smile was given. Turning he stalked back to his own bedroom to contemplate all possibilities of what his leader could be planning.

As he clothed himself in a simple black get up of jeans and a close fit t-shirt he attempted to figure out what exactly he was walking into. Nothing was ever straightforward; not with Jameson. A glimmer on his bed caught his attention.

A switchblade. Small. Easily hidden. Did he really need to hide it, though? It had almost become expected of him to always have some type of sharp object on his person. Hell, it was welcomed in some instances.

His mind shook away such situations as he snatched it, shoving it down into his back pocket. If things did not go as he desired then he'd have to get creative. Very creative.

Finally with his clothing changed and backup plan solidified he mad his way towards the study he had become all too familiar with. Following the path in which he had taken in shame many times he eventually came to stop before Jameson's study. Inhaling sharply he gave a few strong knocks with the side of his fist and, without awaiting an answer, allowed himself in.

Really, did he expect any less?
August 11, 2019 10:57 pm

Jameson Orlav

The entirety of Jameson's promise of the evening had been riddled with truth. He had every intention of delivering a meal for the ages. But then, every meal that him and Bishop shared had a tendency to be... Unforgettable. They'd feast without reticence. Practice no mercy. Partake in the ritual of the feeding like it had been the most important thing in the world. It had been so long since the man had had such a willing participant. Certainly had never fed with Noura or Cole in such a manner.

No. Bishop remained quite special in that respect, though the vampire would be reluctant to admit it.

He'd vacated back to his study, just as he'd said he would. Tomes were strewn about his desk, each volume containing scribbles upon their pages in different languages. Be it in life or death, one thing about Jameson had certainly not changed. It was difficult to deter him from any task that he'd set his mind to. Tonight, their 'hunting grounds' would just happen to have them crossing the path of an old library just outside of the city. There were multiple bindings that he'd found himself in need of. What better time? Two birds, one stone, isn't that how the expression goes?

A hollow knock finally sounds out across the room, and he's had just enough time to stuff his notes into the drawer of the desk before Bishop lets himself in. The edges of his mouth quirk up into an amused grin. Jameson is almost never disappointed with the other vampire and his assertive nature.

"Record time, I think." He teases, relentlessly. Always. "You're either very hungry, or..." He pours himself out of his chair, quick to find his footing beneath him as his steps carry him to the door way, and Bishop. "Hmm." The sound tickles his throat in a purr as he stops just short of the other man. Jameson reaches out, brows quirking while the edge of his thumb grazes lightly along Bishop's jaw.

He is incorrigible, among many other things.

"Neztrácejme čas." He smirks, rather salaciously. "We've got a long night ahead."
August 15, 2019 02:15 pm

Bishop

Jameson's study had become a familiar surrounding for the man. By far, it was his favorite place to meet on account of the collections of old books and articles from times passed. After their *activities* he would typically find himself snooping into a tome or two whether his counterpart gave him permission or not. He'd never admit it, but Jameson's writings and musings within certain books were the best parts. Sometimes he found himself seeking out the notes rather than the subject matter in the text.

Record time, I think.

Sometimes he just wanted to plunge a knife in his chest when he said sh!t like that. Alas, he had come to find the man useful in some respects so curbing his murderous tendencies was for the best.

Eyes rolled as he leaned backwards against the door frame, arms crossed as always. Defenses always up, though possibly a bit softer for the man before him. Maybe.

"Or I am ready to be rid of you for the night?" A sour smile was given. The teasings weren't what bothered him; the man who delivered them did. Watching him rise from his chair he found his chest feel tighter the tighter the space between them came.

Feeling his touch, Bishop had to refrain from leaning into it. This desire for the man's attention only sparked more cinders of rage within him creating a reaction in the form of him jerking his face away. Azure hues gave him one last glance before he turned, facing his back to the man.

"Let us be off then, monsieur Orlav."

Before walking off he turned to give Jameson a scrutinizing glare. "If you are scheming anything, believe me when I say I will not think twice about carving your face off; no matter how much I enjoy it."

Suddenly, he realized what he said. Did he just admit to enjoying his face? Of course, they obviously found eachother attractive but he had never outright said so before. With this realization he gave one more pointed glare.

"Shutup."

With that, he stomped down the hall expecting to Jameson to follow in tow.
August 18, 2019 08:07 am

Jameson Orlav

Bishop bit back just as he'd always did, his tone as vile as his words were sharp. Jameson never allowed them to turn his mood, because he'd rather enjoyed the other man's quick wit. The low chuckle that continued to emanate from his chest would surely only work to irritate him further. Or, well. 'Irritate'. The doctor had his suspicions about just how fed up Bishop really was with him. But he wouldn't let on.

This game was far too fun.

"Never that." He'd quip. "I'd give you an hour before you came knocking." Continuing to taunt the man, he flashed a pearly smile, fangs peeking from behind his taut lips.

Preparing to leave, he'd stopped in his tracks when daggers of blue eyes shot back at him with a warning. The accidental admission tickled him, wholly. Of course Bishop found him attractive, just as Jameson had him. He certainly would not have been at the beck and call of any man who's appearance he didn't appreciate. But to hear him say it was... Different.

Jameson found himself pleased. In another life, he might have felt the familiar flush of crimson in his cheeks.

Alas.

Hands shoot up into the air, palms facing out, as though he were surrendering. "I wasn't going to say a thing." Which was probably the first time in their history that he'd been rendered somewhat speechless, but he's sure Bishop would assume he was being sarcastic anyway.

Like a good boy, he'd followed right along, on the other man's heels as they trudged through the concrete building. The air outside was cool, which was exactly how Jameson liked it. A far cry from what life was like when he'd first found his way in The Realm. The temperamental edge of Moscow made him feel comfortable. Like home. There was nothing quite like it, and he'd never been anything less than delighted to wander about the landscape; especially at night.

The moon is just bright enough overhead to cast a pale light across their path. The vampire paused once they'd began their journey- just long enough to get a smell for the air, and their surroundings. Ever vigilant. Always prepared. Especially now, with one of his own in tow. His dark gaze would cast sideways for a split second, drinking in Bishop and how he seemed to radiate beneath the moon's light.

Knock it off, Orlav.

"I hope you didn't wear your fancy shoes." The words fell easily from his lips after a simple clearing of his throat. "We'll be taking the long way tonight." A nimble finger pointed at a faint set of lights opposite the vibrant life of the city. A small village; a suburb on the outskirts of town. "Townies, oi. Love that local flavor."

And, maybe if he was lucky, Bishop would be keen on a B&E once his belly was full, and he was sated.
August 20, 2019 08:16 pm

Bishop

Bishop could deny it but Jameson raised a valid point. They never seemed to grow tired of one another no matter the situation. Whether it was to spark a flame in one another or to satiate the lust they had for one another, there was never a boring moment. Really, since their first meeting a dull moment hadn't plagued a single transaction between the two. Cold as they were, there was always a flame there.

Always enjoyment even in disdain, if that was even possible.

He'd find a reason to come back an hour later, just as his companion had stated. Bishop would start some small squabble that would inevitably end up with them in eachother's arms.

Such strong magnetism terrified him.

Walking through the halls he kept silent, mulling over his words while mentally scolding himself. Jameson would surely use the instance of weakness against him in the near future; why wouldn't he?

When they two vacated the building it was almost ominous how he and Jameson had the exact same reaction. Always suspicious. The best way to survive was to expect anything and everything while preparing for any outcomes.

Even after surveying their surroundings Bishop stood there a moment to enjoy the cool night air, taking a deep, unneeded breath. Something about the moonlight, the landscape just felt right. The two had conversed on the topic in the past having mutually agreed on just how pleasant they found their home. There were a few insults here and there but in the end they were on the same page.

Moscow was home. Wahnsinn was home.

Hearing the man's comment snapped Bishop out of the comforting embrace of night to meet him with a pointed sideways glance. "Trying to drag this out as long as possible, hm? Wonderful." His voice was flat. Unimpressed.

Arms returned to their place across the vampire's chest while his hip popped in impatience. "Well, come on then. Our dinner won't come to us."

With one last eye roll the Frenchman began to walk towards the direction Jameson identified as their target. Already he had began to process all possibilities of the night in his head with the limited knowledge he had so far.

There was an eighty percent chance Jameson was going to die tonight. One could only hope.

"I didn't think you as the 'midnight stroll by moonlight' kind of man."
August 23, 2019 06:07 pm
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