[ P ] only fangs and sweet beguiling

The crimson-eyed major let out a weary sigh. Preparing this sorry excuse of a fortress for army use was an endless string of mundane tasks, and it would seem he was the one to call the shots on all of them. Which, of course, was to be expected - the soldiers weren't trained to act on their own initiative... and despite the drudgery, Nicharion was glad for it. Who knows how much worse it would be if he had to undo stupidity on top of everything else.

That it is not to say he was spared from idiotic actions entirely. This was the fourth report that day of curious villagers wanting to watch the army at work or simply trying to walk into the keep that until recently has been their town hall, or something of the sort. It had to end. "Fine then - go and make sure I'll have an announcement for them tomorrow at noon. And if they don't keep clear until then, they'll have the inside of a dungeon to sate their curiosity with." There had to be some way to occupy their attention with something more interesting than this new situation of being a border town with army presence... maybe if he'll organize a tournament for them and recruit the winner, it will earn him some peace. And a soldier he could at least train not to blabber about sensitive matters too much, which the townsfolk would surely do over drinks if they got to see too much. "Dismissed."

As the soldier walked out, Nicharion stepped away from his desk to stretch his legs out. Despite the inconveniences of being stationed in the middle of nowhere, so far away from army barracks, the capital, and all the tugs of war for influence, he had to admit one thing: no matter how rickety and in need of maintenance this fortress was, this spacious chamber was far superior to his old lieutenant quarters. There was potential in this position of lord of the castle... but it would take much work to draw it out.

The red brute approached the fireplace, watching silently as the flames licked the wooden logs inside, radiating comfortable warmth. But he could only tarry for so long, as the line of soldiers outside his door, waiting with reports or needing his decisions, was likely still long. "Next!" he called out to the door, a sign for the guard outside to let yet another petitioner through.

manip + code: clae

It shouldn't have come as a surprise when reports came that a fortress positioned near the braid was taken and repurposed into an office for the local border control the country's division necessitated. Wearying inconveniences were to be expected but, that aside, Bastien couldn't help but feel markedly annoyed by this one in particular. This was the land he'd grown up in, after all, and now it was plagued by the military causing civilian unrest. Not that the concerns of the denizens were of concern for him. This was merely personal.

Fortunately, most of these soldiers seemed like they couldn't tell their right and left paws apart, much less distinguish which wolves should and shouldn't be in the area. He'd been able to slip in and out mostly unbothered. The occasional questioning was circumvented by a tongue not unused to white lies and the fact that disorder in the command chain still had the troops in its befuddling grip. It would take time for them to adjust to new leadership and procedures before they became proficient, which gave Bastien the in he needed to absorb the routine as it was created and identify just who was making the calls.

Which was another surprise, this time unexpected but not unwelcome.

His eyes drank in the sight of the man who had occupied his thoughts of late. With the damage to his nerves, it was all he could do to remind himself how invigorating it was to be touched with intention. The sensation was still there but it was muted, like he was wrapped in cloth and someone was caressing it on the outside. "You know," he began as soon as he stepped into the room, "there were other ways of getting my attention that didn't involve taking over the city with the easiest routes into Rionnach. But I have to say, I'm a sucker for dramatics." Bastien invited himself to slide past Nicharion and sprawl in front of the fire he'd been watching moments before. His head tilted sideways, one ear cocked downwards, and a cheeky grin showed his teeth, but the exhausted aggravation in the other's expression did not escape his notice.

code: elyon | art: pixel

The temptatious auditory caress of a voice he knew from an entirely different setting was not something he'd dare to expect on this evening, to the point that it was impossible to hide the surprise in his eyes, if only for a second. The how of it was simple to deduce - the disarray of setting up operations in a new place was a prime opportunity for an outsider to blend in by simply appearing like they belong. A textbook example of infiltration, but a respectable show of skill and knowhow all the same. The reason behind the daring act, however, was much trickier to fathom. As gratifying as it would be to assume that the passionate night they had shared was so memorable.. it would also be so very, very reckless.

All the same, there was something thoroughly amusing in the image of the black and white male patiently waiting in line with soldiers just to see him.

"As much as I'd like to take all the credit for tickling your fancy..." he started, watching intently as the other male made himself comfortable in front of the fireplace, tracing the curved outline of his body with eagerness that couldn't quite be contained. A single time is easy enough to file and hide away as nothing more than a memory, but their second encounter during the war, particularly because of its taunting briefness, left him wanting more. "...it wasn't my idea. Perhaps advancing one's career too far without subscribing to any clubs gets rewarded with being sent off to a remote... 'city', as you so generously put it." Having someone to share his suspicions with was more comforting than he could have expected. It'd be a fool's errand to question his assignment in front of the soldiers answering to his command, but he wasn't accustomed to having no outlet for his frustrations. For an officer, this place was all risk and no reward. If Highlanders invaded, he'd have to risk his life to stop them. If he failed, his career wouldn't survive even if he did. If he succeeds, he's merely doing the job assigned to him, with no way to carve out any extra credit. And if they don't invade, he's merely keeping the seat warm.

The only way to derive any value out of this arrangement was to turn the necessity of being here into an asset. But first things first - he already had a man who had fought under Jacob's banner right in his room. His lips stretched in a devious grin as he moved towards the door, all while keeping an eye on his guest. "Charles," he raised his voice, addressing the guard outside. Arresting the intruder would be the reasonable thing to do. Nicharion already had too many rogue variables to deal with... and nothing good ever came from chewing on the same bone more than once. It was a life lesson he had experienced countless times...

But he never could learn, never could help himself. And his toothy smile, taunting the other in this moment of uncertainty and suspense, was proof that his mind's been made up before he even started to consider the options.

"Something urgent came up. Tell the rest to come back tomorrow, and take the rest of the day off." Just like that, it was done. He was alone and unguarded, precisely the way any intruder would want him to be for any number of devious reasons. And the one lounging in front of the fireplace was so very devious, indeed. "You've got balls, walking in here like that. Then again.. I already know this fact intimately." He stepped towards the monochrome man, anticipation pilfering the tension in his muscles for its own use as the distance between them lessened. "And clearly, I'm a sucker for it, too." Each step was rewarded with the decadent scent with notes of cider growing stronger as it drew him it in, and finally, when he stood over the other, his heart raced.

The next thing he knew, he was pressing his nose against the other's neck hungrily, desperately even. It was sheer gratification, permeating every corner of his mind. The sweet act of disregarding his wearisome duties for pleasure, and sweeter still for all the time it took them to meet again like this. But even if Nicharion was fully committed to this course of action, he wasn't one to give in without a chess match of plucking away at tantalizing notes. His lips brushed briefly against those of his lover as he withdrew, gazing into crimson eyes with open curiosity. "I think I've earned a name if I've got you coming back for more, wouldn't you agree?"

An amusing thought crossed his mind, making him snicker as he stepped over the other to approach a cupboard to the side of the fireplace, his tail swaying from side to side behind him in a lively rhythm. "Besides, it would cause quite the uproar if I were to cry out 'Criminal'." Indeed, a fortress full of soldiers wasn't the best place for that moniker. "Would you like a drink?" he asked, eyeing his rather modest selection of spirits. Improving it will be a task for the future, when he has the time for such frivolities. "...or do you want to take me in with crisp senses this time?" He looked over his shoulder at the other male, a glint of amusement dancing in his volcanic eyes as a result of that little double entendre.

manip + code: clae

Having stunned the soldier momentarily was already rewarding Bastien for the unnecessary risk he was taking just to come here. His injuries were far from fully recovered from, but looking down from hilltops and peeking around the corners of decrepit buildings for mere glimpses had grown more unbearable than the stiffness the cold and dry air was exacerbating. None of that stiffness was evident in the way he stretched and preened now, all but demanding that he remain the focal point of Nicharion's gaze.

"Shame. Though I suppose there are other soldiers with more romantic ideals to bolster my very small and fragile ego." Of course the reason there was now a stronghold forming at his preferred passage did not amount to a desperate attempt at drawing out an evasive lover - not that he'd mind if that reality came to fruition. Though there was still time for more strongholds to be erected in his name.

Bastien's head canted to the side as Nicharion used him as a sounding board for frustrations that seemed to have been burgeoning to the surface since the reassignment took place. "And here I thought since the war was won, you'd all be linking arms and singing kumbaya around the Jacobian corpses." After a moment to enjoy the imagery that reply evoked, he grew soberingly serious. "They don't want intelligence to have a foothold. They want submission, compliance. If you aren't sharing in their vision, you have no place in it." One might caution against speaking with enough vigor as to call into question whether the sentiment was rooted in idealism or personal experience. He was clearly lacking in caution on this day.

But if he'd had any reason to suspect Nicharion had any intention of betraying his confidence, it was doused by the dismissal of the posted guard - and what else he'd originally had scheduled for the day. He couldn't deny himself a satisfied smirk. It swelled into a full grin as their separation slowly began to diminish with his companion's anticipated approach. Bending backwards so as to maintain eye contact, his neck fur parted to reveal the scar that stretched uncomfortably, though not so much that he planned to reposition - a dedication made worth it by the hungry embrace that slid seamlessly into a kiss.

Their last kiss still simmered, vibrant and hot, on his lips, unlike this fleeting graze that ended before it began. Even so, he could drown in it before he realized his lungs were begging for air. Bastien sighed as he withdrew from the embrace, full of longing, but they could both sense that there was a difference in this encounter than their last that postponed whatever inclinations they may have shared. "Hmm, I suppose it would be a sufficient reward, especially as you may have saved my life." Initially, he'd planned to seek out his ashen savior after the battle, but his wounds required immediate attention after the Imperial dogpile that followed Nicharion's intervention. His name would be an appropriate, if not lackluster, thank you gift.... however, there was still time before the masquerade needed to end. "But I'm far more curious to know what you would call me, if Mr. Criminal no longer suffices." A grin curled his lips. "Go on. Give me a name. Own me."

Before he knew it, Nicharion was stepping across him. Bastien kept in pace with him by rolling from his side to his back then his other side, eyes never leaving him as he was offered a drink... whilst calling to mind their previous rendezvous in the same breath. A moment was spared for an amusedly breathy chuckle before he decided to get into the meat of the matter. Prudence was a direct route towards getting what he really wanted. "As much as I'd like to indulge, I am here for business as much as I am pleasure. I have information I think would be of great interest to you. You could consider it a gift for, ah, your continued service." With a double entendre of his own, Bastien began to set up the pieces on the chessboard, something wickedly cold competing with the fire in his eyes.

code: elyon | art: pixel

"Perhaps." Nicharion agreed dismissively, not sparing the thought of other soldiers entertaining his companion much attention, even if the self-deprecating humor tugged at the corners of his lips a little. He made it a habit to not begrudge lovers such indulgence for no reason other than his desire to enjoy the same freedom. Of all vices, hypocrisy is one of the least flattering ones, so he played it fair. And as long as he was the best of all options, what reason could he have to complain?

It was only on lonely, drunken nights that he ever wondered - how many things might have been different, had he just been more possessive? Was nothing ever lasting a fate of his own making?

The vivid imagine of royalists celebrating was flippant enough to earn a chuckle from him, though Nicharion doubted his compatriots had too much to be glad for. Sometimes, you can win most of the battles and still lose the war... and the Highlands splitting off seemed very much like a loss for King Adamh. But it was the following commentary that the major found truly interesting and regarded with a thoughtful look, and not just because it implied a history with the army, a puzzle piece that fit so well with the guilder's knack for infiltration. No, oddly enough, it was a matter of ideals that proved most worthy of attention.

"I half expected someone as streetwise as you to chastise such bullheaded independence..." Bullheaded. There was no other way to describe it, was there? It would have been easy to charm, serve, fuck his way to a much more comfortable position, if he'd only made an attempt. But even though it was a personal connection that got him a rank in the army in the first place, now that it was out of the picture, he wanted nothing more than to stand on his own, not an ounce more servile than the bare minimum that his station required.

For once, he might try to wrestle out some semblance of control in this miserable existence, in which there always was someone to try to lord over others - be it physically or spiritually. "...not that I'm complaining." he finished with a satisfied smile, and though it was a shield worn to keep himself from divulging too much, it was a shield exceptionally light and easy to raise. A compliment is a compliment, and if there might be common ground between them when it comes to life outlook, well.. all the better.

Such trifling matters of compatibility seemed to be a mere afterthought in the wake of the physical pull between them. Though Nicharion appeared composed, it took all of his effort to keep his breath steady when their closeness in the present evoked past sensations. Familiarity, once acquired, at times only robbed the excitement of the unknown - but here and now, it whispered such sweet promises... "Hm?" His ears twitched in confusion before he could make the connection, having had the opportunity to save his lover's life not springing to mind immediately. Chasing off scavengers wasn't very noteworthy, after all. "Ah.. I suppose I couldn't stand to let anyone but me have that dance with you." Maybe it wasn't a romantic sentiment to rival taking over fortresses, but it was a start. "Alas, you've proved far too popular."

And the unfortunate consequence of that popularity, the scar on the other male's neck, hasn't escaped his notice either. It did nothing to put him off, if anything, he had a tendency to find such imperfections fascinating. But he could sympathize. To suddenly be, in a way, less than one once was... it couldn't possibly come effortlessly.

All the same, his concern was effortlessly pushed to the wayside by the siren song of his guest's wanton ideas. Nicharion turned away from his alcohol cupboard, facing the lounging male once again, all but ravishing him with hungry eyes. He drew in a breath, deep and uneven, eroding his self-control further with the scent it carried. *Go on. Give me a name. Own me.* The outline of his muscles shimmered underneath his pelt, taut and wound up, a hair-trigger away from making him pounce.

After several seconds of resistance, agonizing and seemingly endless, the red brute managed to answer that captivating grin with one of his own. "An acceptable diversion. Very well... how about 'Crow?'" At a glance, seemingly not too endearing of a name, but it certainly wasn't given thoughtlessly. Crows are clever and tenacious birds, never hesitant to go after what they want. Then there are white crows, rare and spectacular, even if they have one black feather or two... but they're also misfits, unable to fit in with their own kind.

Nicharion was only half listening to the mentions of business and information, scheduling it for later consideration. His red eyes narrowed in almost predatory manner as he reach out with his paw towards the black and white male, cupping the underside of his muzzle to tilt his head back, before gently scratching across his chin with a single claw. "My precious white Crow..." he cooed, so sweet, so sultry, as he stared into twin rubies that matched his own. He couldn't recall ever lusting after a wolf with eyes like his before, unless admiring his own reflection now and then counted. Maybe.. he was just vain enough to like it. But it was only a fleeting thought, inconsequential in face of the vile need to rain volatile oblivion upon the emptiness in his hollowed-out insides, a baptism of all-consuming blaze, the annihilation of their lips, and entire bodies, coming together.

It was nothing short of miracle that he still held himself in check.

"I enjoy your company, as you do mine. I expect nothing more." To require payment would make less of the fleeting moments between them. That is not to say he'd never take a favor or offer one, he only wanted to make it clear that these two things were entirely separate. "Having said that, far be it for me to stop a bird from singing his birdsong." Nicharion chuckled, sensing that the Crow bit might be approaching the point of getting a little cheesy. But it couldn't be said that it wasn't fitting - whatever this information ends up being, he'll be able to claim that a little bird has told him.

manip + code: clae

With each coincidence that brought them together, the collar around his neck pulled incrementally tighter. For the moment it was still loose enough that Bastien could deny its presence unless he put thought into it, an avoidable act now that the crackling red of the world had given way to white and grey. He could only suffer loyalty to the hand that held the leash. Though it was a fool’s errand he was eternally beholden to to expect that that hand would not command another, it did not diminish the flaring possessiveness his lover’s debonair flippancy evoked. Isolation made possession all the sweeter; in the same turn it was also made selfish, loathe to give up what belonged to him.

To want and be wanted in return, was there anything more delicious? He’d always been a bit gluttonous…

And not self-possessed enough to refuse himself. Bastien left the fireside to drag his weight against Nicharion’s side, tail feathering the brute’s neck. A pity he could not enjoy the sensation as fully as he once could, but the tension in the solid musculature was a satisfying consolation. ”Someone as ‘streetwise’ as I can commend one’s ability to outsmart and overcome the odds. There are benefits to assimilating to be sure, but it is so unrewarding to be one drone of the many in the hive.” Step by step, he was guiding Carion closer to the truth he wouldn’t outright say. One of the many things that attracted him to the major was the forensic manner with which he dissected the truth from within fabrications. Bastien happily handed him the scalpel just to watch himself be cut open with it.

“A shame we didn’t get to enjoy that dance. Another time, I reckon.” There he went making plans, unfurling his intention to see the soldier again. The leash only extended so far, after all.

Another test for that alluring intelligence was rewarded in the moniker, succinct but no less meaningful, bestowed on him. ”You do not cease to impress,” One might chuff at the seemingly oppositional nature it had to his appearance, erring closer to a dove that’s been charred by an unfortunate proximity to the sun, but the meaning was not lost on ‘Crow,’ who vibrated with an appreciative growl. That sound freely developed into a purr following the slow drag of Nicharion’s claw beneath his chin, all but beckoning for him to take his turn to linger a kiss against lips whose taste never grew stale.

“You are worth better songs than this,” he murmured words that, while devotional and innocuous, danced their familiar rhythm down his spine as phantom pleasure was called center stage. It sparked life into nerves that were frayed and insensitive. It was by no small amount of effort or resistance on his part, Bastien composed his thoughts until the electricity in his twitching toes settled into dissatisfying stillness.

Alas, the day was still young yet – and so full of possibility. There would be more time to indulge after this small matter was taken care of.

Danger and risk were never far from honesty when it came to the business he dabbled in. The give and take, while at times necessary, forged alliances and broke those that were already formed. There should have been no shortage of caution in choosing which side upon which to stand – but of course, Bastien had established his lack thereof by now. “We appear to occupy similar circles,” he noted, “and someone in the overlap seems to have taken offense to how close your paws are wandering to his business. Your death is a considerable interest to him. And I do enjoy your company indeed, so your survival happens to be an interest to me.” He drew away just enough to gauge his companion’s response to the information he was offering, oh so curious as to how the next few moments would unfold. What Nicharion chose to do with the knowledge was his prerogative, but if their interests so happened to align, he wouldn’t complain.

code: elyon | art: pixel

The red brute welcomed the other's presence at his side with a content sigh; the warmth of flame-caressed fur teased his skin in most exquisite manner as he leaned into the touch. "While I've no intention of rolling over in defeat, it's too soon to celebrate any overcoming." At most, he could afford to be cautiously optimistic, as resilience against adversity was rooted in him as much as that against temptation wasn't. His teeth sought his companion's taunting tail, gliding over its length in a pointed hold that he hoped would send a shiver up the recipient's spine. All the while, he silently admired the deftness of this exchange, openly comforting him with one hand and subtly planting seeds of curiosity with the other. Seeds that were already taking root. What hand had life dealt this man that made him carve out his own rules on the table? What were the stakes? Nicharion wanted to know... fortunately, the easily given promise of another meeting carried further opportunities to glean the truth. "Indeed. Another time." he agreed, silencing the voice of reason that warned of the dangers and complications that regular escapades with one wolf always bring.

Crow's delight in the received name betrayed that he might have already thought of himself as such, and so the compliments it carried were not lost on him. But there were precious few things that Nicharion liked to flaunt more than his proclivity for toying with words. He still had a final flourish to deliver. "Ah, but I'd drink up any song if it's from your lips. You are, after all..." The words he led with, before he leaned closer to Crow's ear to finish in hushed voice, were uncharacteristically committed. That bold demand still echoed in his mind, perhaps luring him beyond charted and comfortable waters. *Own me.*

"...a carrion bird."

What could stake ownership more than to describe the very nature of another with a homonym of himself? To imply that he was the one and only source of sustenance?

Alas, this game was doomed to make way for other items on the agenda. Later, however... Nicharion already knew that he will feel it in every touch, when the time finally comes for them to forget everything else but their hunger for one another.

The information Crow offered was indeed interesting, in the most unexpected manner. A shared acquaintance, and one that wanted him dead at that... The major has made many enemies to further his career, but he was also very meticulous in his choice of prey. As such, they were all dead or rotting in a dungeon... but there had been two times when he came across a criminal by chance and decided to play around to kill boredom. He'd bullied one and courted the other, and by some strange twist of fate the latter was now warning him of the former. You really do reap what you sow. "Hm. So the stubborn rat is also petty." At first, Nicharion chuckled. Then, he laughed. Finally, he turned to his cupboard of alcohols, grabbed the neck of a bottle containing the strongest drink available with his teeth and poured it into a cup. Only a sip's worth, just enough to jolt his mind awake from the easy comfort of Crow's company.

With a burn in his throat, he then approached a window, looking upon the snow-covered wetlands that surrounded his keep. "As amusing as he might be, Savard amounts to a mote of dust upon my current concerns." he mused, not making it clear if he was sharing his thoughts or merely speaking them out loud. He had his paws full here, something that he was reluctant to be reminded of so long as the black and white male was still present in this room, a much more compelling option to occupy his mind. Similarly, overseeing this fortress likely put him outside the reach of any means Savard could muster... save for one that already slipped out of his grasp, ironically. All the same, it would be prudent not to leave death threats unattended.

"Unless..." Nicharion pressed his paw against the stone wall, slowly dragging his claws against it until the sound made his fur stand on end. There was one highly specific set of criteria under which looking into this matter would be both satisfying and worth his time. He turned around vigorously, a smirk growing on his lips when the alluring form of Crow graced his vision once more. "I suppose I'm lucky you two had a disagreement. " An easy guess. Savard might be a fool, but not the kind of fool who would babble pointlessly about wanting someone dead. It had to be a request, a negotiation... and Crow, regardless of his indulgence in Nicharion's company, likely wouldn't inform of it so readily if the talks hadn't gone south, beyond the point of polite disagreement. "I don't think there's anyone better equipped for having a fair shot at pulling off that gig." he purred, his gaze pulling away from the other male's red eyes to trace over his body yet again. Who else could walk in here uninvited and not get hauled off by guards immediately?

But enough using his weaknesses as opportunity for flattery. "Point is, I'm guessing you know him better than I do. So correct me if I'm wrong, but... wouldn't he be most miserable if he owed a debt? One that cornered him into a poor deal with no say in the matter?" In their brief interactions, Savard was always hellbent on having the last word. Wouldn't back down even from a disadvantaged position. So very, frustratingly stubborn. But he had something akin to principles that could be taken advantage of. Maybe Nicharion was being petty himself, but forcing the rat to suck it up would be far more satisfying than killing him. But it was something he could only possibly orchestrate with the help of someone who knew Savard better than he did - if said someone happens to be inclined to draw satisfaction from such scheme as well.

manip + code: clae

His brows weren’t the only things raising to commend the clever wordplay. Another electric reaction shimmied down his spine, dispersed through his body, and culminated in a sensation his body was becoming well-acquainted with whenever the crimson casanova was around, especially as his tail still hummed with pleasure where teeth had run across it. Bastien’s blood roared so thunderously that it drowned the sound of the collar clicking into place, though it wasn’t like he could fathom resisting a fate so desirable as to be bound to the hand that held the other end of the leash.

What began as nothing more than a flippant remark to stoke the burgeoning heat in the other’s loins elicited an unexpected reaction in himself that he couldn’t, or didn’t want to, identify. An ache deep in his soul, borne out of that little space where he has isolated the parts of himself that search for something where there ought to be nothing.

As Nicharion turned toward the window, Bastien returned to the hearth where he could eviscerate the uncovered desolation with the fire’s generous warmth—and, of course, luxuriate in it as well. He didn’t take basic luxuries for granted as he did not keep to one lodging for long. Often, he suffered seedier, nondescript establishments that offered only a moderately comfortable place for him to lay his head; he’d felt rather wasteful when he spent the extra coin on a lavish room only to abandon it when situations deteriorated. Comfort was an unfortunate, but necessary, sacrifice he had to make. But the hearth didn’t just offer a cozy place to regroup: it centered him in the room, allowing him a perfect vantage point to appraise every move his lover made and to be appreciated in turn.

The ambient sounds from the bursting embers filled the thoughtful silences with constant, crackling conversations. He kept one ear facing the brute’s back, listening for the slight alterations in his pitch that would signify he was being addressed, and regretted it; quiet and motionless, enjoying these simple pleasures, the unnecessary scraping abruptly roused his eyelids from their doze.

Sparing a moment to grimace and flick one ear after the other, as if by doing so he could erase the sensation ringing within them, he considered the proposition while easing back into relaxation. “You might overestimate our comradery,” he admitted with a detectable trace of regret in the rich velvet of his voice, “but I will do my best not to disappoint. While Savard and I aren’t more likely to sing kumbaya any more than you are with your comrades, certain circumstances have brought us together quite often over the years.” That being said, it was never clear where they stood in the terms of their relationship. At times competitors and at others as close as criminals could chance. Presently, they each posed the greatest threat to one another, embroiled in bitter warfare by the trust they misguidedly placed in the other. “He’s as clever as he is tenacious, and if those two traits weren’t bad enough when intertwined, it appears integrity is the virtue he’s looking to get better acquainted with. It must be quite the debt you’ve in mind if you think its appeal will lure him.” At that, he sought for those pilfered rubies, searching for an imperfection that might betray what they concealed.

His smile gained a mischievous edge at the sight of the obvious upset that the sound of his claws against stone has caused. Perhaps it was a bad habit rooted in vanity - instead of risking the diminishing of his presence that being lost in thought could cause, be it in focus or absentminded wandering, he imposed it to excess. A number of soldiers who were less used to operating under pressure would lose all their nerve to the sound of his claws tapping against the pages of a book, the slightest changes of rhythm signaling his pleasure or displeasure...

"Years? See, it took me only two encounters to get him to want me dead. Although... the first one might have reached that point already." Evidently, Nicharion wasn't overestimating anything, he merely understood the limitations of knowledge that his expeditious performance has imposed. "Hmm..." He glanced towards the fireplace, this time choosing the dancing flames for stimulation that would rush his thoughts towards their destination. Crow hasn't offered him too much, but it wasn't without value. Integrity... wolves seldom change for their own sake. And he already knew that Savard wouldn't buckle under threats aimed at him directly. That leaves only one option, does it not? "Perhaps it's not him who needs to hold the debt. He only needs to be the one who has the means to repay it."

But there were limits to what could be achieved with deduction alone. As for who was the key to making Savard dance to their whims... Nicharion had no clue. He signified as much with a shrug, but there was no frustration in his expression. He was satisfied with working out this much, until fate deems fit to toss him more pieces of the puzzle to play with. As for the present...

Crow was looking mighty comfortable, and the major couldn't help but realize he had yet to try resting in front of the fireplace. After all, he had a sizable bed on the opposite end of the chamber... and precious little time to consider the best spots for lazing about. So he moved closer, stretching languidly mid-step before he would drop unceremoniously to the floor, deliberately positioning himself so that his back would press up against the other man's chest. "Mmm... your sense for comfort is impeccable." Alas, it seemed unlikely this spot could compare when the time comes for him to be alone. Fire could only provide only so much when lacking the embrace of a magnificent beast to compliment its warmth, or an unsteady breath to break through the monotony of crackling logs... "But, I'm curious..." Nicharion threw his head back, not bothering to stifle the grunt of delight that the sensation of rubbing the back of his head against Crow's jawline drew from his throat. "If my death was one side of the deal, what was the other?" What could Crow desire that Savard had to offer?

manip + code: clae

Bastien's displeasure could not sustain the mischief in that smile, and with the accompaniment of a weight against his chest, it soon gave way to pleasure that was signified by the sound that crooned low in his throat. "And your willingness to spoil me is appreciated," he noted, voice thick with husky reverence. And like a sinner in a confessional booth, he murmured, "Careful though–I might get used to it." It was true–his reserves of self-control were dwindling and he powerless to stop it. If one touch was enough to claim his soul, then having the power to freely take what he most desired was its own kind of damnation.

And he just couldn't help but to damn himself. His nose parted the brilliant red sea, following the major's spine like a rigid roadmap etched in bone until it was lost in the dense fur guarding the base of his neck where that coveted cologne was thickest. "And you wouldn't want to share your bed with a criminal. No telling what he'd do when your guard was truly down." The threat that Bastien would take advantage of the intimate vulnerability that came with sharing a bed after having already done so was low...

But was it ever really zero?

His black-tipped ear twitched forward as an inquisitive tone piqued his interest, not wholly surprised by the question that followed. Bastien's answer didn't come immediately. Short of exposing more about himself, his relationship with Savard risked unraveling the threads of his own past that were carefully spun. It was less self-preservation that made him hesitate at the crossroads of secrecy and revelation, but rather a greater reluctance for this dance of theirs to prematurely end. He wanted to preserve the embers that he had been steadily fanning into a curious flame, offering only the strands of Savard's history that were not tangled with his, to watch it flicker within crimson eyes.

When he did answer, his tone was markedly disinterested, as if the subject bored rather than enraged him. "A life for a life. I wanted to know if his contacts were on my list." True enough, while still being vague about why those contacts were of interest (or danger) to him.

code: elyon | art: pixel