[ P ] when the crows come knocking

Business.

That was what each day came down to, especially after the execution of Clyde and the fact that his lawyer had come sniffing around. This meant now that Amoux had to, once again, get a hold of Bastien. He needed to make the man aware that there would probably be circulation questions, all of which Amoux was sure not to answer with honesty or direction toward the man he had hired to take care of Clyde to begin with. He knew very well that getting rid of Clyde meant there were going to be questions as that was a large family of its own, but even then it would not have changed Amoux's mind on what already happened.

Now there was payment to be made, so there were two birds to kill with a single stone.

If he knew anything about Bastien he knew the man would be coming to collect that payment, and Amoux had it ready. There he waited now in the solidary of his den below the Drunken Seagull, the place very few knew how to get to without the aid of a guard. He would wait, patiently, telling his guards to wait outside the door as he already expected the company he would be keeping. It was not the kind he had to fear, or stray from in the very least. In the silence of his own mind he pondered over all the possibilites of what they could do moving forward, the advice of his lawyer picked at his mind. A liabiliy, but was she? Was Drusilla capable of such when she saw what he was capeable of doing to her? Amoux would be a fool to undermine her, or anyone for that matter. It was one of the reasons why he had been able to make it so far, and alone. A soft exhale escaped him, the sound of the door creaking open would cause orange hues to flicker up in the direction of a crimson gaze.

"Take a seat," Amoux would motion towards him, straight to business. Per usual.

so we'll run to the sea—

"And where shall I sit?" Ever the rake, Bastien had more wanton remarks than self-control—but there was something in the air he didn't like. He could smell it beneath the cigar smoke and sandalwood cloying the room, feel the change in atmospheric pressure like he'd stepped onto a planet all their own, see it shadowed in Amoux's luminous eyes. He'd hoped weaponized ignorance could pierce through whatever was plaguing the darker male's thoughts.

When it appeared that endeavor wouldn't be entirely successful, he started to approach the desk, only to suddenly decide on a new destination midday through and cut sharply around it. The corner caught his hip, earning a grunt that gusted easily into a low laugh. His muzzle skirted across Amoux's shoulder, breaking contact just until he sauntered around to meet man's other side, deliberately dragging his nose through bands of darkness and light until his breaths found shelter in the hollow of an attentive ear. "Who do I have to kill to make you smile again, Moo Moo?"

There were few things more dangerous than a man hellbent on protecting what was his. Bastien valued Amoux for more than these occasional trysts, and it could be heard in that sincere softness that was in stark contrast to its violent intent.

—and find no captain waiting

code // art

The slightest smirk would tug against his darkened lips as Bastien entered with a sly smile and the quickest of quips. "I can think of one place in particular," he responded back calmly, like water, and again it would drift off and away from business. It seemed Bastien had a way to get Amoux off track, but the conversation would once again zone back on Clyde when his companion spoke once more. "Ah, but you have done enough I assure you," Amoux stated simply, his flaming gaze resting into the oceanic gaze that belonged to the man. "Clyde's family has been searching for answers, and thus have gotten their lawyer involved. Isolde is her name. Tainted in golds and brown, eyes of forest green. She approached me in the Drunken Seagull, I must be the epidemy of what a murderer looked like because she targeted me immediately upon walking through those doors." He leaned into the ivory man, the scent of subtle cider filled his lungs before he exhaled slowly. His own nose finding the tufts of fur that were Bastien's cheek.

"It goes without saying I play ignorant very well, and you can sleep without worry." Amoux was loyal, fiercely so, and the amount of effort it took for Bastien to take care of those loose ends was enough proof that they both shared the same type of morals.

The ebon' man stood and walked toward the desk that was now out of place, fixing it briefly before reaching into the deep pockets of the drawers to retrieve a coin bag. He tossed it gently towards Bastien's feet, the weight of the bag hitting the stone floor with a heavy thud. "Payment, as promised," but how empty one had to feel with the value of coin, and no one to share it with.

so we'll run to the sea—

His efforts earned him the slightest of smirks, curling across those lips his eyes refused to leave, and that was reward enough for the amorous beast... for the time being. Amoux proceeded to divulge the source of his disquiet, information that, if he were honest, Bastien cared little about. Every contract came with unique risks, but the one they all shared was the risk of detection, of disgruntled families wanting closure. Perhaps he was getting a bit too comfortable with the law–but he'd been gifted wings. Who could begrudge him for flying so close to the sun?

Still, the unnecessary assurance didn't pass without an affectionate response, gently nipping the ear his muzzle hovered nearest. "I trust you," he murmured, and as unwise as it was, Bastien did trust Amoux. There had been better opportunities for him to be burned for handling the mobster's business than this. If betrayal was indeed a card in Amoux's hand, he'd have played it by now. Of that, Bastien was certain. "And I trust you know how to reach me should this Isolde become a nuisance." Another dead body couldn't hurt—and what was it Amoux always said?

The dead can't testify.

A low, strangled noise escaped him before he even thought to restrain it when the other male moved away, always the first to break contact. Disinterested eyes assessed the bag that was extracted from within one of the drawer's and deposited at his feet. Hooking it with an ebony claw, Bastien sent the satchel skittering away from them. It thumped against the far wall, promptly forgotten, as he sought to reclaim the space that Amoux introduced between them. "I don't want your money." That would have been the motivation, were this anyone else, but they'd enjoyed each other's company too many times for coin to be satisfying currency. Especially now, freshly anointed in the blood of another of Amoux's enemies, the promise to rewrite history consuming him, it was almost offensive to be offered something material when his body still burned so damn hot. "I want you to finish what you started, bastard."

—and find no captain waiting

code // art

MATURE.


Bastien looked idly at the bag of coin, flicking it back quicker than it had been pushed toward his paws. A smirk tugged at the edges of his lips, the space that he had created between them was broken by the man as he closed the gap in one fluid motion. Any words shared between them before that point were insignificant now. The man was not worried about the money, Amoux knew better, and even now he played that very game of cat and mouse. If there was one thing that filled the desires of the ebon' man so deeply, it was the feeling of being irresistible to those that he wished to taste. The lack of words were deadly in his game as he allowed his actions to do all the talking. He further closed the space between them, his chin dipping between the gap of Bastien's thigh as pressed his cold nose to the soft skin. The velvet of his tongue would line the muscles there, tracing the silhouette of bone and flesh from the inner of his thigh to the naked of his lower belly. Softly he would place a single, delicate kiss before he retracted his head away. "Aht, aht," he clicked off his teeth with a cynical smirk, meeting the ocean of Basiten's gaze.

Ivory teeth would then trail down the back of his spine once more, gentle nips tracing toward the base of his tail with the occasional one that wished to draw blood. When he got to his destination he would backtrack, memorizing the pattern of nips and kisses he laid upon his skin until he reached the man's cheek. "Don't need you getting excited so soon," Amoux would move away swiftly, the broad of his chest pressing into his shoulder with dominant force. "Bow," and if Basiten would heed then he would find himself in the same spot beneath Amoux's belly, guarded by the walls of his thighs. "I may need some coaxing, Amoux purred darkly, "Et ne t’arrête pas" A warning, though laced with lustful intent. "Not until I say so."

**and don't you stop** - french translation

There was a thousand and one reasons why Nicharion shouldn't be doing this.

Perhaps the most important one of them all was that he would be incredibly annoyed if their roles were reversed. The major liked things to be under to control; anything unexpected in a situation where other parties are involved is a liability. Deals, more than anything, can be fragile. Revealing even a mere hint that Crow had invited unknown assistance for his task could be a breach of trust severe enough to burn bridges... and maybe some twisted part of him wanted that. For his precious bird to have no one to turn to, no one but him.

...no. The wicked temptation was there, but Nicharion knew it to be poison. He didn't want Crow's desperation. He didn't want to be a necessity. That... would bore him.

And yet, while many of his urges could be curtained by reason, fickle curiosity was beyond such grounded reach. There are many easier ways to earn a quick coin, so what has motivated Crow to take on that job? The red brute could have simply asked, of course, but his lover only ever answered questions through making a show of pulling out a single page out of a thick book. There was no time to perform that dance around a deed that was already done and soon to be forgotten... so he followed instead. It was all too easy to keep a discrete distance when the scent he trailed after was so intimately familiar.

In the end, there was but one obstacle on his quest - guards posted at the door. Force wasn't an option due to his rare empathetic reluctance to cause any unnecessary trouble, and crafting a lie that would make them abandon their posts would require far more study and observation than he had the time for. In that case... he could cause a scene. Luckily he had the foresight to prepare for such eventuality. Time to see if he still has it in him to make a fool of someone.

When he revealed himself to the guards, there was a piece of tattered dark cloth wrapped around his head, covering his eyes. Of course, the fabric was thin enough that he could see through it, at least for the most part. He approached them with an unsteady pace, tentatively testing each step before he fully committed to it. "'Scuse me, laddies! There's two of yeh, yes!?" His voice transformed under a coastal accent combined with a frail tremble that added to his apparent age... and yet, it was loud. Almost obnoxiously so, suggesting that he was not only blind, but also hard of hearing. He wasn't pointed quite in the guards' direction, until he made a show of sniffing at the air to pinpoint their exact position. "Sorry to be a bother, but I'm in quite the pickle 'ere, that I am! Y'see, here I was on me way to the ol' Gull, to have a chat with an 'old friend', heh, if ya catch my meanin'! Blind folk like me, ya wouldn't believe the things we hear and how well it pays to share it; why, Spring two years... nay, three years ago, I overheard a priest make quite vulgar suggestions to a nun even though I was right there! Ha, can ya believe that!?" He started to laugh boisterously, only to end up having a nasty coughing fit, before finishing it off with a wheeze. "Phew, 'scuse me.. I'm fine, I'm fine! Now, where were I? Ah, yes! Makin' my way to the Gull, but then I got turned 'round! If ya two ever end up blind, fae forbid, ya better not get lost in thought while walkin', I tell ya! I was thinkin'-" He started to cough again, not only trying to be loud, but also nasty and potentially contagious enough that they'd be reluctant to physically force him away. They seemed to be relieved to finally know what he was after, but he pretended not to hear any grumbled directions they begrudgingly offered. "Whew, blimey, sorry 'bout that laddies! As I was sayin', I was thinkin' of the Winter three.. nay, four years ago when I, not unlike now, lost my way and..." One of the guards lost his temper and told him to shut up, which was precisely what Nicharion wanted. "Sorry, what was that, laddie!? SPEAK UP!? MY BAD I DIDN'T REALIZE I WAS TOO QUIET! SO, THE WINTER FIVE YEARS AGO..."

As inspired of an act as it might be, he really hoped he wouldn't have to keep it up much longer.

manip + code: clae

so we'll run to the sea—

How much electricity could revive a dead heart? Whatever coursed between them, a current completing its circuit when their bodies came together, brought every destroyed nerve in Bastien’s chest, shoulders, and back to vivid life. He gasped when cold moisture would caress the flushed skin of his inner thigh, leaving him both satisfied that his ploy worked and wanting so much more than a teasing tongue. His frustrations, unlike Amoux, mounted when the dark male whispered in that damningly indecipherable language.

But whether he could perceive his own vulnerability to Amoux’s native language, at least two could play that game. “How much coaxing do you need,” he began in the language they shared before switching to his own, taunting the man all the same, “cuin a tha thu saor gus mo thoirt leat ge bith dè as toil leat?” (when you are free to take me however you like?) Indeed, knelt before him and tail swaying back and forth invitingly, nothing short of divine intervention could stop what had yet to begin...

Though infernal intervention was a more likely interruption that Bastien could not have imagined as, just on the other side the door he was facing, a voice sounded. A voice that, while thoroughly accented, was unmistakable. Unmitigated fury was clamped down beneath calm control in a single moment, lasting barely long enough for his features to register the drastic transformation they underwent—which, given their position, would hopefully go unnoticed by Amoux, too.

"I'm to believe you'll want that dealt with," he grunted when the commotion failed to be handled by the outside guards. Imbeciles, of course. Not that there was anything that could be done by wiser sentries where his lover was concerned. The major was an unavoidable force of nature when his wants and whims intersected.

Should Amoux agree with that observation, Bastien would grudgingly leave the kneeling position he'd been put in and approach the door, using the flat of his head to force it open so he could evaluate the scene as it played out. Had the situation been different, he might have found the humor in seeing Nicharion in this manner, eyes bound behind an old cloth and spewing a nonsensical story... but it wasn't, and the residual heat in his loins was fueling the blistering rage burning hot and wild in his chest. Still, beneath the righteous fury, he knew the matter required careful navigation, lest he risk the relationship he'd carefully cultivated with Amoux over the years.

Being denied an act he'd been promised for a second time was one thing. It was inconsequential in the face of the far greater loss of someone he considered a friend – a bond the criminal did not take for granted.

"So you followed me, eh?" Finally, he allowed his fur to bristle, further staining it red with the blood still seeping from the bites Amoux had inflicted. "Would say I'm happy to see you, but... haven't you heard three's a crowd?" If Nicharion wanted so badly to know what his lover was getting up to in his absence, Bastien wouldn't deny him that. The sultry implication beneath the layers of anger in his voice said what the red male's eyes couldn't yet see. Though it wasn't the pursuer whose reaction he feared as his eyes slid to the dark form that had moved to his side.

—and find no captain waiting

code // art

A slow, heavy inhale filled his lungs as he watched Bastien bend to his whim. The touch of words caressing his ears with a delicacy he wouldn't deny. It was then he would close his eyes, waiting for the warmth of kisses to trail over the more sensitive parts of his skin. The anticipation of feeling Bastien beneath him loomed, but time moved slowly, too slowly, and just as things were ready to heat up the silence in the air would break with an outburst of foolishness beyond his doors. Orange hues shot open, waiting for that very outburst to be silenced with only the sound of the perpetrator gurgling his own blood. When it was not, however, a growl formed in the pit of his throat as ears flattened atop his head. Amoux moved from his position, but Bastien would prove swifter as their gaze met.

I'm to believe you'll want that dealt with.

Nostrils flared as his temper rose, the heat swelling through his back whilst frustration coursed through his veins. His blood would boil as there was one thing he despised more than anything else which was to be interrupted, especially in such a moment. It was often Amoux had control of most situations lest he hired those to control it for him. So when they did not and he would be forced to deal with it himself, he would become an entirely different beast. His smoldering gaze watched as the ivory man moved toward the door, opening it with the base of his skull. He would watch quietly, observing the situation and hanging on the words spoken from one to the other.

Followed.

Amoux snorted, the heat that bubbled was now fueled with each word, fanning the flames that would grow into a raging fire. They knew of one another. The gears in his heart started to turn piecing together all the bits and pieces, even if they were based mostly on assumption. Had it been anyone else at that door, anyone who was a stranger to them both he was certain his ivory companion would have taken it upon himself to silence them himself. So when he did not, well, that was needed to be known. The silence shared by him was deafening, the truth that he was in fact the most angry in the group. Despite the hairs that stood erect on Bastien's nape, and the sense of annoyance in his tone, it did not surpass what the soot colored brute felt. In no quicker than a blink would he be at Bastien's side, his gaze burning hot onto the man who bore a crimson colored pelt.

There were plenty things that ran through his head, and all at once, but he found it best to grasp at the ones most important in the moment. Slowly his gaze drifted to his guards, or the lack of, as blackened lips lifted to reveal his ivory set. "If I so much as blink and you are still standing here I will be sure your corpses are delivered to your family's doorstep." And without hesitation they would be out on their way, but regardless of what he told them their fate had already been sealed. They knew too much, had seen too much, and so—just like the rest, he would be sure they could not testify.

Finally his gaze would return back to the pair, the words he needed to share were very brief. "Get out," his words were cold, directed at Bastien until he would then turn to the other. "Tie up your loose ends and take them with you," if Bastien knew Amoux at all he would heed the warning, unless he wished for this acquaintance to make an enemy out of him as well.

The door at last opening cut his drivel short immediately. He could see Crow's silhouette through the cloth, and he didn't need to see more than that. Lust permeated the air, rolling from the doorway like heavy mist. So... is that it? A mere tryst with an employer? Perhaps he wouldn't have minded it, had he known beforehand. Perhaps he wouldn't mind it even now, if not for the tone of Crow's voice. To a degree, the red brute knew he only had himself to blame... but if their roles were reversed, he would have understood the inevitability of such a whim. Or so he wanted to believe, at least. But Crow's words rubbed salt into the wound, like he was a nuisance! Like.. like he couldn't offer what that dark furred fool was about to offer before his interruption.

And that made Nicharion furious beyond all reason.

"Funny. I don't recall complaining whenever you snuck into my office." It wasn't quite the same, he knew it wasn't fair; but spite never aims for fair. He removed the blindfold with one shake of his head, revealing ice in his eyes that starkly contrasted the subtle, pleasant smile on his lips. "Or am I to only think of you when it happens to be convenient for you?" Well, his mistake for thinking Crow aimed to be more than a forgettable distraction. Crow's mistake for thinking he could keep close and expect everything else about his life to stay exactly the same.

It would seem they are both fools.

It wasn't until the stranger threw his own anger into the cauldron that Nicharion's stopped flowing unfettered. A brief glimpse into guilt pushed through; everything was heading towards the worst case he had considered but recklessly thought himself capable of avoiding. And no matter how offended he was, he still didn't want it to come to pass.

Ah, but so torn he was. His blood boiled at the way the orange-eyed male spoke, not deigning to address him directly even once. Arrogant fucker. He couldn't stop his hackles from bristling... but he could still see Crow on the edge of his vision. He inhaled slowly. The air tasted wretched, but he ignored it.

"Apologies for the disturbance. I'd thought it could perhaps benefit us all to talk.. clearly, I was mistaken." He turned to leave, not showing any interest in waiting for the stranger to reconsider.. or rather, not giving himself a chance to reconsider violence. He didn't wait for Crow, either. After all, what could he possibly say now?

manip + code: clae

so we'll run to the sea—

“Nor do I recall making a scene outside your office to demand your attention,” came the equally heated rebuttal, black lips rippling in a snarl. These hot flames refused to be tempered, knowing this intrusion would cost him more than sex. If that were all he was after, the all-consuming blaze would have smoldered as quickly as it was ignited – but Nicharion had done more here than quench his own curious thirst; he’d invaded the privacy his companion guarded with no less ferocity than a dragon curled around its hoard, damaged a relationship whose intricacies he knew nothing about, and had the gall to look only briefly repentant behind his obvious offense.

It was safe to say that Bastien expected the dismissal, though the disparaging coldness in Amoux’s words still hurt, a freezing burn in his chest. He’d been spared a similar threat to what sent the guards packing, but it was a small consolation compared to all that was simultaneously collapsing around him. “Very well.” There was little point in arguing. Perhaps he’d be able to come back to do damage control later, but as for the time being, Bastien knew he couldn’t say anything in his defense that would sway Amoux back to his side.

Words thrown around in anger weren’t likely to be compelling anyway. He’d need a clearer head... or two... before returning.

Maroon motion brought his attention back to where the major was turning to leave without so much as a parting glance, stoking a fire that still raged. But this wasn’t the right setting to address that matter either, not with Amoux standing nearby and a potential audience only a floor above them, so he followed wordlessly up the stairs and out the door.

exit bast, presumably behind carion

—and find no captain waiting

code // art