Gemini

That Jeffrey hasn't absconded at this all being too much, means more to Simon than he would be able to put into words. Hadn't he said similarly about unveiling his own tale, that Simon embracing his past, not shunning him, had been too much. The only course of action he felt he could have taken was to run off. But he's staying now.

At the two word permission to let it out, Simon begins to sob. The tears come without warning, tinged with blood and salt and pain. Simon holds onto Jeffrey loosely, unable to really clutch any tighter given his whole body shaking, heaving, breaths coming in shallow and fast.

He hasn't cried like this in years. In decades. A memory of his father screaming at him asking what he had to cry for, and Simon not understanding that grief sometimes makes some lash out in unexpected ways. His parents had never been cruel until the aftermath, but even then, they were trying to manage their own heartache. They simply couldn't be his parents at the same time.

How long has it been since he started crying, as the sobs start to slow? Minutes? Months? He could believe either, and Jeffrey holds him tight the whole time. Focusing on his slower heartbeat, he tries to match his breaths to that steady pulse. It takes time, far longer than he personally likes, but he does taper off the cries, the tears.

Pink stains them both as he tries to wipe at his face with his pajama sleeve. Simon pulls away just enough to meet Jeff's eyes, attempting a smile, even if it doesn't reach his eyes. "Thank you. I... thank you. Fuck, I'm covered in blood two nights in a row. We shouldn't make a habit of this or I might become depleted." A weak attempt at humor to show that he's alright now, or will be.

#acquisitionethics #just Jeff #Simon

It feels good to hold him, to be safe for and with someone who has already shown me so much grace and understanding.

This man walks two worlds, that's clear enough: as this sensitive young man with family history and a heartbreak that never fully healed; and the boss who wastes his entire crew when they misbehave, dismissing them from the labour of living in order to keep himself safe. I respect both of them, and marvel at the duality.

"You're a survivor," I tell him quietly. It's not meant to reflect on anything to do with his family, only the strength he's needed to live this life of his. He cries like a mortal, which he is, his breath getting caught up in his need to sob. It's horrible and beautiful, with his powerful blood and salt heavy in the air, dampening my sweater. He gives himself over to it, needing it. I understand that well enough, and feel privileged to be allowed to comfort him now.

I understand just a little bit, the pain I cause when I leave instead of letting people offer this to me. I remember crying tearless in Rose's lap, the bittersweet pain and love in that even if it didn't last long. This feels very similar, even if I'm not the one crying this time. We share it.

He cries for as long as he needs to. I don't mind a moment of it, just kneeling here with him, holding his shuddering, warm body close. It gives me time. I can't imagine the pressure he must live under, the expectations to be utterly ruthless yet composed, calm but fierce, talented, charming, tasteful, a business man, a vampire with a real life. Is that what it means to be independent, to be all things at once all the time? I don't know if I could...

Is there room for me in that life? He seems to think so. With caution I reach to the edges of my comfort zone and imagine what it would be like to be part of his life. Not just until dawn, not thinking maybe I'll see him tomorrow if he still wants me around and I can keep my shit together long enough; but next week, the week after, in a month...a year? I let out my own slow, shaky breath, fingers momentarily gripping his pyjamas while his own shuddering begins to slow. I smooth my hand over his back, a soft and gentle rhythmic stroke to help him slow and calm his obligate breath.

I can imagine it; at least a week, maybe a month. I said I'd work on myself, he said he'd wait. That's all very well and good to say, a lovely idea yes, but to actually do it? I can imagine at the very least wanting to be here, wanting to try, even if I have no idea what that looks like. Will I be healthy in a month? Will I be warm? I want to be warm with Simon, not just for sex, but for the sweet and simple pleasure of being alive with someone.

Simon warned of danger. Maybe I need to be more responsible, more cautious: after all, Jamie is relying on me to keep myself safe so that I can resurrect him when the time is right. Could Rose figure out how to do it if anything happened to me? Didn't I tell her that all it would take is a bloodbath and a needle and thread? I should talk to her, make sure she understands. Just in case. Hell, it could happen any time, not even anything to do with Simon.

As I hold Simon, I think about Jamie's body so far away, deep in my coffin, alone in the dark. I wish I could ask my brother's advice, I wish I could lay with him in the calm at dawn and whisper like we used to whisper secrets back when we had secrets to share, imagining his gleaming eye as he tells me that he wants me to be happy, that I should try to build a life. I'd want the same for him.

Simon begins to rouse from his spell and it's my turn to press my forehead to his, back with him, back in the present. It feels natural, good, this little gesture. The smell of his blood is distracting and delicious of course, but I can brush it away both the thought and the blood from his cheek without feeling a need to lick. I want to lick, it seems intimate and sweet and natural to lick, but after last night's passion I don't want to tempt anything. I want him to know that, zombie or not, I do have a measure of control. Like when Rose cried at our reunion, it just doesn't feel right.

I click my tongue as he wipes his tears with his own sleeves. "You're going to stain your nice jammies, here," I grin despite the heavy emotion, daring even to laugh a little and pull the sleeve of my black sweater over the heel of my palm and wipe gently. "Cry as much as you need to, Simon, I won't let it deplete you," I smile for him, feeling tired, feeling heavy, but feeling connected. It's a good feeling.

"Are you okay?" I ask him softly. "Is there...can I get anything for you? Blood? Tissue?"

If they were just friends now, nothing more, Simon hadn't been sure if he was allowed to touch. Not in a way to foster desire, but for comfort. So as Jeffrey decides to breech the gulf between them, touch his own knee, Simon's fist ends up near his mouth, holding back a sob. There are no tears, he knows not to cry, not for his dead brother, but he cannot help the involuntary sound he makes half a cry half a moan.

It's short lived, no tears to blink away, and his hand is back in his lap, concern for Rose setting aside all of his own issues, "She's right to be scared. You can do everything right and then... I think it's part of why our kind haven't taken over. We literally can't."

Simon's own hand covers Jeff's, holding it, squeezing it, a physical lifeline in the middle of the ocean of his mind. "I haven't heard as much as you think. I didn't... it's not the way to introduce yourself to people. So I... Rose knows. She doesn't know what I have to do for my work, but she knows about him. Her moms offered me shelter and I rebuked them and went my own way. I think I landed alright. My parents think I'm an art dealer, like everyone else."

A bitter pill, and his appetite is completely gone, dropping his piece of jerky on the floor, uncaring. It could be cleaned up later. "I, uh, yes, humans generally. They don't know what I am. Until they have to. And no formal degree, but I have taken classes. Lots of them. All over. Why do you think I picked Boston? Because it has the highest concentration of higher educational institutes in the country. I..."

He keeps swallowing nothing, to keep himself from falling off the cliff, from openly sobbing, even if that is what he would do if he was alone. Though Simon would not have unloaded all of this emotional baggage to just himself.

When he moves, it is with a speed that a human could not track, though he is not malicious. Only gripping Jeffrey's cheeks with both hands, eyes staring intently into those brown depths that he could get lost in for eternity, "You are a miracle, Jeff. Not just a medical one, with the sound of your heartbeat just off kilter because it's on the quote-un-quote wrong side. But you keep coming here even when I've given you every opportunity to leave. You keep staying. Mostly. And you are honest and open and caring. And attractive. But we won't dwell on that for now. If I never see you past tonight, I will be grateful that I had this chat with you. Is it wrong that I expect you to leave? Every time you come here you surprise me." Simon cannot stop himself from leaning in, but not for a kiss, just a touch of their foreheads, his own breath ragged and uneven.

"Fucking hell," I breathe, he's close in an instant, his hands on me, his bright eyes piercing. His intensity is startling, demanding, and would be a blade's edge close to unhinged if it wasn't for the subject--not just his brother but what became of his life after the tragedy, the fragile nature of his species, his lonely childhood, everything.

"You're a miracle yourself, Simon," I remind him in a rush.

I don't blame him for a second, and not for a beat of my undead heart am I afraid of this vampire, or his emotion.

He tried to bite this back, trying to talk about Rose, about school, now about me. His loneliness is mine, reaching, begging for understanding, for someone to know what it's been like just to be alone. With his forehead on mine I feel a weird lurch of familiarity, of a kind of connection I'm familiar with, but one I haven't felt--really felt for another person--in almost a century. I want to call it a fraternal feeling, but I don't know if that's really it, or only a very small part of seeing my own loneliness reflected back in another person. In this together, an unlikely pair or not, there's an overwhelming feeling I don't immediately recognize that threatens to choke me on behalf of us both.

He told me that I should be afraid, that I should run away if I want to keep safe, that his work is dangerous. I think of Rose in her bed, and Jamie in his. I think of all the past mistakes, of chasing pain and falling back into easy self-destruction. I can't remember the last time I felt as safe with another man as I feel now. It's like a gutpunch, realizing that I really do trust him.

"For fuckssake Simon, I'm not going anywhere. Just cry," I whisper to him, and wrap my arms around him, holding him tight.

At least he can share something tangible with Jeff, besides these aspects to himself that he keeps so deeply hidden away. The meat seems to be a hit, on both of their sides, as he chews to keep himself grounded, steady, present here with Jeffrey and not thinking about the amount of lives he's screwed over, and not just for food.

Simon appreciates a slight diversion to talk about the jerky, "I've only ever heard it called long pig, but only as a joke. The guy who makes this also has flavors imbued with smoke or essences. Not for me. So many of our kinds are plagued with religious trauma. Are we damned? Maybe for our choices, but not for what we are."

He finishes the piece he'd been holding, letting his hands fall in his lap. While Simon wants to compliment, to praise, to flatter Jeffrey the same way he had done for him earlier, he saves it for now. "I did enjoy it. It's power, and to a kid who hasn't had much, it's appealing. Now... don't confuse my disappointment for reluctance. I have no interest in getting out of this life. But currently I don't enjoy that I have to be ruthless in order to keep a tidy ship. If everyone behaves, then the danger is thrilling. The hustle exciting. I'm not a boss in the way you're thinking, but those I have under me? I try to give them everything."

There is finally a hint of a smile when he thinks of how he's helped just as many as he's killed. Even those he had to dispose of, Simon ensures that their families are taken care of, for a time. Until they can get back of their feet.

"My parents were near-recluses, living off of investments. Because the day is so dangerous, we can't go to school. The internet wasn't around yet, so I did workbooks and study guides and what I could. I got into painting. Practice only made me decent. They had waited a while before committing to a child, but I was turning out good, I think, so in my late-teens they tried again. Conceived, born... I know you'll understand this Jeffrey, but if I could give my life now so that my baby brother could have a chance at life, I would. They withdrew even further after, and I started acting out. Stealing little things. Trinkets at the mall."

A memory has his lips smirking, but he shakes out his hair, the drying strands falling where they may. "It's no I am eternally linked to my twin but... I got caught and I ran off. I had a few others who were more advanced than I was and went to them. Lived in dumpsters and abandoned buildings for a few months before shacking up with the first guy who was interested in my looks. Learned how to use them then. I'm not... it wasn't a long time, but long enough to show me it wasn't a life for me."

He hopes he doesn't sound too judgmental for the lifestyle Jeffrey has decided to live. As all of this information about himself spills out, Simon takes another piece of jerky, looking at it instead of anywhere else. "You're the first person I've told all of this to. Many know pieces. The fragments I choose to share. I... I trust you. Whether I should only you know."

I sit with my weight on my palms behind me, facing him. He's looking everywhere but me, stealing his glances and looking more like a shy boy than he has yet. I wonder with a grin I can't fully suppress what his crew would think if they saw their leader sitting criss-cross in his jammies on the carpet, eating a daytime snack before dawn.

"Mmm. I think I get it. You're a leader, but you have to be tough when shit gets serious. It's not just the job in danger...it's all of your lives. Do you usually work with humans?"

He describes his childhood, starting off with a less glamorous picture of a family life that sounds incredibly lonely.

"Do you have a GED?" I ask him point-blank, maybe surprising coming from me. "I mean, there's nothing really stopping you from getting a formal education now, is there? I think your painting is pretty damned good. You could take night classes, online learning exists too...it's not like you can't afford the tuition."

Then...

"Oh...Simon, I'm sorry," I sit forward off my palms. We're close enough that my hand on his bent knee isn't an awkward stretch. The touch is easily given, reflexive, and after sharing what he has about his own brother, I feel like it's the very least I can offer.

"Don't compare," I offer quietly when he mentions Gemini, frowning just slightly. "I literally can't imagine...it must have been devastating." I squeeze just slightly, let my hand slip from him and watch his face carefully. "So that's when you lived rough. No wonder. Holy hell..."

I look away, not because I can't look at him but because I can tell it's difficult for him to be looked at. I understand that well enough. "Rose told us a little bit about your kind. She said it's...hard, you know, from the very beginning for your kind to survive. I think it scares the hell out of her..." I press my lips together, unsure if he wants me to try to comfort him with some nice thing about living his life to the fullest, but I'm sure he's heard every cliche in the book.

"I'm sure you've heard it all," I level instead, "about living well for yourself, that he'd be happy that you're happy. I dunno, for what my opinion might be worth, I think that's true." I dare a queasy smile. "I'm not sure if saying that kind of thing is really meant to make someone feel better though, or if it's just a nice thing to say. That's fucking tragic, Simon--I wouldn't wish that kind of loss on my worst enemy. Are you...in contact with your parents now?"

His confession that I'm the first to hear this whole story strikes me as sad. It speaks to me of a loneliness deeper than I might have guessed, of someone who hasn't yet met his person, someone who hasn't ever felt like anyone could be that for him. With a pang of guilt I wonder if he really does think that that person could be me, or if this is just a man who has been alone for a very long time, and ready or not, he's prepared now to share some kind of truth about himself with someone. Anyone.

"You can trust me," I say it quietly. I wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it. I give a little nod.

This explanation goes on for far longer, and Jeffrey is far more detailed than he had been before. Though Simon doesn't quite equate all of it with reality, he does have to admit that he had tried to jump in head first last night. A fault of his, though he didn't feel he should need to apologize for being overexcited. Take blame, perhaps, and with how the brakes were now fully engaged, take responsibility for his eagerness.

Before he tries to reply, Simon opens a cabinet, a zip-top bag full of dried meat in his hands. "Human jerky, from calf meat. No flavoring, just been dehydrated for ages." His head gestures for Jeff to follow him, sitting crossed legged in the living room, setting the bag between them. The space is still open, better suited for many people to gather, but also a place comfortable enough for the two of them.

He chews a piece before he speaks, savoring the richness of the meat. "You ramble when you're nervous. I like the cat analogy, I'm the indoor cat to your outdoor cat. Fitting."

A sigh as he holds and looks at another piece of jerky, anything to not meet Jeff's eyes. "I can be mean. And callous and cutthroat. I can come down hard on my associates if they fuck up, so they know not to. The party night? You asked, I didn't answer yet. A crew of mine was supposed to run a simple in and out job. Nothing too complicated, and I had disabled the alarms remotely. But only for that one building. One of them tripped a different building's alarm, fuck if I know how, and then had the audacity to call me crying about it. Even if I'm not physically present, it's still my job, so I had to clean that mess up before people started arriving. And then I couldn't let any of them know why I might be in a mood, so I buried it."

It felt better to chew as he contemplated whether to share, or whether to keep some things to himself. Jeffrey posed no threat to him in terms of the law. His damp hair made him look older as Simon dared a glance, "I buried them all too. Murdered the entire crew, and didn't even think about taking blood or meat."

Finishing another piece he shakes his head, "I don't dislike my pretty privilege. I just hate being reduced to it so readily by others. It's not all I am and yet I cannot share most of what I am with anyone. Is this what you want? Is this my ugly? I don't even know."

His heart is racing faster than when they had been kissing as he meets Jeffrey's eyes. This is more vulnerable than sex for him, and he wants Jeff to know how hard it is for him to be this honest. "I should not have used that word for us, not so soon. Perhaps when, you are right, I let you take up the air time so I didn't have to. When any relationship, friend or otherwise, is meant to be built on mutual trust. I can't... if someone is invited into this part of me, that means putting them at risk. You walk away now, I won't hold it against you. You should, to keep yourself safe. All of this? It's built on lies. One night this house of cards will fall, and when it does, it should only be on my head. No one else's."

The meat surprises me. The way Simon refers to it immediately shows a different side to this man, and I understand what he's doing.

I follow. I take his rambling comment in stride--I know I do. I sit with him. I eat.

It's delicious. My jagged molars tear it easily, chew it easily. I look at the fibres, nibble. Glance up at him as he speaks, spilling his sins. I treat him to an eyebrow raise, a pause in chewing as he talks about making it so that his idiot crew couldn't ever fuck him over again, and swallow.

I don't know what I expected from him, but he describes his involvement like some kind of mob boss, some mastermind of criminal activity. He must have a reputation, if he goes to such drastic measures to prevent failure. He doesn't seem to relish in doing it, no bravado about it at all, no flash of lust in his eyes. It seems more like a chore to have to act so strongly toward discipline, a disappointment. It reminds me, unexpectedly, of Alexander. Though Alexander loves his cruelty. I don't know yet if there exists that streak in this vampire.

"Well that's certainly a start," I answer his first question, meeting his blue eyes in a glance. I look at the meat again as if inspecting it, bitten thumbnail pushing up fibres for my front teeth to peel, playing just a little with it. Hardly any life in it, maybe none at all, but it does taste good. It's a strange thing to be sitting cross legged on the floor like a child to eat it.

"That sounds..." I swallow, "like a lot of responsibility. For you, I mean. I have no doubt you're good at it," I look a around, lick the little oil off my thumb, "seems like you're good at it. I don't get the sense you find much sport in doing the things you have to do to keep being good at it," I shrug.

I take another piece, small. "I've heard it called lamb in other circles," I tell him, place the little sliver of flesh on my tongue, bring it in and chew while I talk, "though that has a bit of a religious connotation, doesn't it? Funny that any of us bother with the euphemisms. I've never had it dried though."

"Mm. I appreciate the warning, but tell me: do you like the danger? Do you like the hustle? Being the boss?"

#// thanks for the ask!#lore

hysteric-boy

Sex is great but have you considered hitting me as hard as you can

#// Jeffrey stop it

permanentna

edit

What are each twin's strength and weaknesses, and do they compliment one another or contrast?

// allow me to answer ooc, idk if they're self aware enough to answer on their own!

The long and short of it is that they are similar at their core and when their needs are being met, but the major difference is that Jeffery owns a lot of the survival instincts Gemini needs on the fringes of civilization, and Jamie is generally better at Being a Person, or living in society.

Sometimes it's interesting for me to play it as though Jeffrey is the survival mode autistic burnout still trying very hard to relate, and Jamie is the very high-masking seemingly self-sufficient and polite favourite boy who hides his real needs until he just can't anymore.

Jeffrey's fixations, anxieties, and sometimes compulsive need to have a contingency plan has saved their lives, and most certainly make him the better, more careful and successful hunter. It kind of makes him a bit of a pill though. Jamie's adapted social skills carry them far when they're living among other people, and he can even use his charm to seduce for hunting purposes. When Jamie is feeling off his charm or isn't healthy enough to pull a confident smile, he struggles more with the logistics of hunting humans like animals. Neither of them have any moral qualms with killing.

Jeffrey is more likely to continue eating meat even when they're healthy enough that it isn't mandatory. He likes to kill.

Jamie will switch to a blood-forward diet to avoid killing as soon as he can. He also likes to kill, but he usually has better things to do than spend an hour or more cleaning up and hiding remains.

Jeffrey would rather be with Jamie than be totally alone, but would also rather be alone than be with most other people. He does feel loneliness deeply though, and this is hard for him to balance.

Jamie struggles to live without other people, whether that's his brother or friends, partners, and would get a social job just for the fun of it (like bartending). He struggles sometimes to understand his own social fatigue which can lead to violent outbursts, but would almost always rather be with someone than alone.

Jamie sometimes takes for granted that survival as Gemini feels easy. He knows the world is dangerous, but he has a more laissez faire attitude about things, looking ahead to a future where it all works out or probably won't matter if it doesn't. Sort of like a reverse nihilism--we're going to be doing this for fucking ever so what does it matter if times are hard right now? What's the point in winging over a little struggle it's either going to get better or worse. He doesn't always acknowledge that Jeffrey's contribution to Gemini is a big part of how "easy" it is for them to survive in the wild (including living outdoors in cities). They do fight over this.

They both have big emotions, and when expected to be Nice, either of them can (but not always) easily shut down or overcorrect toward meekness. They are actually both very empathetic, but sometimes a lack of experience can affect how they're able to relate to people.

Both of them think of themselves as honest, but they're actually very good liars and do so causally all the time, usually by omission of a whole truth. Telling a partial truth at exactly the right time can be a very successful manipulation tactic that they excel at equally.

They have the same love languages: touch, and acts of service.

// editing to add that when fighting, a good clean example of their different positions would be that Jamie would tell his brother to keep his shit together, and Jeff would accuse Jamie of not paying attention.

Jeffrey makes it sound like he has wanted to hunt for him for months, not merely days. Not even a week. It does make him curious, even if he hates getting blood under his nails. "One night, yes, I'll come hunting with you. Don't expect much help from me. Not that it seems you need it."

The gulps Jeff takes are deep, and his blood is finished in no time. Simon swirls his glass, taking his time, but at least moving to put the rest of the jug in his fridge. He could, physically, finish it all tonight, but his appetite feels poor given how reserved he must appear.

Then an explanation comes. It doesn't entirely make sense to him, but Simon has no reason to doubt that this is his truth. A subjective one, but truth nonetheless. He sips, still unsure if this is a reversal of last night's decision.

"You did what you had to. Don't apologize for it. But this is giving me whiplash." Downing the glass he sighs, not wanting to break into his stash so soon, though the urge is there.

"What's there to tell. That others haven't surmised. I came from money, that's clear in the decor, the art chosen. I can pretend to be educated, but only up until a point. Something was hard for me, once upon a time, but I cleaned up my act and learned how to be an upstanding citizen. I give to charity and mop up my messes and..."

Jeff doesn't deserve this. Doesn't need his own issues piled on top of the mountain of shit he's already dealing with. "I'm a pretty boy who knows to use my looks to get what I want. But not with you. I want you when you're ready. Don't reverse course just because you feel bad, Jeffrey."

I really have fucked up.

I don't know why I though it would be as easy as saying I know I'm shit, I'm sorry, let's move on and get back on the couch. His rundown of all the things I can see pretty clearly on his surface is no more than a verbal shrug, and after my gutspill last night I feel like even more of an idiot. It never occurred to me that he might have something to be self-conscious about too.

Hadn't Rose alluded to his insecurity over his education? The night we met, didn't he call me out for using too big a word for some who had supposedly claimed to be uneducated? Should I have known then that he was insecure about his own education? If I was thinking about anyone else but myself maybe I would have picked up on it.

"Listen, Simon," I start quietly, frowning at the countertop, "I'm the one who wanted to simmer down. I have to accept that it'll take a while to warm back up again, if I didn't just completely ice us. I do feel bad."

I lick my lip, the last taste of blood.

"I give myself whiplash sometimes," I admit, "I'm not good at people. But I do my best to be honest about that. I'm never gonna humour you, Simon. I'm not going to agree to something that feels wrong but I think I need to...I need to work on not backing out out when things are just...hard. Everything's fucking hard," I shrug for real.

I don't know where to go from here. I look at him, his blond hair, wet and pushed back, his bright blue eyes and strong jaw and his curved, pink lips which at rest look just a little bit mean. I like that, especially knowing that he really isn't. At least not to me.

"You are pretty," I agree, trying for a dry tone, remembering his dissatisfaction last night when I called him hot. I should have simply told him he was delicious instead. That's what I really meant anyway.

"...but you don't like it, do you? Being...conventionally attractive? You use it, but you don't like it," I try to keep his eye, if he'll hold my gaze. "So show me your ugly--I've showed you plenty of mine. Up until now you've been generous, charming, handsome, talented, well connected...sexy. I could go on. Your affluent lifestyle and good taste are clearly on display--taste that speaks to some kind of education. It looks effortless to me. Maybe you're just a good curator."

I lean on the counter, face him. "For what it's worth--what I'm really interested in, what I like is that you're different. From me, from what I know. I like that you have this fancy place and your collection of art and your good clothes...I like your indoor-cat lifestyle, your schmoozing parties I don't understand, your studio. I like it. I'm curious about it--about your art, your work, what you are, how you grew up. I like that your eyes are sharp and that your mouth looks a little bit mean when you're not controlling it," I grin at that. "I like knowing that you're not mean at all. I like that you're a vampire but you're alive, that you were never human, that you're a killer who doesn't hunt. I want to know more about your contrasts."

"Maybe this break pump is a good thing for both of us. Maybe we both got a little carried away yesterday. It's one thing if we could have just fucked and turned this into some sexy little fling, that would have been easy. As it is...we both agreed to do a little work for each other and that's a helluva lot harder. Maybe instead of trying to be lovers while that work happens...ugh, I can't believe I'm about to pull this cliche out of my ass but...fuck, I mean, we could try to be friends first...?"

I crack a smile for him. "Make no mistake, I want you. I want my fingers in your hair like we were last night, I want your mouth on my neck or your tongue in my mouth and your warm skin against mine. But maybe we...put all of that on hold until..." I scratch back of my own hair, still damp. "...I can enjoy more than just hunger for you....and also not panic when you try to make plans more than two hours in advance."

#// thanks for the ask!#// fuckin Blackwood farm man...

sadisticxprince

Have you ever met Quinn Blackwood? Probably have a lot in common.

The tall guy with the dead twin? Fucking tragic, man. We never met the guy but American vampires have occasionally mentioned him. We don't know the whole story, apparently it's a wild ride...

goodblunt

(nonchalant) (rock hard) i sense that you kill a lot of people

#listen...

// mun is grateful to be 35 today (: booked a staycation next week, looking forward to good food and cozy times at home, maybe some low-key goth beach days

// plenty of time to write over the next week, so hit me up or introduce yourself if you're interested!

#//ooc

miller-mayfair

"No torches or pitchforks are likely to show up for you here." Elliot reassured, as he erupted into a grin that flashed a canine that was just a little too long and too sharp for human. It was the little hints that gave him away. "You are right that putting in a written request to eat people on the property might raise red flags. More for the moral objection members might raise to it than anything. Given how unique you are I think the Order would ordinarily turn a blind eye if it was not going to be reflect upon them."

His eyebrows perked up in unison. "The most important part is that you are comfortable. I can make whatever arrangements are needed as a compromise between yourself and the Order. That is my function, more or less. So whatever you decide to leave off that paper can be handled between us with discretion."

When Jeffrey asked him more directly about his own unique existence, Elliot shifted his weight slowly to the left side of his chair. An elbow draped on the arm of it, allowing him to tuck an index finger up at his temple. "It took a while for me to learn how to be human again. Der Sammler forbid us from leaving our animal forms whilst we were in his Menagerie."

"The Cryptozoology gang were very understanding towards me. They used to let me stretch out under their desks for naps when I was small. I owe them much, not just for their rescue of me but because of the compassion and patience they were willing to show for me while I readjusted."

Elliot absently smiled as he tried to weather all of the questions Jeffrey directed at him. "The human self is fully in control. I can transform at will. That small form feels as natural as this one for me. Though Julius told me that in the past when I have become emotional -- there is another form. One that they call the 'Large'. I don't really have memories of those occasions."

"My specific breed is called 'Pooka'. Though it has different names across cultures. My species has quite a reputation amongst the cryptid designations. Much lore and literature has been gathered about my brethren throughout history. Troublemakers, mostly. Workers of mischief."

#miller-mayfair #Cryptodorks #just Jeff

I look away when Elliot grins like that, but look right back I catch sight of a sharp little tooth I hadn't noticed before. It's impossibly cute, though I wouldn't be quick to tell him so.

"Pooka," I repeat it, sharing his smile with him. He explains concisely, but not without feeling, his more relaxed posture speaking just about as much as he does. I catch myself leaning back in my own chair in a similar position but shift to sit differently instead, run my hand back through my hair, self conscious over the habit of mirroring.

"I've never heard the name. Did you...know much about your kind before you came here? This lore and literature they have, was it new to you?"

I can't imagine polite, thoughtful Elliot as a troublemaker. Not so much a worker of mischief as a keeper of good order. The Large form he mentions in passing sounds like something I might need to hear from the others about. I am genuinely curious about this strange creature, much more complex than the superficial stereotype he seems to put on.

It's heartening to hear that the cryptos were good to him. I'd thought the worst the way they talked, but maybe I'd been too quick to judge. Maybe he really just was one of the team, and as a team they were open with each other. Like a family...or some dumb cliche like that.

I look at the form. I don't want to fill this out. He says they'll turn a blind eye, but there is a deep and horrible feeling of dread deep in my gut at the thought of eating human meat--whether formally requested or not--in a place where living humans are agreeing to keep and watch over me. It feels like an evil I can't fully reconcile with the rest of my life where I'm perfectly happy to kill and eat without remorse. I cannot imagine any single thing that would make someone a worse houseguest.

I'll check a few boxes, consent to terms, estimate my birthday if they really want me to. The rest...I don't even know where to begin and I don't want to think about it anymore.

"Well it sounds like you went through hell to get here Elliot, but I'm glad you're with me. Thank you...for being kind to me. I know it's your job to see to guests, but...you don't have to be kind. If you have any extra tips on how to survive those guys...I'm all ears."

willgrahamsbouncingbulge

If my body is walking around without my permission, you’d say that’s a loss of control?

// everyone on the dash and @drcasimir

#// dash commentary

monismemes

Rage-bait my muse, I dare you

#// oh hohoho yes please

He answers within a minute while I pretend it wasn't one of the longest minutes of my life, and try to curb the jolt of excitement that he responds at all.

I come up to the address, trying to keep my pace slow and casual, trying to will my stupid heart not to thump too forcefully, willing it not to get faster and louder the closer I get. I can't tell by the texts if I'm merely being tolerated after last night, but I have a feeling from Rose's help earlier this evening that I am probably overreacting now.

Is the new little luggage padlock looped through the zippers on my backpack an overreaction too? It's a discreet little thing, terribly ineffective, and only a very temporary solution. Just enough of a signal to anyone who might take a harmless, curious peek, that I'd really rather the bag stays closed. Even a living human could yank this thing off or simply cut open the canvas bag. Generally though, I understand there's a difference between a secret snoop, and a full tear-through of ones's private things. I can't imagine a world where Simon would do the latter without good reason. Even my paranoia can accept that.

I shift the bag to one shoulder.

Just out of the shower? I feel suddenly self conscious about the chlorine smell of my own damp hair, but better than the reek of a kill, and much safer to travel with especially considering my cargo of blood.

I imagine Simon as he's texting, clothed in nothing but steam. I imagine the smell of his water-heated skin, how soft and warm it would feel under fingers, lips, the muscles of his shoulders and back loose from the comfort of the spray, strong arms to--

I knock on the door. When he answers, I can't hold back the grin for his matching set, buttoned up and proper, and reach out right away to finger the edge of his pyjama lapel.

"Nice jammies, Simon," I tease. Close in the entryway, it would be easy for this hand at his chest to flatten, to slide up across his shoulder and find the back of his head, fingers in his damp hair, and bring him forward to a kiss.

I want it with every fibre of my being. He must feel me hesitate, but then this hand does flatten and it does slide up, and he does feel deliciously warm from his shower. Afraid I've already botched it for my second-guess, I'm quick to kiss him, stepping to him and into the house, not yet quite invited, and close the door behind me.

"I'm an idiot," I tell him by way of apology, set my bag on the floor and hand him the jug and kiss him again.

The immediate touch is unexpected, but not unwelcome. Simon feels he deserves the comment on his fashion choices, just stepping back enough to let Jeffrey inside properly, as he would any guest. Then he does what not just any guest would do. These lips are warm, blood filled, and easy to kiss back, his own hand wrapping around Jeff's waist, though keeping their bodies at whatever distance he decides to set.

He's blinking at the jug before another kiss interrupts his train of thought. He dares to chase for one more kiss before the need for oxygen has him releasing him, though he keeps his hand on his waist.

"What? Why? This is for me?" The jug is heavy, certainly full of blood and from what his less sharp senses can detect, fresh as well. It's difficult to drain a living human, especially out in the open, and Simon's smile is soft, "Thank you."

Not used to others considering his own needs, he can feel himself warming, sure that Jeffrey can sense it as well. Wasn't he supposed to keep his own feelings contained, let this move at a pace he isn't setting? Yes, so Simon reluctantly lets him go, carrying the jug to the kitchen. It's still warm, not needing heating, pouring them two glasses, keeping his hands busy so he can quiet his own desire.

"Looks like you've had a productive evening. Are you... will you stay for a bit now?" Simon is sure that he sounds ridiculous, a hesitance in his voice that is so unnatural for him. Even with the kisses, the tease, he doesn't want to assume more than he should. He tries the blood, letting it attempt to calm him, though it does little. "It's good. Thanks again."