hades waits...

Milo Pierce - 37 - Seraphim - Pestilence

[milopierce]

darkromeo​:

Behind the walls of the room came the sound of Milo’s siblings running past, earning a turn of the head for the brief moment that the sound was there. His attention later returned with his tongue stuffed in cheek for a mere moment, listening to Milo and trying to ignore the tension between them. Unwavered, he continued to stare into the man’s sharp gaze and wondered if it were remnants of true desire that made it difficult for them to be in one room, or a rehearsed method to try and destroy each other. Either way, there was no backpedalling now. 

“Enlighten me, Milo,” he said in a low rasp. Yet another command fleeting, not a request. It was viper against viper, vulture against vulture, and he decided the best kind of anticipation was one where Milo was on the verge of showing his devil-self. “What rules have I supposedly broken? You really think I’d suddenly have something to hide in the midst of war?” He continued to tempt. He knew Milo wouldn’t touch him. He knew he was practically crawling out of his skin, hands itching to remind Fazal of his new place. He savored it all, and the expression on his face was worth Fazal’s deviance. 

He took his jacket off and threw it folded onto the pool-table beside him, revealing a black long sleeve underneath which accentuated his torso. “Sometimes I forget you like your subordinates easy to control,” he scoffed. “But don’t expect me to fall to my knees at the sound of your voice.” He wished to unhinge Milo out of spite, pour more liquid fire into his veins. Their fight for dominance was tradition at this point, and Fazal refused to be under him. So he bluffed next, “Your new title changes nothing.” 

-

“Enough.” Milo’s voice cut through the built up tension like steel. Harsh and sharp, and almost desperate with a want that he couldn’t manage to subdue even if he tried. “I’ve had enough of this.” He hissed, shrugging on a black polo before stalking towards Fazal like a panther towards its prey, only he knew better than anyone that Fazal was nowhere close to what many would consider prey. When Milo bared his teeth, Fazal often did the same, pulling out his claws for good measure just in case either of them felt the need to draw blood. 

He closed the distance between them once more, shamefully succumbing to the pull towards the other man. 

He almost scoffed, distaste coating his mouth at the thought of it. Him, a Seraphim, the power he had been waiting for, now crackling in his hands like thunder, and yet here he was, drawn like a moth to a flame by a man that could only dream of being in his position. 

The implied weakness just made the rage inside him boil over so much so that it manifested in him loosening his hold over the threads that he had been trying to hold together by his fingertips. “Why must you do this to me?” He breathed out, and without another he grabbed the other by the waist and pulled him towards him till there was no distance between them at all. He grabbed at the back of Fazal’s neck and forced him to meet his gaze fully, Milo’s eyes burning with a fury as his lips danced over the other’s. “I won, ma moitie. Just give in and admit that I won.” 

[milopierce]

victoriapinkett​:

Location: Pestilence HQ

Timestamp: February 27, morning

With: @milopierce​

It seemed as though just when one thing felt like it might finally be going right, another would fall apart. Getting the nightclub back to its glory had been a challenge that had required all hands on deck, and it had pulled all of their focus. And then how long had they been able to enjoy the fruits of the labour - a few hours? And then suddenly the rug had been pulled out from under them. In quite a literal sense, their joy had turned to ashes. Victoria was exhausted, and still trying to grasp the extent of the damage.

She had been the first to arrive for the meeting Michaela had called her and Charlotte to, a fact which owed in part to the fact that she hadn’t slept a wink. A large cup of coffee sat in front of her instead, and she stared down into it as her stomach roiled the same way her mind did. It was going to be a long few days, she realised. The door opening snatched her attention, and she looked up, swallowing when she realized it was Milo standing there. She had hoped for her mother or sister, but instead she studied the Dominion with bleary eyes.

“I told her not to pay the ransom,” was the first thing Victoria said, her voice quiet. “We never should have done it. A billion pounds and it didn’t even matter.” She looked away from Milo again, biting her tongue for a moment. “I don’t even know where to start.”

-

Criticism teetered on the tip of his tongue, biting and sharp like steel as he leaned against the door frame leading into what seemed to be an exclusive Pinkett pity party. He reeled it in, though, kept it close to his chest as he bit his tongue, attempting to string together words that may actually help the situation they were now in. 

“We’ll get the money back.” Was all Milo managed to say, clipped and matter-of-fact as he crunched the numbers quickly in his head. “We’ll stay afloat even with the payment. We’ll manage.” He crossed his arms over his chest as he regarded Victoria quietly. She was a strong woman, there was no doubt about that. Sure, there things he disagreed with, decisions he would have done differently... but there was no taking away from the fact that she was strong. 

But there’s more to leadership than strength. 

Milo let out a long breath before closing the distance between them and taking a seat across from her, clasping his hands together and eyeing the gold rings that adorned his fingers in mild contemplation. 

“We stop. We assess. We decide. That’s all we can do at this point, Victoria.” He said in the same tone as before, grasping at his family ring and twisting it around his pinky. “What we need to do now... is think.” His gaze flickered up to meet hers before leaning forward slightly. 

“How can we keep Pest afloat? What do we have left?” The answer already seemed to float between them, the corners of Milo’s lips curling slightly. “What should we lean on?” 

[milopierce]

prisephone​:

• • • 

Empathy has never been her strong suit– or maybe it would be better to say that the woman has effectively demolished her well of natural empathy. If Priscilla had taken a different path in life, had somehow been tugged back from the edge of the abyss she now calls home, she wouldn’t have found herself so wonderfully numb to the plight and experiences of others. She might have learned to control her emotions rather than shut them off, or toss them out with the trash at the end of each day. When it comes to most people, she’s mastered the skill, but Milo is a different story, a remnant of a bygone era, the owner of a piece of her heart. So his excitement rubs off on her, and a genuine wave of buzzing anticipation washes over her. 

Blue eyes stay on Milo as she reaches for the box, amusement coloring her features. Priscilla turns the box over in her hands a few times, brings it close to her ear and shakes it for good measure, before finally tearing off the paper with abandon. Light catches on three gold Cartier bracelets, and Priscilla lips part in a silent gasp.

 Tearing her eyes away she glances up at her friend with a huff of laughter. “These are fucking gorgeous,” and fucking expensive, she doesn’t add. “Milo, they really didn’t have to.” She snaps one onto her wrist, and holds it up, delighted. “You better send my love right back,” Priscilla warns, a smile on her lips to combat the tone of her voice. 

But gold and glitz isn’t enough to distract her from the news at hand. Her mind is jumping to ideas, each crazier than the last as she finally envisions him announcing a fucking engagement or some shit. Snatching a pen, she throws it at him, a small outlet for the apprehension that’s built in his teasing. “Alright, then, spit it out,” she says, leaning forward on the desk. “It’s killing me.” 

-

Milo’s smile grew shark-like. He paused a beat, and then another before resting his elbows against the top of her desk and leaning forward as well, the sentiment dancing across his tongue like sparks as he rested a hand on her wrist lightly. “You’re looking at Pestilence’ new Seraphim.” He breathed out, and even then, the words managed to get him completely and utterly drunk on power. His heart thudded loudly against his chest as he let out a triumphant laugh, standing up and walking around her office like a panther on the prowl, eyes alight in the dim lights of her office. 

“Can you believe it, Pris? Things are going according to plan after all. All those fucking years of waiting. Biding my time, being a good little dominion.” It was the first time since Michaela broke the news to him that he could finally pull his walls down and truly celebrate with someone. Without the ulterior motives, without the need to spite. 

He stopped in his tracks and turned to face Priscilla fully once more. 

“I’m so close I can almost feel it.” 

[milopierce]

deathmaycome​:

@milopierce​ location: british library date: 5th march, 2021 time: 5pm

One thing was to be said about Pestilence - they were good at shutting people out.

Of course, that was of no help to May, who had been digging around for quotes and information surrounding the company’s status since she’d planted a bomb in one of their labs. Various underlings she’d managed to corner offered next to nothing, too low down the totem pole to know anything other than it’s a bit fucked up. The Pinketts themselves had ignored all her requests for an interview, which may well have had something to do with the onslaught of online abuse she’d been hurling at FemEn over the past few days, but hey, she couldn’t say it wasn’t worth it. But all of this meant that in all her sheer, insufferable curiosity, May was reaching for a last resort, and attempting to open a door which hadn’t been opened in roughly seventeen years.

Saying the words I need you to get a message to Milo Pierce had felt strange, like singing along to a song you used to know but only remembering half of the lyrics. At one time it had been her intention to repair the damage she’d done, but upon returning to London in 2011 and discovering her old friend firmly in bed with the Pinketts, she had turned her back, unsure that she wanted to get reacquainted with a person willing to sell themselves so easily. A few months shy of ten years later, and there she was, thrusting an olive branch into an inferno and blindly hoping she wouldn’t get burned. It did not sit right with her that the circumstances of their reunion were going to be because she needed a favour, but there was nothing she could do about that now.

May lurked among the shelves of the history section of the library, staring at the pages of a book about the French Revolution without really seeing. It didn’t feel worth it to sit down. If he showed up at all, it was doubtful that this meeting would last long, and at any rate she didn’t want to be out in the open. It was just as the thought that he wasn’t going to show entered her head that he appeared suddenly at the end of the aisle and approached. Her prepared greeting of thank you for agreeing to meet with me died on her lips as her eyes took him in, trying to match the man before her to the teenager she’d left behind. Frequently over the years she had wondered how it would feel to see him again, but in those moments where her thoughts were tangled in the past, she had never anticipated just how much guilt would return. Her throat ached, one sudden, hard throb which she chose to ignore, and she cleared her throat as she closed the book in her hands.

“I wasn’t sure you were going to come.” 

-

Milo was good at accepting many things. He accepted death, betrayal, violence, his youngest brother’s aversion to peas... His mind, in one way or another, could wrap itself around concepts to keep him from feeling unnecessary emotions like confusion and/or anger... The one thing, however, that he can’t seem to truly understand is the concept of abandonment. The lonely feeling that seeped into his bones, the echoing emptiness inside of him that made him feel the very same emotions he so carefully tried to avoid. 

So when May had left him all those years ago, confused and angry over her abrupt departure, he told himself that he wasn’t going to let that pass. 

He wrote her off as a ghost he no longer had to see, a distant memory of a sister that now no longer was there. And that’s what he kept telling himself as he walked the dusty aisles of the British Library. 

“She’s just a ghost. She’s just a ghost. She’s just a ghost.” 

And that person he once was, the teenager she had left behind no longer existed either. 

That should be the start of a very bad joke. Two ghosts walk into a library... 

‘“I wasn’t sure I was going to come either.” Was all he could reply as he stood a few meters away, hands in his coat pockets as he looked her up and down. Just a ghost. 

“I’d make this quick if I were you. Gabriel is making pot roast and I want to be home before my siblings finish it.” He only barely managed to hide the rage simmering inside of him with thickly coated nonchalance. 

[milopierce]

march 4 - alicia’s apartment 

@aliciarowes​

It shouldn’t be so simple to break into her apartment. He makes a mental note to tell her that when he sees her... after he apologizes for breaking in. Not that he could call it that considering how, and he will repeat himself, easy it was. 

He picked at the dirt underneath his fingernails before glancing around at her very impressive place, wondering to himself why he didn’t visit as often as he should. 

“Probably because I’m not invited as often.” He murmured to himself, lips quirking up slightly into a small smile before finally he hears some movement, turning his head to the person that owned the couch he was now occupying, the person who owned the drink he had in the glass that was also, as it seems, hers. 

“You should invite me around more often.” Was all that he said once he saw her, brow raised as he continued to look around. “I quite like what you’ve done to the place.” 

[milopierce]

𝖍𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖘 𝖓𝖔𝖙𝖊𝖘  (2/?)

“The greatest thing you’ll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return.” 

PART 1

13. 

She had an awkward haircut. That was what he noticed first. Rough edges and crooked bangs that hung over wide green eyes that sparked fire whenever she talked.

She was loud, like a fire cracker, and she was annoying, like a wasp that wouldn’t go away... and she made his heart beat faster every time she smiled at him, which pissed him off even more. 

He could go on and on about her, and he probably talked his parents’ ears off enough for them to testify to that... But he’d never admit to why. He’d never admit to the fact that he thought she was intelligent, probably smarter than he was at times. He’d never admit to the fact that he thought her eyes were the prettiest color of green he’s ever seen. Like smooth river stones and sea glass. 

“I’ll see you when I see you, Pierce.” She said over her shoulder as her parents loaded their moving truck. In that moment, he noticed that her teeth were perfect, and that the dusting of freckles across her nose looked like stars. He raised a hand in a weak wave without saying anything more, mostly because his throat was tight and the heart hammering in his chest wanted to yell at her for leaving him. 

But instead, he watched her and the moving truck grow smaller and smaller till he couldn’t see anything at all. 

That was the first time his heart cracked just a tiny bit... and he didn’t like it. 

25. 

“You’re leaving.” Milo’s head turned slightly, fingers lingering on the buttons of his dress shirt as his bed partner looked at him from across the room. He paused for another moment before a small smile curled at his lips, cocky and knowing, a smile of a man in his prime with the underworld at his fingertips. “You sound surprised.” He retorted. 

The man in his bed sat up, and sure Milo’s heart fluttered a little bit but he managed to stomp it down before it got too far. 

So against his better judgment and the incessant yelling coming from inside of himself... he doesn’t turn around.. He knew he’d see sad eyes and a face that he wanted to hold in his hands. He’d see a man that had a good heart and a kind smile, and he’d see the moments of tenderness they managed to share because Milo couldn’t bring himself to be anything but. Not when he was around him. 

And amidst all of that, the haze of golden daylight that the man in his bed managed to exude... he also saw something that worried him. 

Weakness. The soft underbelly of a beast that Milo wasn’t ready to face. “I don’t want you to leave.” Was the other man’s response, quiet and vulnerable that it tugged at Milo’s heart strings. “I want you to stay.” He continued, and for a moment there, Milo thought he would. And he probably could... He probably could crawl back into bed with a man that had the power to hold his tar-black heart in his hands. Tear at the walls that he had built so furiously in an attempt to keep the sun away. 

He could give in. 

But he doesn’t, and he walks away, and he hears a heart breaking the second he leaves the room. 

And for a moment, he manages to convince himself that it wasn’t his. 

[milopierce]

hetor​:

on the fifteenth of january, hector comes across @milopierce​ in a museum.

Hector’s got time to kill.

This isn’t an unforeseen circumstance by any means. In Pennington every hour of the day had been time to kill, with no means to do so outside of whittling away the minutes with a carving knife or enthusing himself over what he’d have done differently, which never did him any good anyways. The difference here, he thinks, is that he has the ability to go out and about and do whatever the fuck he wants, barring visiting his old haunting grounds and making too much of a ruckus. So Hector, being the grown man that he is, decides that the most pleasant way to spend an afternoon is go to a museum, drink a cup of coffee in one of those awful paper cups, and enjoy himself.

The place has only just opened, so there’s no one else in here save for Hector and a few other wayfarers, people with an abundance of hours on their hands just like him. They mill around him as he works his way from exhibit to exhibit, step by step, taking his time to read the displays. He only really pauses when he reaches the main star of the show, a series of statues on famed Romans and Greeks from centuries ago, lovingly crafted by a sculptor who has some show going up next month. Apparently, judging by the sign, there are countless more. They all tower over Hector. He ends up spending an eternity in front of Nero, studying the man’s mad expression, face twisted into some kind of grief-insanity cocktail that makes him a little nervous.

It must take a lot to watch a city like Rome burn, he thinks.

It doesn’t take long before he’s joined by someone else, who stands nearby without saying anything but doesn’t. When Hector shifts a little to look at him, he’s struck – feeling, in a way, like he should be put up in stone along with the rest of them, with a profile striking enough he radiates an air of power. He hasn’t had the chance to meet many people like that, and his curiosity is sparked, so he clears his throat and then takes a sip of his coffee before speaking.

“Do you think he could’ve ever predicted he’d end up like this? Part of an art display?” He nods at the statue. Nero’s less-than-passive gaze stares right back down. “What a way to end up.”

Milo’s got time to kill. 

Which didn’t happen too often, for Milo was a very busy man, sought after by many, to the point that the thought of having so much free time was hard to wrap his head around. But alas, having fully grown siblings did manage to reap its benefits, and with them running the ground work on their family business... he seemed to find himself in the rare position to go about his day at leisure. 

So he went to the museum, as one does when they have time to kill. Art had always given him a sense of respite amidst the absolute chaos that was his life. There was something comforting about it, the way masters managed to freeze time in paint and clay, chiseling moments into stone so that it could live on forever. Milo’s blood thrummed at the thought of it. So much so that he nearly overlooked the beautiful man among the marble. 

Almost. 

Milo’s gaze tracked him, stepping between statues to conceal himself so he may have time to observe the other. His face was not familiar... but there was something about him that called at an older part of Milo’s soul. The strong curve of his jaw, and the slope of his nose, like a portrait Milo had once studied with fervor, only to have it’s memory fall between his fingers like sand after lifetimes of not meeting. 

He watched the other stop just before a statue of Nero and decided he would make himself known. With a well practiced smile and a relaxed gait, he sauntered over, stopping just beside him to look up at the once emperor of Rome. 

“Do you think he could’ve ever predicted he’d end up like this? Part of an art display?” 

Milo paused for a moment before nodding his head thoughtfully, hands folded neatly behind him. 

“I think he knew exactly where he would end up.” Milo finally said, turning to the other and raising a brow. “Men like him strive for one thing, after all.” Another pause, the word dancing like fire across his tongue even before he could speak it. 

“Immortality.”  

[milopierce]

fletchergry​:

Staring into the smouldering remains of his Jaguar, Fletcher shoved his hands in his pockets and felt something like mourning in his chest. Maybe he had it coming, and maybe Rita was right. He turned, ready to walk to the Tube and sleep off this hell of a night, when Milo’s car pulled up. “Oh, fuck off,” he muttered under his breath. Great - now his Dominion’s seen him at his lowest. Fletcher glared at the tinted windows, dusted off most of the soot from his shirt, and clambered into the passenger seat.

“Please don’t do the fucking ‘daddy’ thing,” Fletcher said, arms folded sullenly across his chest. “Kinky bastard. ‘Least not before midnight.” He’s not opposed to it in principle - it’s just too surreal, coming from Milo. “It’s a long story.” Eyes fixed on his car as it continued to collapse in on itself, the flames reflected in Milo’s side-view mirrors. Fletcher was never one for melodrama, but in a strange way this felt inevitable - the consequences of his actions catching up to him.

That wouldn’t stop him from him from finding a way to get back at Rita.

“You’re up early,” he said, turning to glance at Milo. There was no love lost between them - one born into power and wealth, groomed to take the reins; the other a scrappy, mangy minion at his feet. Fletcher was obliged to obey the Dominion, but he made no secret of his disagreements. “Felt like playing the knight in shining armour today?” 

-

“Do not bite the hand that feeds you, Fletcher.” Milo drawled as he pulled away from PEST, knowing that their people would take care of the scene soon enough. The important thing is to get them far enough away just incase that explosion was the just the beginning. “I am here out of the kindness of my heart.” The lie left his lips without so much as a pause, his car sailing through the streets of London in the quiet of the early mornings, the early signs of dawn painting the sky. 

He turned to the man and his smile turned devious before shrugging his shoulders and tapping the steering wheel lightly. “Must you kink shame me, Fletch?” He cooed. “The person I had to kick out of bed to save your sorry ass didn’t seem to mind.” He pulled into the left with a chuckle. 

They shared a short silence before he pressed his lips together and nodded his head. 

“Who did you piss off?” He asked after a while. “Should I be worried?” 

[milopierce]

darkromeo​:

Fazal finally downed Milo’s whiskey, allowing the glass to hit the pooltable with the same thud as it had when Milo had caged him. When the man turned around, Fazal’s attention was on the floor in a near pensive manner. It was a no-brainer that his visible anger only fed Milo more, so he had to switch tactics. He had to act colder, calculating, and return to his unreadable ways. “I am still the Chief Operating Officer of Pestilence Labs,” he began with a slow growl. “I sit at the round table, I talk to Michaela, I am second in the chain of command.” You will not be greater than me. You will not reign superior. Not again. “Maybe you do not answer to me, but when I ask you a question — I expect an answer.” He was calmer when he didn’t look in the face of arrogance and something else that belonged to Milo, and his tone was ice despite the fury shifting underneath.

When he heard of the Reyes, his demeanor didn’t change. Oh, Milo. His fingertips danced over the edge of the pooltable, arms more relaxed than they were before when he leaned back on them. Always so needy, he had said earlier. “Always so commanding,” he retaliated in a coo upon looking up to meet his eyes. “You’ll have to be more specific with your question because last time I checked, you’re the one who’s been particularly friendly with Marcus Reyes.”

-

“Then ask her yourself.” Milo snapped. Another sizzle of electricity seemed to crackle between them, the distance now gaping and cold, the complete opposite of the raging heat that he fanned out of hunger and excitement just moments ago. “I don’t owe you anything.” He hissed. That’s how him and Fazal were at the end of the day. So hot and cold it made him dizzy sometimes. He snarled at the sight of the other not meeting his gaze, wanting nothing more than to grab at his throat and force him to. 

But he didn’t have to, because once again, their eyes connected and Milo felt the same bolt of lightning strike down inside him. 

He felt the burn crawl up his neck as he flexed both his fists to keep himself calm. “I’ve followed the rules.” Was all he said. “Things have always been professional. Public. I have nothing to hide. People know I’ve met with Marcus.” He cocked an eyebrow and felt the dangerous curl of his lips, the envy coating his tongue like tar. 

“Why do I have a feeling I can’t say the same for you?” 

[toomucharitime]

#same

[midsommars-deactivated20201109]

Booksmart (2019) Directed by Olivia Wilde

[milopierce]

prisephone​:

Knee bouncing beneath her desk, Priscilla enters the week’s earnings onto a document; the necessity for organization has grown tenfold since the shit storm began, and truth be told it sets Priscilla on edge. A grape lollipop hangs from her mouth as she concentrates on not biting down on it, a personal strategy for keeping her focused. Beneath her the club is alive, the floor vibrating to the bass, and the music but a familiar hum within the walls of her office. There is a certain comfort to be had amidst the fallout– each of the gangs are too wrapped up in their own shit to wreak havoc upon their enemies. 

The door to her office is pushed open, and a protest dies on her lips as Milo steps through. Closing the laptop, Priscilla falls back in her chair, and bites down on the candy as she breaks into a smile of her own. “Look who the cat dragged in,” she greets, pulling the lollipop stick from her mouth to toss it into the trash. 

In all honesty she’s never been a huge fan of birthdays, having never quite understood the novelty of growing older. Her parents always made a spectacle of it, and being the center of attention made her uncomfortable. This year there was so much going on that the day had passed obliviously, and she hadn’t blamed anyone for being none the wiser. 

“Let’s see… were you struck by lightning? Kidnapped by terrorists? Dead?” Her eyebrows are raised in teasing amusement, waiting to hear whatever good excuse he has. 

-

“Oh, Pris, believe me when I say it’s a very good excuse.” His smile widened, an odd, comforting warmth filling his chest in a way that didn’t often happen. In this moment, while his pride and smugness were still present, there was a genuine sense of excitement at wanting to share the news with her. Milo chalked it up the the many years of friendship they had between them, the unique bond that seemed to have entangled itself in several aspects of their lives. 

He wanted to tell her because he just wanted to tell her. 

But not before he made it up to her, despite knowing that a celebration may not be what she wanted particularly. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a carefully wrapped box, only to slide it over to her with a raised brow. 

“A gift from the family.” The context of the phrase he had uttered just moments ago now changed, words laced with an easy affection. “And my parents send their love.” He added waiting for her to open it. 

For her to see the three Cartier link bracelets that hopefully would cushion the fact that he had been absent on the day itself. “Though I think my news might be a better gift. No offense to my very thoughtful siblings.” 

[milopierce]

DUDE, WHERE’S MY CAR? (Part 1) - The Family Car 

aka. Milo is actually just a tired suburban dad who has to shuttle around his family in an upscale minivan

“I swear to god, if you all don’t shut up, I’m turning this car around!” Milo yells from the driver’s seat as his siblings argue in the back. He thinks he sees his brother throw a stress ball at his sister in retaliation for something or the other, Milo doesn’t know, but it takes all of him to not slam his foot on the break. 

“Can we get five guys?” His sister asks from the passenger’s seat, unperturbed by the chaos behind them. He squeezes the wheel to reign in the last threads of patience he has. 

A chorus of Five Guys! Five Guys! interrupts the brewing fight between the rest of the Pierce clan and he has no choice but to swerve left at the nearest drive through. 

“Alright, but if someone stains the seats, I’m throwing them out of the car.” 

- 

Spoiler alert. Someone stains the seats.

[milopierce]

itsmarcusreyes​:

if anyone had any sense left in pestilence, it’s milo pierce. after his unsuccessful run in with alicia, marcus debates more thought out strategies obsessively until a picture forms from his jumbled puzzle pieces. milo. while marcus has made an unspoken rule for himself to keep all dominions at arm’s length, knowing too well the dangers of saying one word too many to someone who collects knowledge like their life depends on it (because it does), but there has to be an exception. today was a day for an exception.

he tells no one of calling milo, not even ravi. especially not ravi. he doesn’t need more reasons to fear for his or marcus’ wellbeing. milo at least came with years of mutual respect, marcus hopes it’s the olive branch he so desperately needs.

on first glance, he thinks milo could have picked a better place, but catching the end of an old friends phonecall settles his doubts. perhaps too easily. once milo stands, marcus closes the distance between them with an extended hand. “your sister on the phone? how’s the family?” marcus knows when and when not to pile on his sugar coating, but with the current weight they both bear, he wants this favour to taste as sweet as possible.

eyes locking absently onto the aged gentlemen contemplating over chess, marcus takes a deep breath. “alicia was smart enough not to tell me what i wanted, and i’m sure you are too,” he begins, finally meeting milo’s spectral gaze, “i think you can take an educated guess as to why i called.”

-

“They’re alright. A pain in my ass, as usual, but I can’t complain.” His words dripped with honey, languid and easy despite the seemingly hurried nature of the conversation. 

Too quick. Too impatient. Milo should have expected as much. People fueled by emotion often are. He reached out and took the proffered hand, shaking it firmly, but not before taking in Marcus’ expression, noting the tension in his grasp and the want for an answer that they both knew Milo couldn’t give. 

Not really, at least. Not yet. 

“All in due time, Marcus.” Milo drawled with a tilt of his head before extending his own hand to the chess board he had set up for them. Without prompting, he took a seat in front of the black pieces, gesturing for Marcus to do the same. “I know what you want from me, but you know that I am not a person who gives things away without a price.” 

He picked up his queen and turned the piece between his fingers, looking up at Marcus with sharp eyes. “But for an old friend... All I ask for is a game. Then we can talk.” 

A beat. And then another. 

“White moves first.” 

[milopierce]

darkromeo​:

────

Fazal kept his cool, chin raised and neck exposed as he felt Milo’s touch.  But then it was mon coeur and at once, Fazal wanted to draw his knife. Truthfully, his blood boiled under his skin and his heart thundered like a wild thing. Their eyes met one last time before Milo drew away completely and Fazal had given him the best of his death glares. One that could break mirrors, promise a certain death and viciousness.

I have everything you want.

He still held his glass of whiskey while the other hand had curled around the edge of the pool table, nails digging into it, as he tracked the other undress slowly. “Nonsense,” he practically spoke through his teeth. “There is and always will be more.” Because it wasn’t allowed for Milo to have everything he wanted. He would find ways to make the very definition of ‘everything’ unattainable just to wipe that arrogance off his face. With that thought, Fazal flashed the other a bitter, satisfying smile, adding in likewise provocative manner, “Or am I wrong, ma moitié?”

Soon enough, that smile faded as quickly as it had appeared. Milo’s shirt was off and Fazal downed the rest of his whiskey in one go. He hadn’t moved an inch from the pool table despite glaring at the man’s reflection from the back. His empty glass was exchanged for Milo’s half-full one, but he refused to bring it to his lips just yet.

“What did she say to you,” he spoke — posing less of a question and more of a command for Milo to speak. To tell him more. Information left obscured only felt good when it was Fazal’s doing, not his, and he was pissed off regardless of how unperturbed he tried to appear.

-

There is and always will be more. 

No words truly spoke to Milo’s sould and the man had to appreciate that. Him and Fazal were two sides of the same coin, always wanting more, and always knowing that there will ultimately be more. His hunger challenged Milo’s own, and that in itself was like a siren call to a part of the Seraphim’s soul. 

“Oh Faz...” He tilted his head and enjoyed the tension in the other’s features. The way the chords in his arms seemed to protrude from his grip on the glass in hand. Milo wondered what he might taste like now... Bitter perhaps. Hot with an anger that Milo just wanted to consume like liquid fire. “Always so needy.” 

And as if at a flip of a switch, Milo’s features darkened, turning to face Fazal in challenge as his own temper broiled beneath the surface. 

“But you are no longer in a position to demand information from me.” He said lowly, pocketing both his hands in an attempt to reign in the thunderstorm. “Whatever words Michaela Pinkett and I exchanged will remain between us. I don’t answer to you.” His brows furrowed in displeasure. “Now you tell me, what business do you have with the Reyeses?”

[milopierce]

darkromeo​:

Fazal allowed the other to come close until it was too close, too familiar. He tilted his head, a silent, cold dare and no sign of surrender.  That was until Milo’s head bowed down and the dreadful news finally came out, senses filled with his cologne. “No.” His eyes widened and his knuckles quickly lost their color upon clenching the whiskey glass a little too hard. No, no, no, no. “Tell me you’re bluffing,” he growled, knowing very well that it was too late because he knew Milo wasn’t. The man wouldn’t lie about such a thing. On the contrary, he would wear the new levels of pride and arrogance like another suit. As he did so conveniently today. 

“Fuck.” Jaw set, he breathed out the steely tension from his chest — or at least tried to. All these years, Fazal had been ahead of Milo more than he could admit. However, at once, he was no longer the one closer to the finish-line. He was the one watching Milo near it and it ate him from inside. His gaze narrowed as he felt the other’s darker self peek through, and swallowed the disturbing surprise. He could see the promotion happening due to Pestilence’s complete dependence and reliance on their illegal drug empire. Pierce had always offered plenty of inside-knowledge and ways of controlling the market there. The decision was both strategic and not, and added yet another reason why Milo Pierce was a problem.  

Envy, anger, hatred and perhaps everything in between were starting to take possession of Fazal, making it all the easier for him to make bad decisions in Milo’s presence, but he kept himself anchored. To think they were so close and yet didn’t touch at all, while Milo plagued his mind. 

His head twisted ever so slightly with the minimal space between them, words leaving him in a reconstructed, controlled murmur, “So what will your first steps be?” Oh, this was fucking bad. He had to catch up. He had to take the crown away, rob him of everything and leave him on his knees and preferably on a leash. Until Milo could indulge him to the maximum. “Aside from fucking with me, of course, now that you might have something that I want.” A chance to rule all.

-

There it is. 

Milo’s smile widened as he ran the tip of his nose up the column of Fazal’s neck, he could practically feel the rapid beating of his heart, the rush of blood through his veins, hot and angry. Delicious. It took everything in his power not to wrap his arms around the other’s waist. “Would I lie to you, mon coeur?” He hummed, too self satisfied he could taste it. The sweet, honeyed nectar of victory that coated his mouth. 

That and the familiar feel of Fazal against him, angry and jealous. Oh, this was all that he wanted. Truly. 

And how sweeter it would taste once he sat upon the Horseman’s throne. All in due time. He pulled back just to watch the rage play across his other half’s face. “Oh Faz, you’re getting ahead of yourself.” He purred before finally pulling away completely, despite the rapid beating of his own heart, despite the way the blood seemed to rush through his ears, deafening and hot. “Not even giving me the time to celebrate? Besides, one can not show all his cards.” He shrugged off his blazer and walked leisurely to where he was to begin with, in front of the mirror where his lounge clothes hung on a nearby hanger. 

Another smile, his gaze meeting his from his reflection. 

“Might have something that you want?” He scoffed, unbuttoning his cuffs and raising a brow. “I have everything you want.” 

[milopierce]

darkromeo​:

Taking a glass from Milo almost felt like shaking hands, like one was inviting the other to be lured into doing something bad. Fazal, too, raised his glass but decided to speak before drinking. “If there’s one person I should be more careful around,” The whiskey tasted as pleasant as the hazardous glint in Milo’s eyes, and he wetted his lips with a raspy chuckle. “It is certainly you.” No wonder they were drawn to each other, drawn to the darkness fueling their passions and lust for power. Milo’s roused Fazal’s, charmed it, fed it, and vice versa. It was nemesis against nemesis, a question of who could outplay the other and for how long. 

Until death do us part except death was far more forgiving than the games they played on each other.

“Well then, troublemaker,” he drawled at first but finished the fresh nickname with a sharper taunt. “Tell me what it is that’s on your mind.” Retreating one, two steps back, he leaned against the pool table situated in the center of the quite spacious room and lowered his glass, ice shifting in it, only now noticing the fading lure of Milo’s cologne. “What you heard. What you saw,” he continued with a richer tone, coaxing the man across to succumb. “Show me your cards.”

-

“Me?” Milo hummed before taking a sip and relishing the deep notes of amber on his tongue. If he couldn’t have Fazal on a silver platter then twenty year old whiskey had to do. “I am offended that you think you have to be careful around me.” His sentiment was right, though. They were probably most dangerous to each other... but that certainly was the fun of it, if someone asked Milo.

Like fingertips dancing across flames, so close that you might get burnt.  

He tracked Fazal’s movements like a hawk before his eyes narrowed as he watched the other lean against the pool table. His gaze darkened in hunger. That little minx. Not so long ago did he have him splayed out for him on the same table, desire thick in the air he could almost cut it with a knife. 

He knew exactly what he was doing. 

They’ve built web upon web around each other that even now that those days are behind them, the ghost of those strings managed to pull him towards him. Like a moth to a flame. Without another thought, he closed the distance between them and bracketed Fazal with both hands on either side of him, resting against the wood of the pool table. 

His glass landed with a hard thud against the wood, their faces only inches apart before Milo moved to nose against the column of the other man’s neck. “You’re looking...” He began, tone deep and dark. “At Pestilence’ new Seraphim.”