[ HUSH ]: while standing close to one another and hiding from pursuers, the sender reaches up and places a finger against the receiver’s lips to prevent them from speaking and revealing their location. @thedamnd
so, they'd brought back-up. checkers, or whatever that poor creature in the suit was called ( guy distantly wonders if jasper has pulled hims straight from his cubicle and put him into the ground ). and as highly unethical as that whole situation was, he couldn't deny that it had eased some of his worries about going into that hotel and mind-tricking his way into yet another vampire's lair. or, rather, two this time, though they'd turned out to be three - three and a rogue ... something ? spy, he'd called himself. talamasca, too ? his american accent had suggested an affiliation with the new york motherhouse, but guy doubted helen would much approve of the ancient-vampiric-blood-harvesting situation this guy had going on. undercover, just like him. under the radar, just like him and, most importantly, rogue - just like he'd gone when he'd wandered into the lion's den that was the red brick of the london motherhouse. when he'd affiliated himself with the very vampire eager to bring the whole organisation to its knees.
dangerous ? maybe. stupid ? definitely, and boy does he start to feel the weight of his decision to help jasper out ( just to report his findings back to helen, of course ! .... possibly! ) settle on his chest like the small, weighted devilish creature of an incubus when, without much warning, he is pulled into the closet of an adjoining suite. who would've guessed that they'd bring back-up, too ? poor checker's too busy probably slaughtering his way through the lobby to notice the creature pursuing him and jasper. where's that damn clicker when you need it, huh ?
when he swallows there's a lump in his throat almost big enough to make him cough. despite lacking heightened vampiric senses he can hear it, can hear footsteops coming closer, can hear doors being kicked off their hinges. images of the mess checkers left behind penetrate his mind, bodies replaced with his own in a grim prediction of the future. would jasper save him, he wonders ? or try to defend him, at least ? or did this weird tolerance, this odd resolve to keep him alive ( god knows why, he's sure as shit helen wouldn't care, probably got the next poor sod briefed and ready to continue his mission ) end at trying to save his own skin ?
the walls shake with the impact of a foot going through the wood of the door, and guy feels cold sweat pearling at the back of his neck. he's sure whatever is after them can hear the incessant pounding of his heartbeat and, probably for the first time since this whole fucked-up thing has started to happen to him, he realises that he's afraid for his live. good to know he semi-values his life ?
as his breath picks up, his lips part and guy almost lets out a pathetically embarassing whimper - but he doesn't, because there's a the soft pad of a finger pressed to his chapped lips, the edge of a claw-like nail pushing on his cupid's bow. oh. right. jasper's skin is cool to the touch, but where it presses into guy's heated face he feels like he's burning up, leaving marks and blisters, and he knows he shouldn't, knows it's not going to help his situation here, but with a blink of his eye he looks up to meet jasper's gaze.
it's a small closet, really just big enough for the contents of an oversized rich people suitcase, some dry cleaning bags and suits, but it hasn't really occurred to him just how much of an enclosed space this is. how close it forces them together, close enough to feel his breath on his own skin, close enough that, if guy exhaled the air from his lungs he's unconciously been holding onto, their chests would press together.
fuck. he's fucked. least he can do is try and put up that wall in his head, save him some further embarassment, though he doubts his attempts are successfull. there's another loud crash just around the corner, a bathtub is getting smashed into pieces, he flinches. belatedly he realizes that the sleeve of jasper's coat is not clenched in his fist. ' what do we do ? ' he tries to think as loud as he can, tries to project in the hope that it might breach what little space there was between them, seep straight into his mind. the attempt feels as hopeless and pathetic as his words sound echoing around his own skull. ' do we just wait it out ? '
