He showed up in late evening hours for a number of reasons.
One, ain’t no way a goddamn secret service agent would parade through the barracks and all the levels of the military complex, acting-- behaving entirely like he ain’t draw attention, not with his clothes, not with his lacking uniform one needn’t when one did his kinda job: not with his blood-- the one that he stank of, as well as the sweat of the last interaction.
Ain’t.
Two--
It had taken quite some time to get from the mall outside of the Stronghold to where he currently was; the checkpoints had come and gone, and most importantly there was also no way that Jessie-- in his state, and being who he was kind coulda fitted himself in with the innocuous, the blind, the unsuspecting rest.
… Ain't.
But on point three: he had taken hours to get back because fucking throwing up took its toll on a man.
He didn’t throw up ferociously, and neither for hours as that may have suggested: a short, weird instant of dry-heaving before his world had toppled, and turned, before he had felt woozy, and like he had taken too much of a drug.
It had been a sick feeling--
A strange, and uncomfortable feeling that he would have chalked up to nothing at all:
Except he had ingested the man’s blood.
Except the few drops of level V had been enough--
Interesting, so said the part of him clinical, and calm; the very same part sure he was in no real threat, being that twas just fucking blood, not the venom itself; but the same part wanted, and obsessed, speculating for the entire duration of the two hours he had taken to come down from this state of feeling off; he had spent them day-dreaming, you could say, of the effects of the infected blood on humans--
He had spent them fabricating ideas, and thoughts-- wont to shove him in with the mad scientist sort.
He had laughed those thoughts off-- when he had come close to the military base, already its impenetrable walls feeling like a cage; and a cage was also a home; he had shrugged ‘em off then, surrounded by every evidence he ain’t escape-- chuckling to himself like a weird-man such evil, and awful ideas that proved he continued to sit snug in his title for reasons a hundred and more.
But that Jessie did not mind.
For as he did come to the office of one familiar cunt, his boss for a year now, and as Jessie did adopt the less usual routes of reaching this door: as he employed the nastiest, odd nooks, crannies and corridors of a place he knew as well as his palm--
As he presented himself where he stood now:
It’d without really being minded, or seen by those who may give him trouble, ask about.
Why was he so disheveled, why did he have some blood on him-- possible to see only if you leaned in.
If you sniffed him and witnessed he’d not wiped it off properly: on his mouth it no longer was, shining bright like a lustful scar; but he’d not gotten it off his collarbone; he’d not rinsed it off his collar.
He had it on his some fingers.
And he smelled like rain, too, like the day’s ol’ excitement, a ferocity in his eyes both.
He knocked on the door only because-- suppose that was what you did.
You knocked.
Came in as invited, for his arrival and his need to report had been known previously; he would have been expected to come in here since afternoon---
Twas evening now.
Therefore appropriate was his response as Jessie waltzed into the man’s office, saluted him joyfully, and said--
“Oops, daddy, got held up. Oh, I mean boss.”
He smiled--
Flashed the man finger guns.
As you do.
“Definitely meant boss.”
... Definitely.
Posted 05-02-2021, 05:32 PMThis post was last modified: 05-17-2021, 04:46 PM by Silhouette
Tick tick tick. As the minutes drag on, the time in which Jessie was meant to return gets further and further away from the current time. It irks the Major more than he cares to admit — clearly that dog hadn't been trained for manners — and it keeps the Infected at his desk longer than he wished to be. In truth there wasn't much to North's life that made such a delay a real disturbance. He worked, fucked, then went to bed; that was about it. On the rare occasion he also needed to feed, North usually just found a willing partner to quench his thirst, along with warm his bed for the night.
All in all he was a simple man. But this?
Fangs itch beneath the surface of his gums. North had been expecting to leave much earlier, his body much more restless now that night had fallen and taken over the world once more. It spoke to his inner infection and screamed at the idea he was holding himself back. The man stood, silhouetted, against the massive window that took up the entire back wall of his office. From his vantage point, the man had an entire lay of Stronghold. His hands were tucked at his back, cool blue eyes gazing apathetically down on the streets below, lost in thought. There wasn't much else for him to do as he waited for the untrained dog to finally get back from wherever he had run off to.
He smells him before anything else: dried blood, the rain, and dirt. North wrinkles his nose in distaste, waiting before he finally turns his attention to the door of his office. The man's unsteady steps fill the silence long before he drags his filthy self into North's office. The Infected loved himself a pathetic looking human, but this one in particular? Too much bark for him.
“Such a shame. If you had been here on time, perhaps daddy would have given you a reward,” he purrs out in response without even missing a beat — without blinking an eye. There's a grin on his face that matches his words, but it's cool and detached. It lacks the warmth a normal human being would have.
“But instead it looks like your boss will have to deal out some punishment instead,” he muses in a husky tone, the lilt of his words making it clear there was a different kind of undertone to his speech than one might except.TAGJessie Michels
Jessie’s reaction to that load of bull crap was just a smile.
A cool, knowing smile--
And then silence.
He had closed the door behind himself; now, twas just the two of them; himself and his boss-like person, that arrogant ass; after all, if you peered into the annals of the military higher ups, seated in their comfortable top echelon, you understood Mr North had quite the reputation-- a fuckboy, Jessie had heard him being called, but then he had received much of the same in regards to himself; an asshole, but that could be applicable to anyone else.
A persona non grata, according to some, and that was why he stood where he stood, with that easy, and natural smile in his eyes.
The man, in the meantime, stood against the window; Jessie suspected he had been doing some gazing out, and looking down at the streets below, no doubt confusing the height of the floors to decide his value; that he was strong, that he was powerful were but the titles he had been afforded, but a pie he was free to enjoy one sample of, nothing more, and nothing else.
And Jessie smiled indeed-- content with this knowledge.
“Now, now,” he spoke with a kinda mocking tone in his words-- as he mimicked the other’s stance kind of exactly, hands locked at his back and his form to casually step out, as if he would like to measure this distance between them exactly, meticulously, leaving not a fraction of his motions to waste.
“Don’t be acting too much like a protagonist from an erotica novel,” he warned once he’d moved himself within six feet of the other, cue Jessie inclining his head at him--
The tease he sported, naturally, too brazen, and just galling.
The words a mocking, cheeky hiss.
“It makes you look cheap.”
That he punctuated with a narrowing of his eyes-- the widening of his smile--
Crooked, twas, too many teeth on display.
Then--
“So,” he chirped with vivace, at once moving to grab himself a seat, and perch himself merrily down there.
“How’s it going boss-- how’s the cock doing; you fucked any random holes recently-- much STD’s going about-- shame that the keyhole ain't big enough or--
"Wait.
"Is it."
Cue a brow waggle, naturally
Posted 05-07-2021, 04:42 AM
North doesn't miss the way in which the other man mocks his mannerisms, purposely choosing to approach him in the same stance he was currently standing in. There might have been a smile in Jessie's eyes — albeit twisted and crooked and not quite friendly — but there is nothing in North's gaze except cool detachment. He watches as Jessie approaches, his intense gaze that of a predator just looking for a reason to pounce. But this isn't an unfamiliar game between the two of them, and he doesn't even react when the other man goads him with the idea of being a protagonist from an erotica novel.
Cheap. North's eyes narrowed ever so slightly, even if there is no change to the rest of his posture.
“Try as you might, flattery won't get you anywhere with me,” he purrs, an amusement lilt to his tone, even if it's not reflected on the rest of his demeanor. Maybe it was a laughable statement — they both knew it didn't take much to flatter him, especially if there was a promise of a happy end with such flattery. But that didn't mean that the monster didn't still have some semblance of pride, especially when faced with the other man.
He's close, too close, and his nose wrinkles as the smell of wet dog permeates the air. At Jessie's crude words, North finally lets out an audible laugh, uncrossing his arms finally to approach his desk, from which Jessie currently sat on the other side of.
“One would think you have far too much of an interest in my cock, specialist,” he growls out, a dark flash in his gaze as he seats himself in his office chair, a relaxed slouch that for the moment does not give away his current feelings on the manner.
“But if you must know, I am missing out on some rather personal business because a certain dog decided to come home late and smelling like a sewer rat,” he sneers, obvious in the way he speaks. “What will I do? Perhaps I should have you take care of it, instead?” He leers at the other man, half curious if he will snap at the bait, and half knowing this little game of them kept them dancing along the line they both shared with one another.
But make no mistake: the flirtatious and slanderous words he spoke were easy, but that did not change the fact he was pissed.TAGJessie Michels
Jessie’s eyes narrowed a bit, and the smile widened in turn; I know, it could have been said, or, worse than that-- gotcha as if the way North here and now reacted, a hint of being slighted was somehow the very creme de la creme of the moment, the reason why he was here; such ideas, though, were surely mad.
Jessie cocked his head; no reponse to the flattery comment, even if he continued to peer at the other in that silently challenging, and beckoning manner, either to start a fight, either something else.
Even even he maybe didn’t know.
He sat down.
He did so quite egregiously-- the king of this office; legs spread and his back meeting the back o’ his chair, until he cared to cross his legs and exhale in that truly kingly manner of a ruler tired of this long, and strenuous day; surely, being spoon-fed and having servants wipe his arse did that--
Surely.
But then, in Jessie’s mind rested a certainty that North was like that. More than a certainty--
It was how he approached the reality of the air being ‘bout:
He just knew it.
He cocked his head.
Sported a light, and casual expression, just briefly mocking as the idea of overt interest was a ridiculous one, or a laughable one, better deserving of a chuckle than actual, human words.
It was.
And then, Jessie laughed; or rather, twas a chuckle.
A mirthful one.
“Do you really talk like a cheap villain of a cheap young adult novel all the time--”
He leaned in, putting on a squint.
“--or is that just when you're not getting your way.”
He waggled his brows.
Without ado-- Jessie fixed up how he sat in his seat, and just so shared--
“So I’ve encountered a patient zero. AKA the reason why I’m late. He’s located in the abandoned town. The actual mission I was on was hugely successful-- I can report the presence of a larger, sixty-plus drifter group located in the vicinity of Hudson High School, roughly twenty yards north of. They've gotten quite smart," he mused in a cool tone, eyes narrowed in apparent thought--
As tapped, and tap-o-tapped his fingers on North's precious, no longer entirely clean and just somewhat smudged desk.
North grins — one full of insincerity — as he cocks his head sideways, watching Jessie's every move with ice cold eyes.
“With the way you're talking, I question whether you really came to my office just for a report,” he leers, although it's a much darker look, “or something else.” His gaze drops, he takes the other man in, and with a very obvious once-over, he draws his gaze back to Jessie's face and finishes: “A pity, but I don't fuck mongrels.”
Even he had some semblance of standards, even if they were very, very low. But there was something about the other man he simply didn't trust, and as much as the hungry beast inside him threatened to claw to the surface and just take him already, the Infected restrained himself from taking such actions. This game of theirs, tiptoeing around the fact they were probably the only ones the other hasn't fucked in the Military Compound, was just too fun to throw to the wind for a quick fuck.
It ends quickly, as the other man finally gets down to the report that North had been waiting for all night. He hums in the back of his throat in thought. Of course he knew he wasn't the only Level V Infected — aware of the fact that the Military knew as well — but it never sat well with him to get reports of new ones popping up. Funny, how the man saw humans as nothing more than food now, but didn't even like his own kind either.
But the news of the drifters—
There's a flash of some emotion on North's face at the report, but it's not a discernible emotion. Hunger. He kept tabs on where the colonies of drifters gathered for the Military's knowledge... And his own as well. Hunting in the city slums simply didn't have the same thrill as catching prey on the run.
“Hm, I guess you can be useful after all,” he chuckles to himself more than anything, only a slight frown at how the other man dared to dirty his desk. “Here I thought you were only useful when using your body to gather intel.”
Jessie did not grimace as the man looked down his frame; it was, after all, an expression he was more than familiar with-- that stark hunger, that visceral need--
And yet at that exact moment as the length of the other’s gaze did take him in, and roam over every spot, and every curve--
At that moment: Jessie S. Michels hated him.
He hated him passionately.
He hated him intensely.
He hated him enough to continue to stoop to his level, to quip back in his drawling tone--
“Nah.”
Nah.
“You do.”
A cluck of his tongue.
“But I don’t fuck men like you.”
A lie.
And happily, Jessie cocked his head, aware that a strand would fall down to his face; aware that his hair had the tendency to frame his features, and accent them.
Aware.
“And I never will.”
A fact, a given; that North liked to put his cock into everything that moved wasn’t even a problem-- it was something a few chosen higher ups would scoff it, upside down their smile; as if they, too, didn’t have the cocks to fuck with, and a lust for a hole--
As if.
It just was.
Until eventually Jessie took in the man in turn; and observed him, devouring his reactions as if famished; none to a level V--
Suspicious. They were a hassle; they were the virus becoming the biggest trouble-- and that was saying something after living decades in this state of partial desolation.
But the drifters--
The very those he’d been intended to find out, scope out.
Figure out--
And he had.
And now North gave that look of hunger that Jessie suspected not to be intended for him; in fact, he figured that had he been absent, much like the wind or the rain this look would have spread, and every surface of North’s office here would know the burden of the man’s interest.
He suspected he was not supposed to have seen it--
He suspected North Sigurd had no notion of how well, and how intimately Jessie S. Michels knew the weight of a man’s interest.
Down to the marrow if bone--
Jessie loathed it.
He loathed it deeply--
He loathed it amazingly:
And as North turned to his habit of belittling him, and dismissing the value Jessie held to the military--
For once, Jessie felt insulted.
He felt deeply insulted--
Twas in his eyes. In that slight, tender become frown.
It was in the width of his little smile.
It was how he stood up.
How he did so with a little heave of a sigh, before he ran his hands between the seams of his clothes, and proved that the buttons donned on the front were fakes; that he could just peel the clothing off.
zzzzzippp
That he could, with ease, a grand and haunting ease get his top off.
That he could make it gorgeous--
And slow.
And he could do so with a look pinned directly onto North.
Before Jessie allowed the coat to sit draped over the chair where he’d sat; before Jessie put one knee down on the man’s desk--
Then another and then he’d crawled to him--
On all fours.
Like a vixen, like a whore--
Like a piece of flesh--
A state well known.
Like someone-- and something you had paid whiles back, and had died to see in flesh, to observe the lines of his presence, never to fathom why him:
Why this man.
Why Jessie.
--having tackled the width of the desk as if it were a mile wide.
As if.
Having approached the man ‘nuff--
Appearing wild, like a native of the woods with a human form; with these human eyes; blue, blue eyes.
With this human all-- leaning his lips so close to the other’s and peering at him with a gaze that was hooded.
That was hot.
That haunted with promises-- and tangled limbs--
And moans--
“You mean this body?”
In tease, he smiled wicked.
Posted 05-13-2021, 04:44 AM
It appears as though North had touched a nerve. The reaction he gets from the other man at his words — his mocking statement about not fucking mongrels — is evidence of that, when Jessie's words don't quite bite back as much as he was maybe hoping for them to. He does not react to the statement that Jessie would never fuck him, merely keeps the same, insufferable grin on his face as he chooses to keep quiet. It was a strange game they danced, two Military whores that strangely enough refused to touch the other. But it was a game they had played for many years now, and for some reason the Major took strange comfort in it.
But Jessie is determined to push that line.
North watches as the human decides to put on a show for him. The slow, sensual pull of fabric that appeared to almost melt off his body, exposing bruised and wounded abs for North's pleasure. The man doesn't resist the temptation to take in the body slowly being revealed to him — he is still a man after all, even if his opponent is Jessie. The heat of his gaze is reflected in the other man's matching gaze, even if the hunger that lingers there is different between the pair of them.
But still, a bestial need nonetheless. The line the two of them had drawn in the sand because blurrier still as Jessie dares to crawl atop North's desk, scattering paper as he carefully crawled closer and closer to the Major — slow but calculated, every bit of movement meant to drawn North's attention in. For a moment, he lets himself be drawn in, even if his own reactions are calculated well to be part of their little game.
He does not react as Jessie draws hauntingly close, hot breath on his face now with the promise of something else if he let himself be swayed along with the carnal sins of the body... Like he normally did. His grin vanishes as Jessie sports one.
“You mean this body?”
North reacts with a speed not quite human. Hands grasp Jessie's wrists in their clutches, and in an instant North was on his feet in front of the desk, yanking the man's arms above his head and pulling so that he is forced to sit atop his knees on the desk. Both wrists are transferred to only one hand, his grip so powerful it simply cannot be human, but there he keeps the man's arms trapped so he cannot wiggle or writhe himself out of the trap North just placed him into. He leans forward—
“Keep your filthy hands off my desk,” he snarls in a dark tone — a hungry tone, unable to quite shake the desires that rise to the surface from being so close to the half-naked man.
“Remember that your body might be what's keeping you in your rank, but it has no currency with me.” None... Not even as he lifts his other hand to trail up the expanse of Jessie's naked torso, fingers teasingly bouncing across the rugged surface of the man's abs — nails just barely touching flesh as they dance across ribs, pecs, collar bone... Like a grand finale his hand threatens to wrap around Jessie's neck and squeeze, but he pulls his hand away at the last second, hot gaze still trained to the other man's icy blue eyes. North's expression is currently unreadable.TAGJessie Michels
He can tell he’s being watched. It doesn’t arouse him. He’s immune, and in so many ways stubborn; and the man’s desk is cold; there’s the memory of North’s hungry look down his body that Jessie remembers, and detests similarly; he does not waste a bit of passion on this feeling, even though passionate it actually is; he does not know that.
Then, the snap.
And it’s so telling.
And so, North Sigurd made a big, stupid mistake: he let the bait get him.
And Jessie S. Michels can tell that; he does not respond; as he’s grabbed, as his hands are yanked up almost as if the man had put shackles on his wrists, and attached them to a hook connected to the ceiling to dangle him like a piece of beef he’s preparing to butcher eventually; it’s not the first time Jessie’s been in a position like this.
As his eyes gaze at North, it’s a look cold, calculative; he can’t even blink; that would disrupt the image; it’s one he’s perfected; hooded eyes, and a look surely very self-satisfied, a cat with the canary not quite in his mouth, but definitely he tastes the promise of red meat, bloodied and raw.
He smiles the part.
He didn’t respond-- and doesn’t care to struggle, either; he exhales, rather; collects his legs forward, so that the way he’s kneeling feels more natural; he’s always known North to be taller; now, he can see it better than ever.
The cocky look in Jessie’s eyes does not falter.
As the man’s hand trails down his body, he resists reacting; he sports that expression of arrogance-- one of the many reasons why he’s not been promoted; another reason being he does not care to shed it.
Even now--
But he still responds.
Even if he’d prefer not to, Jessie knows his body. He knows what he likes.
He knows he arouses.
He can feel it.
In his bones, in his own body warmth-- it’s like he can tell that the temperature has shot up, and keeps growing; he’s a captive, in that sense, to his own reactions they will not stop even if he turns to begging; the body does what the body wants to.
And his pupils band--
And then, North’s done touching him; no choking, and no grip on the throat, though he's threatened it; no nothing-- just the memory of where his fingers touched him, the skin responsive, and burning. And Jessie responds immediately, as if this is a punishment, actually; as if the man’s been expected to do more than this, and purely on account of not, he needs to be taught a lesson, quickly.
So--
Jessie swings his upper body back in the same instant that he hoists it up to allow the legs to unfold from under him, and almost painfully contort around to stretch out in front of him, and abuse how North’s standing; it’s so quick; one moment, he’s still kneeling on the desk-- then, his back’s hit it, and his head can be said to loll over the edge of it, and his legs-- they’ve wrapped around the other’s body, quick to curl and then notch underneath North’s ass.
So that groin to groin they could exists-- so that with the violent pull, Jessie can have dragged North with to lay the man along himself, as if they were in fact about to make love--
Now.
And here.
On this very desk, hard, and no longer cool against him; his body temperature makes sure it’s heady.
He puckers his lips and plants a cheeky, short kiss on North’s lips.
“What about my ass, d a d d y,” he mocks, and he giggles.
His eyes are evil; his eyes are human, regular eyes, even if burdened with too much of the blue that should anyone wonder why the skies no longer turn as blue, he’s stolen the shade, he’s plucked the color from above; Jessie S. Michels holds it now, and here-- in the very gaze of his burning through North’s with heat, and impeccable, desirous loathing.
It’s the desirous part he’d deny.
It’s just natural of him.
“You going anywhere with this, boss,” he tempts, lips so close to North’s they could be kissing--
“Or are you just your usual full of shit self?”
His brows cock-- and he knows: knows, fucking knows it even that it’s this kind of expression that ends him in problems, that’s the cause of the scars his body wears--
The challenge.
That unspoken, and yet brazen dare in his eyes as he smiles at North-- and with the same cheeky flair, tilts his head, and widens his shit-eating, beauteous smile.
Posted 05-16-2021, 08:14 AM
North doesn't doubt that Jessie's planning something. He's known the other man long enough to know he didn't just sit back and let others do as they pleased. In many ways, they were the same — and yet so different at the same time. Their ice blue eyes stared at one another with calculating stares, neither moving for what seemed to be an eternity—
But eternity doesn't last forever.
Jessie finally makes his move, swinging his body back so that his back collides with North's desk, yanking the Infected down with him. North keeps a firm grasp upon moving wrists, using his free hand to balance himself against the desk and preventing himself from a clumsy landing atop Jessie. He feels the other man's legs wrap around his hips, a feeling intimately familiar to the Major, but it isn't that movement that surprises him. It's the chaste kiss against his lips. A soft brush that's enough to curl his lips into a sneer; there was nothing romantic about this.
But Jessie makes a near fatal mistake. Their bodies so close, so warm, so heady with potential desire, but it's not a carnal hunger that fills North's body. He's so very close to the man's naked flesh, smelling of dirt, sweat — and blood. Thump thump thump, it's so close to the surface, North's eyes instinctively drawing down towards where the man's jugular lay. It's taunting him, dried blood stagnant and stale but still a temptation nonetheless.
North releases a hot breath, his only instinct being that to protect himself from completely 'hulking out' as it were. He was not a weak man by any means, but any Infected would struggle with such a delicious temptation. Thankfully he's pulled from his obsession with mocking and snarky words, and North frowns as he pushes his upper torso away from Jessie, separating their close contact, if even by just a few inches. His body's already reacted to their close contact and he doesn't even try to feign ignorance as their gazes meet once more.
“You're right,” he laughs, derisive and callous, “I won't be doing anything. If I had wanted to fuck you, Jessie, I would have done so long ago.” He knew the challenge had been laid bare, but he does what he thinks will piss the man off even more — he refuses to rise to it. He matches Jessie with a twisted grin of his own.
He finally lets go of Jessie's wrists and pushes himself off the desk, rising to his full height once more — but he does not immediately remove the legs still wrapped around his hips, pressing them cock-to-cock.
“But seeing as how you've been so thirsty for it the moment you stepped into my office, why don't you give daddy a little show?” A dark hunger in his gaze as he looks down at the half-naked human, knowing just how easy it would be for him to simply take what he wanted. But no, he'd give the man a choice — give him his own challenge. “Otherwise, I have no more need for you. You can take your pride and run with your tail between your legs out of my office.” Finally he grabs Jessie's knees and pushes them up — their position scandalous if anyone were to walk in on them at that point — before he takes a step back, putting space between them.
He can see where the man’s eyes go; it looks like the neck is a compulsion, and North cannot look away; it speeds Jessie’s heartbeat instantly, but whether it’s in fear-- a true, and genuine fear-- or a sense of wrong interest, he does not know; maybe, he’s choosing not to know. Ignorance is sweet, but above all, it’s optional.
So-- he’s watched, this man-- this evil, evil man; his reactions, his responses-- Jessie cannot forget the speed with which the man’d grabbed his wrists; it’s a way to leave him feeling mortal, and certain of a suspicion that makes f e a r a most reaction; but it’s still not fear entirely that Jessie feels. At that moment, it’s also nothing he can afford; if there is just fear, his heart rate will pick up-- the blood coursing through his body will respond with a throb, slamming against such spots where the veins are obvious like his neck-- his very delicate, unblemished and pretty neck currently boasting with a little throbbing spot there-- where the vein has managed to stand out semi-bare, where it’s found a spot with lil flesh, and leaves the surface of the skin thrumming with a dance.
Jessie, at that moment, realizes it.
But North leans back; he does so with words-- such haunting, taunting words; Jessie reminds himself he’s thankful; that he’s hardly interested in fucking this kind of a creature-- a man not only suspected of something horrible, but also a man who was a whore. A slut. A disgusting, filthy little thing--
And yet Jessie’s heart pounds these thoughts away, screaming with wrath at the rejection that soon sinks into his frame.
It should not have gotten under his skin.
Even as he reasons with himself thusly, even as he loathes the look of hunger he receives-- even as he wishes to argue and point out he’d not be walking out of here ashamed, and tail tucked as explained-- there’s no way he needs this cock; a used up, wrinkled… nasty lil cock.
That’s right, Jessie decides; the mans’ cock is gross and.
And.
Ugly and.
And he hates North; he hates North suddenly; it’s simply an emotion that appears; seizes him, overwhelms him-- and he’s thinking of every little way he is in hate with this man-- his hair, his eyes.
His everything.
It’s a feeling that takes control over Jessie’s body; that makes the blood beat hard-- so hard.
And so, Jessie makes a mistake. A fatal, and ultimate mistake.
He smiles.
“Alright,” he says, and maybe he’ll never remember saying this here, provided he’ll live long enough to face the weight of recalling this one night; he’ll not remember if he does, for these actions and words come out of him like he’s possessed, and incapable of ruling his own frame.
He sits up.
He stills pulls his legs ‘round the other’s frame-- they’re long, after all; his legs are so, so long; so beautiful; he catches North under his knees a bit-- slides his legs up, hands gripping the edge of the desk to shuffle himself out a bit, resting his ass on the edge as well simply so his reach could improve-- so he could yank their frames together, again.
Looking up at the man.
Loathing.
Cold--
No, no.
Loathing--
But hot.
Insulted-- even as he reminds himself; I have no need to be; I don’t want him; I don’t need him.
I don’t.
There’s still a flurry of motions.
There’s still him making these mistakes-- one after another; there’s still the knife he does easily take out; he’s had it in his pants, contained in one of his many pockets.
It’s a short knife, as well. Maybe two, three inches of length?
He wants to joke that’s North’s cock there--
But Jessie S. Michels’ world has titled, and tilted.
And there’s a flash of metal; there’s its presence against a body--
There is how Jessie slices up his own chest right beneath the clavicles; it’s a thin slice; a practiced slice; it doesn’t seem to matter he’s got no real time to make it beautiful, and long; years of being a back-stabbing cunt have paid off.And he leaves this cut, indeed, several inches long, elegant and thin onto his chest til it trails down blood-- sweet, and hot.
And he can scent the copper.
He furthers his mistake--
When he wraps one arm ‘round the other’s frame-- when he pulls North in:
When he ensures that his blood his touched the other’s clothing; so that it can stay there. It can continue to annoy there; Cloying. And warm.
And--
“Better not waste the show,” he murmurs with loathing, heat in his gaze.
“D a d d y,” he wraps up.
Posted 05-18-2021, 04:20 AM
There's no denying the grin on his face, stretching wide as eyes simultaneously narrow in victory. A small win — but one nonetheless. Jessie chooses to make the mistake of rising to the Major's challenge, even though mere moments before he'd been cast aside by the man like filthy little trash. North is still enthralled by the scent of blood that now coats his desk, but he's strong enough that he doesn't let himself be swayed by it again, so long as he remains in control of the situation. He allows Jessie to wrap his legs back around his hips and pull him close once again — still the one in control. They're close, bottom halves pressed up against once another, but North folds his arms across his chest to make it clear: he's cut off from the other man.
He's curious what kind of show Jessie is planning to put on for him. North could have made it easy for the man — could have guided the man's hand towards his own cock and told him what kind of a show he expected. But he chooses to keep his tongue still, letting the petty little human choose what kind of a song and dance he wanted to put on for the Infected.
It's definitely not what he was expecting.
North doesn't react as he watches the glimmer of silver appear from Jessie's pants — apparently that was actually a knife, and he wasn't just happy to see North — his cold, blue eyes watching the knife for a second before they return to Jessie's heated, hooded gaze. There is no fear in him. Even if he were to be stabbed, to have the blade slip gracefully between his ribs, he would not feel it. Perhaps there was something of a curse mixed in with his Infected blood, to know that he wasn't as weak as a mere mortal.
But rather than be the target of the blade's ire, North watches with a calculated gaze as Jessie surprisingly turns it on himself, slicing dirty and raw flesh to let crimson blood spill from the slide. It affects the Infected in his core, a beast inside screaming to feed. The blood trickles, not spurts — it flows like a sinful waterfall down the other man's exposed chest, traveling across chiseled pecs and abs. Maybe if he had been left alone in his thoughts, he would have caved — maybe if Jessie hadn't decided to make contact again, he would have allowed fangs to slip from his gums, to let blue melt into gold. But Jessie doesn't let him.
An arm slips around his back and drags the Major closer and North sneers down at the man, passionless and unimpressed. Especially when the word waste rings in his ears and suddenly he knows what this is all about.
He's being tested — and he's enraged.
He snatches Jessie's throat with one of his hands and shoves the man back down against the desk, pinning him there with harsh pressure applied to his neck. North lords his position over Jessie, leaning down and ignoring the heat passing between their bodies as he bends down to hiss in Jessie's ear:
“How dare you try and test me, pup.” He sneers out the last word, not even feigning interest in allowing the man beneath him to have some semblance of humanity.
“Don't think I haven't noticed the way you skulk around my office, like some mangy little fox. I know it's not my cock you want, so what is it, hm? Do you think I have some dark little secret you can expose?” He laughs, even if it's the truth. “Did you run across that Patient Zero and get spooked? Think everyone's some nasty Infected dressed up as a human?” He ignores the blood — ignores the predatory instinct to make those wounds larger, and deeper. His sole focus is on the man below him.TAGJessie Michels
There’s nothing like-- I didn’t expect this-- there’s no plan thwarted; no idea of his, no scheme dismissed.
There is only adrenaline.
There is the way that North claims the situation, and evilly Jessie thinks I gotcha even though nothing of apparent interest seems to happen; one man. Over another. And Jessie carefully breathing. Inhale. Exhale--
And his hands moving with purpose, finding their way to other parts of himself.
It’s with cold eyes that looks up at North.
It’s with cold, and cruel eyes.
And when the man whispers into his ear--
Jessie shouldn’t laugh.
Jessie does.
It’s a chuckle, rather; and it is one.
It has to be; and the knife in his hand remains-- remains…
Most gorgeous is the way he presses it to North’s side.
“That’s the fact, darling,” he cooes coldly to North, speaking with care, with caution and a little strain due to the hand on his throat--
But he speaks.
“I said nothing about you being Patient Zero.”
When he turns his head, it’s only lightly-- as if he really wants to brush their cheeks together-- as if what he craves, now, is to allow North that pleasure of seeing his eyes; his blue, and chilly eyes; to see that evil in them, comfortably bed, to see that it’s soothing and sweet like a honeyed cake, so that Jessie can bring his other hand up to the man’s cheek, and give it a mocking, and yet fine caress.
Brush a strand or two back.
Or whatever likes to tickle North’s face; maybe, not even dust; maybe, not even sweat.
He whispers back--
“You concluded that. Don’t we all look for things we inherently fear?”
“What are you afraid of, North?”
It’s a private kinda voice; his hand has made it to the man’s hair; to the roots of the strands.
"That I'd tell on you... that I'd give you out like a pig to be put over fire?
"And what if I would not do that."
What if he'd not do that-- as Jessie brushes his fingers through the other's hair-- sweeps back as if he's very invested in combing the man's hair--
There is anger deep inside North. It sits there, thrumming, like a hive of bees just threatening to attack if broken apart. He can feel it deep inside his core and he's comforted by it, a feeling he'd never experienced much of when he was simply human. It's amplified by the infection running in his veins — a virus, a curse — and he relents, allowing the hand upon the man's neck to press just a little bit harder to revel in that anger.
They stare at one another like two apex predators daring the other to take it a step further, but North knows he's the only predator in the room. He doesn't even flinch as he feels the sharp tip of the blade press against his rib cage, and a part of him dares the man to do it. To see what would happen.
Jessies mentions how he had never called North a Patient Zero, but it doesn't throw the Major off his mark. He knew the human had never called him that, and perhaps something had been given away by his reaction, but he didn't care. The implication had been there, and he had simply reacted to it. The Military weren't stupid, not like the silly little rich that puttered about their lives without a care in the world. The Military knew how easy it was for the new mutation of Infected to simply slip into human lives once more — there was no doubt that the Flag Rank Officers were aware it could be happening right under their noses.
He merely grins in response, staying still as Jessie brushes a mocking hand across his cheek. Into his hair. He's eerily silent as Jessie continues talking to him — mocking him, taunting him. Questioning what he feared — was it exposure? It's not until he feels fingers entangling themselves in his hair that he finally moves, leaning back and away from the human's touch, a cold and malicious grin on his face. Got you.
“I think you're forgetting your place, Jessie,” he hisses out the man's name, curling it pleasantly on his tongue before spitting it out. “You and me? We're nothing alike. I sit in the Military's most trusted ranks and you? You're nothing but dirt on my shoe.” He sneers with volatile hate, an emphasis on his words mirrored in the way he squeezes the man's neck just a bit harder. “Do you really think that they would ever take your word over mine? That—” he grabs the hand holding the knife and suddenly pulls it closer, lets the tip dig in to his side just enough for a hiss to leave him— “they would ever look kindly upon the officer that threatened his superior? You can't just run wild with a chain around your throat.”
“So go ahead, do it. Test my patience. I would love nothing more than to see your ass tossed outside Stronghold for the Infected to snack on.” He pauses and tilts his head slightly, a devious grin spreading ever so slowly on his face, and then: “Or have they already?” An innocent question — or is it?TAGJessie Michels
In a most unavoidable, confession; there is a man, after all, behind his steel blue eyes; a person; a someone; so, so mortal.
And somehow it hits; hard so.
The position he is in; the darkened world; the weight of another m a n between his legs; the resemblance that is quick, and immediate, and yet feels minutes in wait; feels also infinite; a man; and Jessie shivers--
And gasps.
He shuffles only a little bit, and momentarily threatens; threatens: an animal cornered.
Frightened.
Do not as if he forgets he has somehow put himself here; exactly here; exactly because of his actions--
And to remind him how very mortal he ever feels if there's a man; and they're alone; so alone.
This alone.
He forgets--
And realizes that if his concerns here held weight--
I stand no chance.
(such heavy-hitting truths, such a pain they cause)
--then he remembers.
Fuck.
He's just a person.
So he opens his eyes in loathing. In upset hard.
And immediate. And might. Of someone seething, and blaming how dare you make me feel like this; how dare you remind me; as if North could ever be in fault here.
Jessie knows.
Jessie pretends.
Jessie bottles down--
It doesn't work.
Exactly to be rejected--
And Jessie’s gaze darkens with personal upset; he offends obviously, almost to own shock.
But he offends.
Glares cold when he is taunted in turn; offense so cold.
The knife would press-- and yet the military wear defended against the very those efforts--
And Jessie offends even more. For a reason even he doesn’t know.
Just a pouty, upset child after all.
Startled by something gone awry. Not my plan. Not what was I was going for.
And yet this is what I got.
Fuck.
So he inhales deeply-- deeply-- eyes closes and he decides--
"My apologies, sir."
There's that respect there; somehow; how very real it sounds--
Maybe, the fear remains; maybe, not.
Then, something more personal.
"I'm sorry."
His eyes open and scared for personal reasons he looks-- because.
His smile is random random.
When something in him also realizes: I like men like you. So wrong for me.
So dangerous.
I like them a lot.
So he exhales again-- looks away as if he'll not let North see this face--
That personal, sexual interest; that want.
(too late)
--the dagger pulls away from the man-- yanks back-- there is no need for it, after all. None.
"May I leave, sir?"
That sir. That tastes different. Just so, so soft.
Posted 05-23-2021, 03:33 PM
Posted 05-02-2021, 05:32 PM
This post was last modified: 05-17-2021, 04:46 PM by Silhouette
This medicine is wearing thin now
