He approached his target with a rather merry expression, for a change; considering the sight of him, he shouldn’t have.
When he passed through the checkpoints, somehow his heart beat brazen-- somehow, every instance of approach seemed to leave him far mortal than he ever remembered, the red of his thoughts and the course of his flow and every part of him: trembled in ways invisible; in ways surreal, and truly teaching of what real fear was.
Jessie, bitten: and yet he found himself back in the central with apparent, all of the past hours having gone by in a blur; he compared them to a mist, or a heavy, and blinding fog; thick so neatly he had felt like wading through a wispy, and dry ocean.
But it had all happened--
And if his memories weren’t lying in this regard, then his body would speak of the crimes:
Then, it retold it in his few numerous scars--
--added on top of the scratch marks ain't healed yet, on his chest no longer raw.
And then, Jessie S. Michels trudged back to the asshole’s office oddly on time-- at least, once he arrived he would not be a minute late, not even too early, just fashionably on time as one ought to be--
And in the meantime, he thought, and thought hard:
His neck had been covered; he had bandaged up the spot covertly, and concealed it beneath the collar of his clothing; where the wound continued to throb in places, reminding him he knew the bite of an infected at last, it had discontinued its obnoxious bleeding time ago; he had cleaned himself, too, as much as he could have; the blood washed off, and the sweat doused in water.
He had gotten much of the come off--
--down his thighs it had dripped, wet, and sticky, and victorious between his legs--
But then, murdering a man in the throes of orgasm did that.
Jessie almost scoffed at that; when he remembered that instant, he was still trudging forth, thankful for the cover of the night typically employed in his world; beyond these halls, and outside of these walls, well within the cradle of the nature, the night ruled undefeatable, like a sick, permanent bruise clinching at the sky.
Its eerie kind of quiet could have been which lent itself to his thoughts-- to developing them in full until obsessive they were; until Jessie was remembering the cock recently inside of him; until he knew he had fucked and it could almost be smelled on him-- that sheer stink of arousal that was all in the sweat (wiped off), in the flush of his body (paler); in that dear, and delicate cocktail of hormones and subtle nerve tingling--
--not so pale--
He also knew, stretched, and raw, and fucked out as he felt, that his vicious laissez faire had chosen the status of his expression to manifest itself: to sit proud and apparent on his cheeks, flushed; and cool in his eyes, fatigued and confused in so many awful, weird words, the flop of his hair and the dotting of dried blood along, belonging to a dead man.
-- if you could call an infected a man.
Jessie smiled to himself as he stopped at North’s office--
And shaking his head in humor, and only humor unrelated one bit to that awful last time’s fiasco, he sighed almost dreamily, knocked just to done with it, and then--
Indeed not early, and not late in any meaning, he entered into the office, spotting the man in there--
Those windows-- those hated windows of his past which North had last glared, comforting greater in the superiority of the view than the man present--
Those: too remained.
And Jessie unreasonably hated them.
But he looked at North with a feeble, pale smile--
"Hello, sir," greeted in a weird echo, before shrugging--
"News on the recently discovered level V."
With that sing a song, dry impression, he prowled his way closer.
Posted 05-24-2021, 12:24 PM
TAGJessie Michels NOTES N/A
He's not expecting Jessie — not this time. The man was a wild animal, going off on his own to take care of business, much to the chagrin of the man that was in charge of day-to-day Military operations. Instead he feels chained to his desk for a much different reason, piles of paperwork in front of him that needed to be taken care of by the end of the day. It hurt the Infected to be doing idle paperwork instead of... Something else, but unfortunately it came with the territory of having a higher rank in the Military. Fingers tapped to an annoyed beat on the top of his desk as North stared at the paper in front of him, pen loose in his other hand. Things had to be done, had to be taken care of, and then the night would be his. Already he could feel his hunger gnawing at his throat again.
Much like before, he smells the man before he sees him.
A familiar stench that was all Jessie, overlayed with— North stops the tapping of his fingers, the pen falling from his hand to roll across the desk as his eyes shut, breathing in the familiar scent. The audacity of the human. Heightened senses was the bane of the Major's existence in that very instance when he realized that the smell of blood was overpowered by lust, arousal, and cum. Like some filthy animal that had just finished rolling around with its own kind, that was how Jessie planned to present himself? After how their last meeting had ended?
North doesn't know if he's bold or stupid, but he feels his fangs slipping from his gums and instantly draws them back inside, covering his mouth with a groan. He still remembers how Jessie's hot blood had tasted on his tongue, but more than that — maybe he was the animal here, turned on by the smell of another having just had sex. How bestial of him. He gains control of himself just before Jessie reaches his door, and he immediately turns his attention back to the paperwork at hand, not lifting his head as his door opens and the man enters. The smell is much more pungent now that he was in the confined space.
“What do you have to report?” he questions the other man after Jessie finishes speaking. He sighs, and lifts his gaze, finally meeting cool blue eyes.
Jessie wasn’t surprised that North insisted on ignoring him-- their last meeting from a week ago, no matter how badly it had gone, appeared to stick and stay with the man, much to Jessie’s childish chagrin; it was why he closed the door shut behind himself just a little bit louder.
Just a little bit with an attitude--
A little.
Before he grinned, and apparently deciding he wasn’t going to let their last time’s fiasco or the present awkwardness ruin this day for him (more than it’d been ruined), Jessie sauntered right over to North’s desk in a manner reminiscent strongly of a lottery winner ‘bout to pick up their winnings.
If he could only wish.
But then, North did look up.
And Jessie realized he’d not wanted him to look up.
For he weirdly shivered when the man did, scoffing out a nervous laugh just as he boldly did grab the top of his seat--
Then pull it back to perch himself down in front of the man, for once not very tempted by desks with their flat, attractive surface--
He just pretended North’s gaze wasn’t disconcerting him.
Or that looking away as he did surely confirmed that whoever had put that-- right there; on the wall-- whatever it was-- whoever had put it there--
Master.
Genius--
Well done, job. There. Boy.
He beamed.
“So.”
So far so good.
“They fuck just like men, is what I can confirm.”
Nice.
He actually did swing his attention back ‘round to North at that; grinned-- somehow managing to escape the clutch of embarrassment he had last felt upon that burning, mocking rejection from this man--
What an asshole.
Jessie pretended he hated him--
Or that, in fact, this jolly expression he wore was more one of--
Hating.
(It was not.)
He carried on--
“Also, die like normal men-- apparently, you cut off the head-- you are good to go on this front, even if their speed and strength is…”
He paused for a dramatic effect he did mean, before--
“Top notch,” he oddly with odd comfort in it, miming a chef's kiss, before adding--
“Also-- yeah, I killed him, I mean, what can you do-- also: preetttyyy sure that that one had sort of… stopped being all mindless infected-y only some time ago so--
“In regards to weeding out potential level V suspects among the ranks, we can just rely on one thing:
“They will be beastly to some sense and degree.”
Punctuated by a rather vigorous nod-- as, quite cheekily, his elbows rested on the man’s desk.
Aced it.Posted 05-24-2021, 01:03 PMThis post was last modified: 05-24-2021, 02:26 PM by Jessie Michels
TAGJessie Michels NOTES N/A
“They fuck just like men, is what I can confirm.”
North raises a brow at the salacious comment — was this really the reason Jessie had wandered over to his office this evening? To inform his superior how he got his rocks off recently? The Major isn't surprised, not really; much as he would never admit it, the two of them were quite similar. They were loose, and people in the Military liked to gossip about how they slept around. It wasn't a surprise, no, but considering how their last interaction had gone... The Infected can't help but feel like there's something deeper to Jessie's words, as if they were meant to get some kind of rise out of him. Something to entertain the human with.
North doesn't give him anything more than a resigned look.
He does not look away, not even when Jessie's unnaturally blue eyes swing back around to meet his own, an unnerving grin on his face. At least he continues, digging further into his report now to explain that apparently Infected Level V die just like real men — but then twists the knife again, the innuendo in his words and actions very clear to North. Yet again he shows no reaction on his face, even if the wheels in his mind begin to turn ever so slightly.
Suspects among the ranks. Beastly. North notices the direction change in the conversation, but he doesn't wish for it to end there — to linger there. He himself knew exactly what Jessie was talking about. The hunger, the need to feed and dominate and kill ran very shallow beneath the surface of his own skin, work having to go in each and every day to ensure that his cover wasn't blown. North had survived and clawed his way through the rank of the Military for ten years now, but he wasn't surprised to learn that those new to mutating were weak and pathetic enough to get caught by even lower ranking officers. No matter; it's not like North felt any kind of kinship towards them anyway.
“While it's good to hear you've finally done something worthwhile for the Military,” he muses, making a point of turning his gaze towards the documents in front of him instead of the human being so bold as to lean on his desk, “I can't help but feel as though the only reason you came here was to boast about getting your dick wet.” He lists a pen and drags it across the surface of the white paper, as if making to resume his paperwork — but he pauses instead and slowly lifts his gaze towards Jessie, a mocking and sinister grin on his lips.
“What happened? Couldn't get me to fuck you, so you instead had to go chasing fangs? Can't get normal men to bed you, so you turned to beasts instead?” There's a sneer in his words — a challenge.
While Jessie had not walked in here with any exact notion of what he did, or did not want, seeing North so flat-faced had him thinking back to their last meeting-- his last humiliation, how perhaps North was stuck on that; how he looked at him, Jessie, and consciously replayed their last moments.
It left Jessie unsure--
Immediately.
And soon after--
Offended, just as immediately; he knew this was a part of it-- this here, this old, married couple bickering; twas the usual toxicity, and yet for reasons unknown, and to him even mysterious, and wrapped in unfamiliar history-- he found this different; he reacted different; he felt different.
He felt an explosion of immediate, and world tilting wrath behind his pretty blue eyes; it was everything about this moment-- that purely, obviously dismissive approach of this asshole man, the refusal of looking at him that Jessie had seen before-- and had not really minded (that much) before; but now, it was world changing.
Now, he left a squeeze in his chest- one after another as if the heart’s need to give out after all, or interrupt the regular beats to tap out a message to the world.
Now: he felt an impossible, dangerous urge; he wanted to rip the pen out of the man’s hold; worse than that-- he wanted to stab it through North’s palm, and then pull it out again and where every part of him understood, logically, that no stabbing happened without blood, these imaginations did not include it; he saw no attractive splatter of red if he should stab, stab and stab--
He only saw North.
His mocking.
Disgusting and sinister smile.
North.
Jessie felt a mixture of emotions: something between severe, and debilitating loathing, to anger as debilitating, heating and flushing, or cooling his skin in patches-- to fear, and confusion, and with a heavy frown, Jessie leaned over, and snapped.
“I was telling you what happened in my usual charming style of report delivery, it’s not my fault you’re absolutely stuck on the size of your dick, you absolute buffoon.”
His voice wasn’t loaded in wrath-- odd, that; twas deep, though, a hurried rapport of emotion-- passion: passion made it up its core.
As did his expression.
“And besides--”
Besides--
His hands were boldly planted on the man’s desk, fingers splayed out; with the forward lean, Jessie though forgot-- he forgot something very, very important:
That motion pulled at wounds.
That wounds pulled at re-opened--
The open bleeding next happened, and the bandage on his neck reddened. Just in those two spots.
He didn’t notice.
“I am in no way entitled to your body,” he hissed, audibly offended, “and you said no, so sucks to be you for saying no, but yano what, I’m not gonna fuck the next guy thinking of nooooo, daddy North woulda given it to me good--”
He didn’t know why he was flustered.
Why he was red-cheeked, and why he actually looked coy.
Or why he looked away, a gaze almost wrenched.
He didn’t--
He just knew he leaned back; crossed his arms, back to staring at the man--
It winced him, a tiny tad; no matter how well Jessie hoped to hide it, his eyes were still locked with North's-- who was bound to notice that little bit of aggravation that had happened to those long, and deep chest scratches that North himself had given Jessie--
Jessie pretended they weren’t there.
He also pretended he wasn’t feeling a suspicious, concerning wet on his neck--
“So anyway,” he hurried, talking, “the very point of this report being that level V are more reliant on their animalistic predilections borrowed from the infection than assumed, as well as there being an undeniable link between their newly recovered humanity and the past beast.
"All in all-- I'm contemplating a possibility that the infected may never be fully divorced from being a beast; once a beast, always a beast.
"And that we can use to our advantage."
The final words, as you would, were punctuated with a weird darkness--
And that unspoken confirmation he was such a man who'd use this, and abuse this: and inevitably, kill any infected with this kind of knowledge.
At least: Jessie looked it.
Posted 05-29-2021, 04:26 PM
TAGJessie Michels NOTES N/A
North is overly aware of every action — of every reaction — from the man in front of him. He remembers how quickly things had been taken out of his control their last meeting, even if he regained it by the end, and he wasn't about to let things go that way again. No, he was onto Jessie now. His stare was cold, calculating — like studying a rat in a laboratory, running round and round its wheel with no where to go. It amuses him, there's no doubt there.
He's quick to bring the other man to a boil.
North doesn't even flinch when Jessie leans over, prompted by his words to spit out an insult at his commanding superior. The Major doesn't react to such disrespect, but rather allows a grin to spread across his face at the words. Oh dear Jessie, he hadn't even mentioned anything about the size of his dick. Who was stuck on it, hm? North stared at Jessie with a knowing smirk — a gloating one, even if he doesn't verbally announce his checkmate. They'd been in rather intimate standings with one another at their last meeting, and he had given Jessie just a taste of what he so freely offered to others.
Jessie continues to speak, but North is momentarily distracted by the scent that lazily floats on the air towards him: the scent of fresh blood. While hidden by Jessie's collar, the Infected had been unaware thus far of any new injuries the officer had taken. But he smells it now, and his blue eyes flicker over to where he was certain a patch was covering up a rather suspicious location for a wound. He doesn't dwell on the injury as Jessie cuts through his momentary distraction, dragging the Major's eyes back to the human's face.
Words are choppy, and forced, and the flustered expression on Jessie is recognizable by the beast. His eyes narrow as Jessie shows a moment of weakness to the predatory in the room, daring to turn his gaze away, and at that moment, North refuses to still his tongue any further.
“A rather particular choice of words for someone that had apparently not thought such things,” he purrs, goading the man for having the balls to bring up daddy yet again. “Besides, I don't believe I was ever the one to say no... Were you not the one that had so brazenly told me you would never fuck a man like me?” The question, though lilted in such a way that it seemed to be innocent, hung in the air with a darker, hidden meaning behind the words. It wasn't entirely the truth; North had brought up that he did not fuck mongrels like Jessie. But that had been an easy lie told in the moment.
Jessie leans back — a wince, a weakness, an obvious discomfort in the way he chooses to stand and North knows exactly what it's about. What's covered underneath that shirt of Jessie's: a mark of bestial hunger and possessiveness, as if marked by an owner like cattle.
“Always a beast...” North murmurs after Jessie finishes speaking, leaning back in his chair now with his legs spread wide and hands clasped over his lap: dominance, the alpha in the room, however subtle. He glances off into the corner of the room as if contemplating Jessie's words, but it isn't long before his gaze zeros in on the human once again. Sharp. Calculating. Predatory. A dark glint shimmers in the depths of his eyes, the edges of his lips curled into a sadistic smile as a primal hunger fills his next words.
“So tell me then, Jessie, which is it? Did he fuck like a man, or like a beast?” His gaze doesn't waver, his words dark and thick with lust. “Did he pin you to the ground beneath him, make you submit to him? Did he grab you by the hips — harsh, and unrelenting — and fuck you like a dog in the streets? Did he grab you hard enough to bruise you, to make you weak and unable to fight back as he mated you from behind like some kind of animal? Hard, and fast, and hot, with nothing but the slapping of skin and moans to drive you wild?”
He dares to part his lips — and lick them suggestively.
“Come now Jessie, do tell me everything he did to you. For research purposes, of course.” He ends his words with a cursed smile.
Jessie’s eyes narrowed; why are you grinning, he was thinking, and his blood pressure increased-- oh my dear lords why the actual fuck are you grinning.
Jessie loathed him; loathed; his eyes said it-- I fucking loathe you as told by the way they narrowed, how piercing his blues were; the grin, the smirk and the everything of North’s appeared to be purely gloating in nature, wanting Jessie to start over the desk once more and perhaps choke the dear life out of this goddamn, horrible asshole.
Perhaps.
He held back for a number of reasons-- one, as North had said, superior and all that, they’d take his side simply on a principle--
Two… god, the desk was rather cold, and hard too, it would fuck with his knees--
Three: North’s gaze flickered exactly where Jessie did not want it to flicker, and though twasn’t which he recognized immediately, though he did not have a thought come up to him at the instant his eyes picked up on it--
In a moment, he did.
And his eyes widened.
He almost became entirely mortal, then, almost; almost reached up with his hand to test the bandage ‘round his neck; or, at least fix up the collar; every bit of caution in his blood said he should do that--
If not now--
Then bail, and do it later.
It urged him to lean up, again.
He stared, though; stared, goaded and he knew that, and yet knowing did little to prevent him from answering to it-- if this case had been a suit, he slipped into it, perfectly:
“Well, daddy,” he hissed dangerously, lips barely parting, “I also remember you telling me you’d never fuck a mongrel like me… also, opinions change.” At that, he appeared lofty again; all but literally waved this off with a flick of his hand-- as you would, leaning away because the back of the chair was surely that comfortable.
His laissez faire expression carried on.
“Also, I was playing difficult, yano how it goes.”
But maybe not.
Jessie scoffed mentally at that-- surely North was such a type of person who didn’t take no for an answer in the sense-- well, no, Jessie corrected himself, that thought sounded shady, and he’d hope North wasn’t that kind of a person--
Or a whore, really.
The lean back helped him; twas where Jessie existed, inhaling and exhaling with a strength he seemed unaware of initially, all too hyper-focused on the other to recognize this kind of arousal was the purely bodily one; just the breaths, just the heartbeat as well, the starting clamminess of his palms, the fight or flight instinct incurred yet it’d be the former in all its accursed power which settled over, and Jessie realized at last-- he had narrowed his eyes at the other in threat, and was carrying on with the moment though he had deemed it hateful a while back.
A sucker for punishment.
This bit of awareness curled his lips in a smile.
He watched.
The other, that posture-- the way North sat was too obvious, and Jessie entertained two combating urges, one which wanted him to slap this dominance off North using whatever means, the other that suggested he ought to perch himself directly onto the man’s lap, abusing the space that the man’s posture created; the alpha in the room, for sure, reviving Jessie’s memories of what he’d read up on wolves, and how being an alpha actually worked.
Yet he swallowed like prey when North looked back at him again; he did-- swallow; he felt it himself-- a bob of his Adam’s apple, the threat that presented; maybe, twas due to the look he received-- that dark, weird glimmer in the other’s eyes was startling, and bewildering, so easily reminiscent of the darkest days of the past that could defeat anyone; anything; at the same--
There was an uncomfortable familiarity to it that called to Jessie; at the darkness-- at the sadism; all of him was rustling.
And it just continued.
Tension-- it wound its way into his body again; the orgasm he had failed to achieve during that sex now taunted him, focusing on the tone of this other man, the pain of the rejection Jessie had faced, that absurd, and unpredictable complexity of their interactions ever so startling Jessie, and mucking his front with offense at not being the only inscrutable asshole.
He found himself leaning forward, then, eyes locked with North.
Eyes tense, jaw too.
“For research purposes,” he mocked, in a cool tone; his smile appeared next, as cold.
“Very well.”
But he widened the smile.
And then, he was utterly bold; with his elbows planted down on the desk again, and his lean forward, it could be assumed he and North had much to discuss, and little in the way of time all forgiving, and merciful gods.
It was just them.
The quiet of this office, its wooden many surfaces--
This desk…
“Frankly,” Jessie began, quirking his brows at the man, “he wasn’t all that good-- as,” he pointed out, eyes wickedly narrowing, “some men are prone to; all bark no bite.”
He grinned lasciviously, boldly at those words; humor, teasing beamed in his expression.
“He was fine,” he added, sighing-- flicked his hand--
“Kind of motivated purely by his beastly desires, as evidenced by how he tossed me onto his cot somewhere anywhere, and lowkey went for it.
“He tried sucking the dick…”
By the way he grimaced saying this, the verdict was clear:
Meh on that front, buddy.
“I sucked his.”
The verdict was also clear:
I was great.
(Look at his grin)
“Then he entered me in a single shove like a selfish fucking beast, so you can clearly tell he ripped my asshole open. Yay.”
As punctuated by his mockingly comfortable, wide grin.
His eyes did not abandon North's.
"He pounded away like he ain't felt a heady hole in a while, good on him. Sadly, the ass was just the right amount of tight and distracting that when he made the mistake of lying on his back and letting me have a gorgeous ride..."
He clucked his tongue.
"Hey, at least he went out with a bang, right?"
He chuckled at his own pun here.
Genius.
"So."
Jessie carefully tented his fingers.
"Considering the information given, for research purposes of course, would you say he was more beast, or more man?"
He narrowed his eyes then, utterly focused onto North in that interested in everything you way.
Posted 05-30-2021, 08:13 AM
TAGJessie Michels NOTES N/A
Their eyes lock — a matching lopsided grin on both their faces.
They really were two sides of the same coin, a mirror image of one another in many ways. But it was North who had control over the conversation — or so he liked to think, of course — and his overt dominance was displayed in the way he held himself. He doesn't react as Jessie once again grins and leans forward over the Major's desk, as if tempting fate. North's grin remains on his face, fake, to hide his true emotions as he listens to his subordinate slowly recount the details of his latest 'episode' with the newly turned Infected Level V.
There is no emotion on his face, nothing that gives away how he truly feels. But there is some urge deep inside him that wants to laugh at Jessie's storytelling — to be amused at what appeared to be a horrible coupling. Another part hungers for something darker, something more primal — would you like to feel how a true beast would handle you, Jessie? The thought lingers in North's mind and oh how tempting it would be to simply throw the human on his desk and have his way with the man. But he restrains himself; he knows better than to simply give in like that. Instead he lets the bitterness of Jessie's words drown out whatever fire had tried to rage in his gut.
He's amused, there's no doubt about it. But he's distracted, too — the dark, crimson spot on the clean bandage slapped against Jessie's neck continues to bleed and the Infected can smell the potent substance through the fabric. His eyes dart to the forbidden place still hidden by Jessie's jacket, but this time North is much quicker to return his gaze to Jessie's face.
The human talks about himself like he was nothing more than a hole for the Infected's pleasure and North lets out a small hum of thought. As if considering taking a turn on that. But then the report is finally finished and he's asked to give his thoughts on the manner, and North does not miss the way the other man looks at him. Studying him.
“Beast or man,” North muses, twitching the corners of his grin upwards. “Doesn't sound like either. Or rather, sounds more like someone that had no idea how to be a good fuck,” he growls the words, but doesn't move from how he's currently sitting. Not yet. But he doesn't end it there, oh no. This was simply too good for North to pass up. The Major allows the silence to penetrate the air for a second too long before them before he suddenly shifts his gaze away from Jessie's, making a grand show of looking the man over — licking him from head to toe, with a simple, heady look. It's practically primal. Animalistic.
His gaze returns to Jessie's but it's dark and haunting now, a hunger that not many got to see — and yet the smile on his face is pure wickedness, a mixture of sympathy and mockery. He tilts his head, licks his lips, and —
“You poor thing.”
Callous. Mocking. Of course the beast has no sympathy for the man that couldn't get his rocks off that night. He could still smell the lingering scent of sex on the other man, even if he now knows the full story of it.
He anticipated North’s reaction as if in a theater; he sat, painfully aware of the discomfort in his nether regions, of the bleeding on his person, the clotting in action and yet the stains that he donned; painfully aware, no less, of who he was with, burning between moments with hating, and then something soft; whether it was fear, actually, that Jessie felt in full around a man like North, or something other, he personally didn’t know; and for once, however essential it was to his job, Jessie did not want to know; as if knowing brought him trouble only, and huge, life-altering problems, he contented with the comfort of dubbing North an asshole: yet another male higher up who had, according to the most popular version, fucked and sucked his way to the top, leading to the very acute dubbing of North-- perhaps the man didn’t know, yet among the most lower ranked and yet those tuned in on the whispers, North Sigurd had earned his first name on account of reaching the utmost peak, and north of his profession with cock.
Immediately, Jessie wanted to cackle; all things considered, it wasn’t the right moment.
He listened.
He peered-- and he glowered for no real reason other than I can, in fact squinting his eyes as so one might have decided this was a common moment between the two, long years of banter having imbued them with an undeniable, and partly unwanted degree of teasing, and comfort.
Jessie would contest that thought.
He just kept that glower-- pretending his lips hadn’t inched up a smidgen, no doubt a a subtle confirmation of the other’s mocking-- nupe, had no idea how to be a good fuck, that vampire, though in the grand scheme of things, did that really matter?
Jessie’s hypersexual self said-- yes; it very much did.
But then--
That look; that way of being looked at, and admired, and seized with an impression of thoughtful want, as if every inch of him were feeling the weight would I enjoy touching you, would I want a mouthful-- would I want a taste--
And Jessie’s reaction was a combination:
He leaned back, as if in a rejection-- a slow lean, yet still a lean; he swallowed; nervous, and fretful, and painfully self-aware, hating and yet wanting, the pitter-patter of his heart would have been frightened, yet boomed too heady; in his ears, it echoed; in his ears, and if he heard it so well in his ears, that harrumph of noise, he bet that were North a vampire, were he that level V Jessie had, in one part, wanted him to be, he’d know acutely the beat of this:
Thump-thump… thump-thump…
A normal pace of a normal, sedate heart.
thumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthump
--of Jessie’s now.
He thanked, immediately, he’d been wrong.
He couldn’t thank for long.
That weird mix of sympathy, and mockery.
That smile of his--
And at once Jessie’s blood was boiling, and though all in all, North Sigurd had not given him much of a reason for what came next, acting all unhinged, Jessie did it anyway.
“You ASS.”
He hit the desk; with both his hands, just slapped them down in a flurry of emotion, before-- still within the fog of his theatrics, he acted better a lover-- sadly jilted-- than a subordinate-- to the very superior who had proven before that crossing him was a bad, bad thought--
An ill and self-destructive thought--
And yet one Jessie clearly ignored, for he stood up in the same flurry of motion-- so loud, and hard too he made his chair skid backwards--
All so he could keep his hands slapped down onto the desk between them, glowering at North with the heat of offense, and emotion--
And then say--
“Why on Earth wouldn’t you fuck me I--”
One, two, three--
“Oh, no, I didn’t mean to say that. I didn't mean to say that all. You know what? I’ve overstayed my welcome.”
Smartly, and trying to appear nonplussed (nah) and unassuming (look at his red cheeks), he jabbed his finger somewhere behind him, aiming for the door-- and yet accidentally pointing at a wall, whilst sporting a wickedly wide, and uncomfortable smile.
"I'll just be gone. Dadd-- sir. Sir. I'll be gone d--sir. Yes. May I go, d-- sir??"
So he could flush himself down the toilet to end his misery, yeah?
Posted 06-05-2021, 08:39 AM
TAGJessie Michels NOTES N/A
The pitter patter of a quickened heartbeat reaches the Infected's ears long before Jessie's outburst, but it warns him enough that when volatile words are slung his way — when hands slam down against his desk — he's quick to grin in response. He doesn't even mean it at this point, but he knows the action quickly draws a rile out of the other man. The skid of the chair violently being thrown back is loud for a man with sensitive hearing and North winces, but otherwise does not react to Jessie's outburst. Not yet. He lets the smaller man vent, even if the words begin to draw out a darker hunger in him.
“Why on Earth wouldn’t you fuck me I--” Was that what was bothering the specialist so much? The mere idea that North, who had quite proudly slept his way to the top of the hierarchy, would dare to reject him? How... Interesting. The Major tilts his head the other way now as Jessie seems to realize his mistake and begins to backpedal, trying his best to take back his words as if they weren't both there just a second ago to witness them.
But the Infected's patience could only run for so long before it had to snap. He can't even appreciate the lewd connotation of daddy slipping Jessie up. Instead he feels anger that yet again, Jessie thinks he can make a run for it. That he can come in here, run his mouth for a bit, then leave without any consequence for his actions. North reacts and shoves himself to his feet, now towering over Jessie.
“Why the rush, Jessie? Where are you always running off to I wonder?” He makes a show of spreading his arms wide and looking from side to side dramatically, as if searching for the answer somewhere — but his eyes are quick to return to Jessie's cold blue eyes. “You always come in here with such bravado, but one word, one look quickly unhinges you and then you take off for the door with your tail tucked between your legs.” There's no warning for what he's about to do next, but maybe it's almost expected already. Still, his speed doesn't give Jessie a chance to react before he suddenly leans forward, fists his hand in the front of the man's shirt, and drags him halfway across the desk. Just enough so the human is no longer standing on his own two feet, so to speak.
North leans forward, hot breath, sinfully low voice, and whispers in the man's ear: “You keep running like a rabbit and one of these days something is going to chase you down and devour you.”
A threat. A promise.
“You want to know why I won't fuck you?” He lets go of Jessie and takes a step back, fixing his clothes as he does so as if perturbed by having to ruffle them in the first place. “You're just too damn easy.” It's not entirely true of course — North never was one to turn down an easy conquest, an easy chance at a quick lay and a hot meal. But Jessie didn't need to know that.
The grins, the everything-- when North stood up, vapidly Jessie loathed their height difference; vapidly he loathed that the man literally towered over him-- it filled Jessie with a forbidden, and cruel thought of chopping the man’s legs off right at the knees; wouldn’t that bring you down, he was maliciously thinking, wouldn’t that show you what’s up, as the evil crossed his features, contortion of darkness briefly taking over--
He apparently blinked it away.
He narrowed his eyes-- and grimaced; a scoff, though he’d not make that sound-- of disapproval that North was taking it all in. Devouring it, so to speak.
Worst of all, Jessie couldn’t blame him; if he were in the other’s position, he’d be the same dealing with someone like himself-- he’d be the exact replica, or maybe better; he’d be better; he decided it the moment his arm dropped down beside himself-- in defeat, some could say, yet the glower said something else--
A vicious, and heady leer--
Then: too quick.
Too quick and twas this quickness exactly that combated with Jessie’s conclusion from before; days ago he had thought the man a vampire, had been proven wrong when he’d bled like a whore, only for the other to express no real desire to drink him up, all--
Days.
And now the man was ridiculously fast and dubious again.
Jessie hated it.
He startled-- naturally: and loathed that no matter what speed he donned personally, what strength he possessed as a man trained not just by the military, but long years ahead--
That it paled.
That they paled.
Here and now, North Sigurd was making him feel small.
And Jessie hated feeling small.
And for a moment, he let it show; for that one moment as the other pulled him in-- indeed a motion too fast to defend against it-- and they came face to face, and Jessie’s hands propped down defensively on the desk again-- and his tiptoes were which remained, attached to the floor and the rest of him suspended--
He then made that face: that face of I will get you.
And I will hurt you.
And it wasn’t wrath. It wasn’t such a mortal, silly emotion right now.
It was something else.
It was a promise.
It was a warning--
He would have tumbled back when released, the man’s words echoing--
Would have.
He met his heels with the floor instead, oddly secure.
And then---
That fucking insult.
Weakness. You didn’t show it to your enemy. You didn’t.
He did.
When stupid-- angry tears of offense, and frustration built in his eyes; when he couldn’t lash out-- because it would be his word against the major’s--
When he couldn’t destroy--
When he could do nothing but--
His fist came flying anyway, aiming for the man’s face; the momentum made it impossible to stop the motion-- the momentum promised him that he’d not stop himself--
When he yanked himself back to avoid that real, and genuinely upsetting threat of landing a punch on that man--
It didn’t seem to matter as he hissed, in a voice thick with madness--
“I loathe you.”
Loathe you.
And his hands came down onto the major’s desk-- a mistake, you’d think, considering he’d just attempted to punch him-- that he’d barely reeled himself back and just performed a weird, and uncomfortably ridiculous side-step to stop himself--
Considering he smelled his own blood:
Considering-- indeed… that.
That.
“I so fucking loathe you,” he said, passionate, furious, the words a hiss actually, so low they were delectable.
And he looked down the other’s body.
Looked--
And it was the same look he’d been yielded; that purely primal scan primed for fucking:
Where I would bite first, the eyes promised, where I would touch, where I would lick--
Where I would make you shiver, you pale fucking cunt--
Where I would have you, in hate sex possess you, as promised by his expression, as told by his features as he raked his gaze up and down the man-- impressing well enough, and too well this idea of having given him a ride one could not forget; when Jessie’s gaze lingered on the man’s crotch, he appeared to be taking him all in-- the cock that he remembered brushing against himself, his hate forming into something else--
Arousal overcame his blood, and his blood-- it pounded again; hard, rhythmic sounds of SLAP SLAP, SLAP SLAP…
Slap slap…
Like that of hips meeting hips in a hard fuck.
And Jessie then stopped himself.
Stopped himself from saying something he really, really wanted to say--
Turned his head up, and pridefully said--
“May. I. Leave. Now. Sir.” Posted 06-05-2021, 10:29 AMThis post was last modified: 06-05-2021, 12:06 PM by Jessie Michels
TAGJessie Michels NOTES N/A
He sees that look on Jessie's face and oh how he craves it, a thrill of excitement racing through him at the sight. It was a purely instinctual reaction, the beast half of him wanting nothing more than to be the something that would chase Jessie down and devour him. It wasn't an entirely new feeling, but one he clings to anyway as their matching blue eyes meet one another. A taunt and a challenge and how he wishes to rise up to it. But even he knows there's only so much he can do to poke the other man before he completely snaps.
He doesn't expect the punch. It's clear by the way his eyes widen, even if he doesn't move away from the fist flying towards him. His entire body stiffens instinctively, but the hit never lands — the specialist, perhaps wisely, chooses to forgo the attack at the very last minute.
Jessie's words hit North's ears even as they're partially drowned out by the slamming of fists against the wooden desk. For the first time, North allows his face to mold into something else: anger. His jaw visibly tightens, eyes narrowing to thin slits of ice as he remains standing still where he is, simply watching Jessie. Pissed, that the human thought he could ever attack him. The knife from their last meeting had been a taunt, but this? This was personal.
But he enjoys the hiss in the other man's words even more through his anger. Hate me all you want, his mind taunts the man back. He doesn't miss the way the other man's eyes take him all in — that look of hunger, of mental fucking is not something he was unaccustomed to. On the contrary, it rouses him once more and he allows a throaty growl to rumble in his throat as his own eyes remain hooded, trained on the human's face. Blue eyes are trained low down on North's body and for a moment, the Major contemplates returning the favour from last time — giving Jessie a show this time. He stared so intently, it was almost as if hoping the Infected's clothes would just disappear.
Then it's gone. That carnal appetite disappears and the specialist once again requests to leave, and North answers him with an audible scoff, finally sitting himself back down at his desk again.
“Go. I have no more use for you,” he replies, turning his head down as he once more picks up the pen he had been using before; paperwork still needed to be finished, especially after this delightful little interruption to his day. But he pauses, rather than starts immediately, and suddenly turns his gaze upwards to once again capture Jessie with his eyes.
“Oh, and Jessie?” Just before he lets the man go, he decides to push it — just dig that suspicion a little deeper. He lifts a hand, two fingers extended as he places them against his own neck, as if to take his pulse — the same location Jessie currently bleeds from. Then he taps them once, twice, and—
“You might want to think about re-bandaging that.”
He was feeling abhorrent, even: he felt like poison; he was the venom, he was the wrong, he was looking up at the other with clear vitriol and waiting, almost, for any kind of a reason to do worse: begging, near-- near: for the other to make a decision-- a wrong, but helpful decision, at least the kind of helpful nobody wanted, nobody needed except for those kind of people eager to write the following lines:
And then, North Sigurd made a mistake, a grave, and vicious mistake.
--but in a way, North really did; the growl that Jessie heard, the look he was on the receiving end of--
Everything, and anything, and the scoff could have been Jessie’s undoing; in his ears, everything burned; everything mean; he felt foul-- vehement, and unrelenting like a dagger in the back of you, having teased your spine, kissed your blood--
Raped your muscle--
Having.
He felt terrible.
And his blood roiled.
More so, and more so as North sat after that scoff, when he ignored him again and while it’d been exactly what Jessie had asked for, it also hadn’t.
It was nothing like what Jessie wanted, actually.
He realized that the moment when North looked up at him-- from his perch, his seat, and Jessie could have been said to loathe everything about this; the desk, the fucking chair-- he schemed a day when he’d set fire to everything here: the paperwork, the walls--
When he’d destroy every little thing in here as North--
As North Sigurd then, indeed, made a mistake.
A fatal, and crucial mistake.
And Jessie followed with one of his own--
“Go fuck yourself you mangy cunt.”
Hissed--
And then--
Violently, and crazily, and without any regard for himself, too preoccupied by the fog on his mind, blazing red and wild like a storm--
Jessie yanked the bandaged off his neck, where the man had tapped, where North had mocked, where he should not have known-- and it unraveled, and unraveled...
And Jessie clutched it in his palm: balled up; then, he opened it.
The bandage dropped; bloodied, and soaked in the scent of him, it landed exactly in the center of the other’s desk--
And then, losing no moment to even gloat the man’s facade, wasting not a split second to admire whatever kind of angry face North made at that moment--
Jessie just turned on his heel.
And left.
Aware his neck was naked.
Aware he could pull the collar up--
Aware and yet seething, possessed by an utmost, and crippling wrath.
Just so he could get out of there and once out, and away kick violently at a wall on the corridor, and from the bottom of his lungs, scream--
TAGJessie Michels NOTES N/A
He knew his words would be nothing more than an agitator for an already unstable mind, but he doesn't entirely expect the man to suddenly rip the bloodied bandage off his neck and throw it at him. Initially the Major makes a face — because of the words, or the man's lack of respect for a commanding officer, it's uncertain. But then the man turns and walks away, doesn't look back—
If he did, he would have seen it.
Seen the golden eyes partially glowing in the dim light, watching him walk away. A predatory hunger, like a beast stalking an innocent lamb in the night. North is so damn close to simply chasing the man and yanking him back into the office, all so that he could have yet another taste of the man's blood. But his resistance to such a temptation is astonishing, and he doesn't move until Jessie is no longer in his sight line. He takes his pen and uses it to flick the bandage off his desk and into the garbage can. He wasn't about to feed on that like some kind of animal.
He hears the man's scream from the hall, and he grins.
The point of entry
Posted 05-24-2021, 12:24 PM
