Welcome to Gaia! ::

The apartment was thankfully vacant when Fathle quietly locked the door behind him. The weatherman had predicted a sunny day but the powers that be made him look like a liar by polluting the sky with thick, grey blankets of wispy condensation. Thus, only a dull, weak swathe of light managed to penetrate into the rather depressing living accommodations of his friend, making it seem later in the day than it really was.

Fathle did not bother to turn on the lights as he neatly placed his jacket upon the back of Werika’s couch and went into the kitchen. The first thing that his eyes flickered upon was the faded imprint of Azrael’s ominous warning and his red lips pulled downward into a frown. Thankfully, the silver-haired man had made himself scarce and had yet to repeat a second trip; also, his roommate had yet to notice anything awry with the appearance of his wooden cabinets.

At least there were things to be thankful for. The past few days had been bloodless, detestable haze for the Ancient. Following his dream about Ariel, Fathle started to have trouble feeding. For some strange reason, thoughts of her seemed to quell his bloodlust or just made him too disgusted with himself to indulge in it. Of course, this temporary fling of feigned altruism was great… until the memory of Ariel ultimately crumbled against the sheer force of the Ancient’s blood craze and by then just a tiny pinprick could set the man off.

The strain of not feeding was beginning to show upon the man’s pale face, making his skin look slightly pinched and his eyes were so dark that it looked as though his pupils had taken over his irises. Some could describe it as a kind of unconscious self-flagellating.

Others would just call it stupid.

“I didn’t ---“

However, the Ancient shut his mouth as Werika quickly barreled into his accusations. His pale hands quickly caught the crumpled receipt, and his red eyes glanced down at it with a tired curiosity. “I don’t understand…,” he started slowly as his mind tried to figure out why the shaman was yelling at him. However, understanding finally blossomed in the Ancient’s mind as he saw the smeared numbers of Werika’s bank balance intertwined forlornly within his pale fingers.

God, I do not need this right now…

Fathle was silent for a moment before straightening out the thin piece of paper and laying it carefully on the counter near Werika. “My motives were not driven out of pity…,” the Ancient said as he turned his dark gaze upon the human.

The Ancient said nothing. He had learned out of experience to just let Werika release the angry steam holding up his rage and let him cool off before speaking again. Until then, no amount of words seemed to penetrate the thick haze of hate that the human could conjure up when he was upset. However, Fathle immediately stiffened as Werika roughly grabbed him by his black turtleneck; he stared down at the human’s rapidly moving mouth, not entirely hearing what the man was saying as the faint smell of iron made his bloodlust lift its head with interest.

I can save my self! I'm.....! I'mma f-fine!

Fathle kept his arms stiffly pressed to his sides so that no other portion of his body needlessly brushed against Werika’s warm body. His nearly black eyes stared into Werika’s common, brown gaze and he tried to will the human to read his thoughts, try to get him to understand how must his bloodlust wanted him. Get away from me, Werika, he thought desperately. The Ancient wasn’t sure if he would have enough will power to walk away himself.

“You… need to stay away from me, Werika,” the Ancient said slowly while he gritted his teeth. He didn’t want the human to get the wrong idea and think that he was saying that to be provoking; it was only a way to warn a friend of how close he was to danger. However, in his current state, would the human really be able to tell the difference?

“Because I am your friend you stubborn fool…!” Fathle snarled as his pale hand tore away Werika’s grip upon his shirt. Run, Werika… The Ancient stared intently at the shaman’s angry face trying to find the power to pull away from the intoxicating warmth of this man’s body. Pull away from the delicious smell of the enraged human’s tanned skin that was flushed delicately with color as the tiny capillaries engorged themselves with fresh blood.

God help him, he wanted to walk away but his body was doing something else. Instead of loosening his grip upon Werika’s wrist, his fingers merely tightened with an eerie intensity. He pulled their bodies together, and his bloodlust nearly purred with joy at the feel of Werika’s firm form molding to Fathle’s. The Ancient’s free hand gently ran a smooth thumb down the human’s cheek and the look in his dark eyes was almost apologetic.

“Now will you listen to me, Werika?”

The Ancient sighed slightly as he took this moment to get used to the overwhelmingly tempting feel of this body against him. “Then you, Werika, are a hypocrite,” Fathle said mildly, taking the sting out his blunt insult by gently placing his hands upon the shaman’s biceps in an affectionate gesture. “You do not ask for kindness because you feel as though it degrades you but then exactly what were you doing with your lover when you fixed his apartment? You were offering him the same kindness that you nearly assaulted me for, my dear Werika.”

Fathle slowly pulled away from the human so that he could look at him properly and gently cupped the shaman’s chin within his pale fingers and lifted Werika’s gaze to his own. “I wished to help you in the same way that you wanted to help Brad. Will you fault me, then, for mirroring your own actions?”

“I know,” Fathle said with a slight smile and he ran a few pale fingers through his friend’s hair before wrapping his arms around the man. The Ancient’s bloodlust frowned and curled up to rest, temporarily forgotten by Werika’s rare moment of vulnerability. He held the shaman like that in silence for a few moments before pulling away from him and touching Werika’s cheek. “It is fortunate that we got through this with all of our limbs intact,” the Ancient said with a rare grin before he bent down slightly and gave the shaman a chaste kiss near his eyebrow.

Fathle hesitated momentarily as Werika extended his polite kiss into something more sexual. There was something disconcerting about the way the human naturally fit against the Ancient. A part of the man always knew there was a certain kind of subtle erotic attraction between them but it never became very substantial considering their relationship had been nothing but plutonic. However, that didn’t mean the idea had completely went away.

The Ancient carefully deepened their kiss as his pale hand firmly grabbed a fistful of the shaman’s hair and gently pulled Werika’s head back so that his neck was elongated before him. As Fathle unconsciously pressed the man into a more vulnerable position, his attentions became more urgent, commanding the human to open up to him. The man broke their kiss with a slight gasp of air before letting the tip of his nose draw a soft line from Werika’s lips to the man’s jaw line. Fathle murmured something softly against the man’s beard before letting his red lips explore the side of the other man's neck, gently nipping and kissing the flesh.