been a long time

[Mortimer Blackwood]

“Hey there lover,” the words rolled cheerfully from his tongue as he slid off of the bar top where he had been resting. There were a couple of girls had had been occupying the stools next to him, listening eagerly to his stories. All women loved a pilot, it was the profession that he had been claiming for awhile now. They would never know his real truth. For the beast that he was, he knew he didn't look it. His looks were inviting, not nearly the predatory dark handsome male that the stereotype wanted him to be. No, that role was far better filled by the offensively tall man across the bar. He knew Damon would have heard him, knew that his voice would have been recognized instantly. His feet his the ground without sound as he shoved past the women, already looking over to Damon with confusion overcoming them. Confusion that Mortimer was leaving them, even more so that the man he seemed to be heading in the direction of was so painfully attractive. Damon had always had that effect on women, something that he very much enjoyed watching. He had allowed the pair to take over all sorts of different roles over the course of the years, wing man, coworker, friend, lovers, confidants. It must have been years since he had looked upon the tortured eyes of the man staring at him. He could feel the emotions not displayed on the mans face. It wasn't so much that Damon was showing emotions, but they were radiating all around the room. It couldn't have been more pleasing. There wasn't much more that Damon would hate than for Mortimer to cause a scene. He hated having unwanted eyes prying into his business, even more considering that he no doubt had all sorts of things going on in his life here that the shorter, but not short, man had no knowledge of. Beaming he crossed to the brooding male, tempted to flaunt himself just a little bit further. “Buy you a drink?” he clapped the man on the back before allowing his hand to snake around Damon's lower back, fingers pulsing into the rock hard stone in place of Damon's flesh. He would have opted for something that would look a little more platonic, but he simply wasn't tall enough to reach the other mans shoulders from where he was, not in these shoes. “Then again,” he almost hummed “I do have a rather delectable port in my suite, should you rather?” he had such difficulty keeping his speech to that of the current times. He was supposed to be working on a lot more slang, to fit in with this 'hipster' trend he had become so fascinated with as of late. It was going to be his next project, he had been a pilot since the fifties, he might as well adapt himself to something more current. It was a challenge, attempting to be so very relaxed in contrast to the rigidity of the pilot profession. Aviation had been an indulgence of his long enough now. Though, his observations could wait another night. Damon's presence here couldn't be by accident, though it was certainly unexpected. He hadn't wanted to see Damon just yet, this ruined the surprise a little, but he would make do. His hand pushed a pattern against the fabric of Damon's shirt, he might seem smaller, but he was older, stronger, and he knew damned well that Damon was feeling what his hands were saying almost too obviously.

Not waiting for an answer he steered Damon in the direction of the bar, where the women who had been clinging to his every word had migrated away from. Thank goodness. He liked being adored, but only on his own schedule. His eyes rolled appreciatively over the form in his arm. He fit in to every year that he lived so very easily, it was envious. Mortimer wasn't so good at clothing himself in this new way, but he was learning. Whatever shirt Damon was in, Mortimer wanted one. Or that very one. Either would be suitable. Pushing Damon to the bar stool next to him he leaned over the counter top and signaled for two clean glasses to be brought back to the bottle he had been sharing with the women before, he wasn't sure how much was left in the bottle, but it would suit his purposes. It wasn't the liquid that either one of them really wanted, it was all for show. Much like the fact that he was making a 'show' of them being 'friends'. Accepting the glasses with flourish he poured small amounts of the brandy into the glasses. It wasn't good brandy, not my any means, this bar was too cheap for that sort of thing. He missed the old bars, the sort of thing that felt like home or a hospital as soon as it was entered. Filled constantly with loud music and chatter. Nobody asked probing questions, only speeches of drunkness was allowed. This, was all shady people and pool games staked on far too much money for what the sport was worth. Here, Mortimer stuck out like a sore thumb. It wasn't an unwelcome feeling, but one he was having to get used to it seemed. He was too loud, too happy for a place like this. And he had just singled another out by his real name, pulled him from the darkness of the sidelines into his light. Perhaps that was why after only a few sips, the younger man excused himself from the bar.

Five minutes, he would allow five minutes. Damon wasn't going to get out of here that easily. He might be attempting to avoid him, the last time they had seen one another, they hadn't left things on very good terms. They both had migrated here for the same reason her as always, the motivation behind every motivation. Morty was just less concealed about it all. Pushing away from the bar he headed back toward the bathroom where Damon had excused himself too, weaving through the people quickly, but with restraint that he required himself to use. Entering the bathroom and silently shutting the door behind him he inhaled deeply. A stall, Damon? A bright, almost human seeming smile took over his face as he pushed open the door, screws holding the metal locking mechanism together coming out easily under his push. Shutting the door behind him he wedged Damon into the small space between the toilet and the wall of the stall. Uncomfortable, but he didn't like being walked out on. He had thought that he had been very kind up until this very point. Almost chipper even, but now his nature exposed itself. He had always had a soft spot in his heart for Damon, in his way, but the softest part of stone, was still harder than most. “Making you uncomfortable, am I?” His hand moved instantly to the waist of Damon's pants, the fabric was the sort of soft denim that only lots of money could buy. It was a familiar territory to him, all external surfaces of Damon were familiar to him. Even after all of these years. “Not happy to see me?” He had expected more, really. It had been Damon that had been in the wrong, at least Morty was finally ready to accept his apology. Even if Damon had claimed that it was the other way around. His hand expertly moved into his pants, finding it's target and wrapping his fingers around the circumference. It was with satisfaction that he wrested the noise from Damon. Mortimer had been raised to do this, expert at his craft. From whenever he had been a adolescent, appealing to those with, particular tastes, the years of training benefited Damon. As they had countless men before Damon had even been born. Perhaps he didn't mind so much since he knew he had been Damon's first, making Mortimer feel like he had more rights to the body, rights that he was only really willing to share with her and only then because he didn't have a choice. “At least part of you is,” he breathed softly, watching the face in front of him contort in a symphony of conflicting emotions.
________________________________________________________________

_{Word Count 1388
Inspiration silence
Tags Damon
Status Complete
Template By Arro @ Caution 2.0
Picture By Credit pic here!}

[Damon Santiago]

There were plenty of reasons for Damon not to be out and about tonight; one of which he’d left bare and pouting thrown between an excess of pillows on his way out. The more verbal of all of the reasons there, complaints had followed him throughout his dressing at top speed, down the hall, and down the stairs leading to the forray. And while the complaining might have been enough to convince him that it was time to go, had he not been leaving in the first place the lips uttering the negativity would have been much more pleasently employed. Given how busy he’d been being kept lately it was a fairly big deal that he was passing up on the opportunity this rare night of freedom offered. Only he had a completely different sort of business to attend to tonight, one that could be assured to take more than the two hours it would take for Avery to find herself either asleep or otherwise occupied… One that could also be assured to be fraught with tension. It had been ten years since he’d heard the name Mortimer in any sort of passing conversation. It wasn’t a common name after all, especially given the fact that the places he’d been in the past few years had been considered anything but civilized. Given that he would have been considered anything but civilized at that time himself. It was a good thing, all things considered, that he hadn’t. The last time he’d heard the name he’d been uttering it himself to a rapidly retreating back, his fingers curled into bloody fists as if to stop himself from following it. Damon didn’t follow, not really, not ever. Except for them. From the time he’d reawoken into the not quite dead body he now walked around in up till now there were only two people that could claim to have been followed by him, that could claim to hold any hand in shaping him throughout those formative years. It was because of that that he had almost still followed the retreating form, continued on with the argument that was sure to escalate into something the neither could take back. Because no matter how angry, how furious he was with the man for the words he’d so thoughtlessly uttered, he hadn’t been the hand that had forced the lifegiving blood from the girls throat. It hand’t been his hand that had torn apart the flesh Damon had been so careful to preserve before turning. No, all of that lay at her feet. Those sins rested soley on her shoulders. And that was where he’d leave the blame. The only thing that he had to answer for were the words he’d so carelessly uttered. Words that at the time had Damon ready to forget just what ties held the two of them together. It was only after the years of seperation that Damon had come to realize that he just couldn’t understand the implications of all that had happened, couldn’t understand the emotional and mental barriers that had been broken by the act she’d comitted. Not that he’d exactly forgiven him for it, but then theirs had never been the forgiving type of relationship- it just wasn’t necessary. Even knowing that, hearing his name popping up throughout Austria had thrown him. He should have expected it really, given the happenings that had been going on here, given who else was hiding in the shadows of the same shore…

He hadn’t though, hadn’t taken into consideration that he’d receive news of a very flamboyuant new comer into the night scene around the area and be forced to seek him out. He had expected some sort of correspondence alerting him to when someone like him came into the area. He had expected to be the first someone came to when they were in as near an area as this to him. On some level he supposed Mortimer just dropping into his new place of residence might have been worse. This was at least he had a few days to prepare himself for the confrontation, had enoguh of a headsup to ready himself for seeing the same familiar red eyes he’d not set his own upon for ten years now. Though of course he would have had the same courtesy had he actually written. But then Mortimer had never been one to do what was expected… or demanded of him. Not when it came to any besides her anyways. Damon shouldn’t have been nearly so surprised by the calling card he’d so boldly flashed his way, he should have been better ready for this sort of thing. It seemed a convergence was underway, one that was sure to rock the foundations of the very continent were they not very careful in how they went about things. Which was why Damon had sought him out here, why he was walking through the doors instead of staying outside and waiting for him to emerge. It seemed that all uncomfortable confrontations were to be had in public these days… “Hey there lover,” the cadence was so familiar, words settling firmly upon his ears from where they’d been uttered from the bar. Not that he had to search too hard to find the source of them, his eyes seemed to zero in all on their own to the form straightening from its stance against the raised counter. Unchanged… except maybe in style. His brow arched in question as he gave him the once over. Some things never changed. The man still needed someone to pick clothes for him as the decades changed. Mortimer would be the only one Damon had ever met, vampire or not, who would probably still feel more comfortable in tunics and tights. Nothing like what he was wearing tonight. Too much, and not just from the perspective that Damon enjoyed him more the more undressed he became. Layers where there shouldn’t be layers, pants that were too formally cut and cuffed to pair with the cardigan and shirt covering his torso. He barely spared a glance to the females that had flocked to him despite the mismatched ensamble, he knew well enough that women were of little competition where Mortimer was concerned. It didn’t stop the dismissive once over he gave the two of them before proceeding to the other end of the bar though, his head shaking just slightly as he passed out of eyesight of the trio. He wouldn’t be the first to broach the gap that had sprung between them, he’d already done his part by coming here- already moved his piece on the board to open up space for the man. It was more than most got from him.

It didn’t hurt that he could already feel the other man approaching though, hear the dead heartbeat approaching- easily picked out from the separate tempo it tended to keep. His eyes sought the red pair out without pause as soon as he was back out of peripheral, trying to get a grip on how exactly he felt about this whole ordeal. Not that his emotions mattered overmuch on the matter, he could get through this without them making an appearance just fine he was sure, but the fact that he had no ground on which to walk knowledgably left him feeling slightly disconcerted. Especially when Mortimer’s lips were stretched in such a wide smile. While it could easily be taken as a good sign, with him it was so very interchangable that he didn’t want to take chances. ”Buy you a drink?” He felt the air around him shift before the other man laid a hand on him but it didn’t stop or prepare him any more for his own reaction to it. He’d gone years without Mortimer’s hands being anywhere near his body before, done different stints of time between it happening and not… never ten years though. Not since he had been changed. The warring emotions that it caused for his arm to drape so deceptively casual across his lower back, so ostentaciously, was unmuted despite the warning. He found his shoulders rounding into a more tense posture instantly, spine straightening as if to keep him from leaning back into the familiar touch. “Then again, I do have a rather delectable port in my suite, should you rather?” He’d paused too long over the previous offer, he was aware, for it not to be obvious that there was some sort of reaction to the touch of the other man, deliberated just a shade past what was acceptable of just two aquaintances meeting once more. Being aware of the fact didn’t stop the sardonic look he threw him at the latter suggestion though, eyebrows raising just slightly as if to acknowledge that he was aware of his game. “Here is fine.” He knew better to fall into that trap, knew that the minute Mortimer was out of the public eye and away from the show he could preform that things could only go one of two ways, and right now it wasn’t exactly prefferable, not until Damon got a better handle on the situation, reacclimated himself. Not that Mortimer was waiting on Damon’s answer, he let himself be shifted away from where he had been, walking easily alongside the familiar figure. Their steps matched evenly despite the small height difference, familiarity bred over the long years falling quickly back into place as they comfortably oriented themselves around one another… well as comfortably as they could get seeing how things were still up in air.

He had forgotten what it was like to be around someone so comfortable with him, without all of the barriers Damon just being Damon managed to put into place within people’s psyche. It was only further emphasised by the way he was pushed into his seat, the unfamiliarity of the gesture after all these years putting his back up in a way he didn’t like. Even if it had been meant to put him in his place, to push his limits as Mortimer was so fond of, it shouldn’t have risen any reaction from him at all given the duplicity of the situation. Yet it did, causing Damon to turn his head away slightly, eyebrows drawing marginally further down upon his forehead. He could see the movements out of his peripheral, catch the transaction being made from them- but it wasn’t where his focus was. He felt as if he’d lost that when he’d actually entered the bar. He’d left the house with a sense of purpose, a feeling that he would somehow figure things out better once he was actually there… only to realize that setting foot into a place that housed the other figure so near only disconcerted him more, threw things more out of focus. It was positively damning. He accepted the glass without comment, bringing it to his lips automatically as he looked over at the man standing next to him. The smile was still in place, the one that offered no context as to what Damon should expect, the one that he rather belatedly admitted he had hoped not to find stretching his lips tonight. Mortimer had never been an emotional person, hadn’t ever projected much beyond the dramatic renditions of human emotions he wore as if putting on a play. And maybe that was what made it, even after all these years, so hard to get a handle on. The duplicity of the same expression, the different meanings it could have when gracing his facial structure was something that he’d yet to have to deal with outside of the man now sipping along with him. Disconcerting. And Damon didn’t like benig disconcerted, didn’t like losing the upperhand. He didn’t like not knowing where he stood and what move to make from there. This game was tiring, the lack of results trying on his patience. Without warning he stood, pushing up and away from the barstool in one clean move as he turned on his heel to move away from the now crowded bar. It was time for answers.

Answers meant being alone with Mortimer, something he’d earlier been avoiding. Because, alone with Mortimer meant that he was given a plethora of more of his own avoidance techniques, an arsenal at his disposal. It couldn’t be helped though, something Damon was well aware of as he moved through the crowd and into the empty bathroom. Empty, but still too open, too easily accessed and he felt… flustered was not the right word. He was too old to get flustered. Even with no one in the room to see him he felt as if eyes were on his back, pushing his feet further into the space and through one of the stall doors as if it would somehow narrow the paths with which he could be reached at. Not by Mortimer necessarily, it didn’t matter if he were in a locked tower miles away from civilization- he held no allusion that the man wouldn’t find his waqy into the thing if he felt the need to talk to him. He just needed less space to worry about, a tighter configurement with which to place himself. A better vantage point for the waiting he’d be doing. Not long, walking away from him without a word was a definite way to insure he’d follow. Long enough for Damon to lean his shoulders back against the stall wall, arms crossing over his chest resolutely as he leaned. Humans really were rather repulsive, emptying their wastes into such small containers in such a confined space. Indoors no less. And with so many stalls, doing your business in front of strangers… There weren’t many things he missed about being fully alive and functioning. Certanily not this. To think that they’d actually managed to regress from what it had been like all those centuries ago. Not that these indoor waste rooms hadn’t provided a good setting for other things in the past. Humans tended to let their guard drop somewhat in them, making themselves vulnerable… open. Not to mention the sorts of illicit deeds that could be gotten up to in them. He shifted to alleviate the discomfort the thought had provided in such close proximity to the expert movements and memories of the man even now approaching. Again his heartbeat stood out among the rest as he neared the bathroom, alerting Damon to the opening door before his hand even hit the handle. He found himself second guessing the stall as the foosteps neared, again shifting his legs as the stall door gave way to the familiar face beaming at him once more. Only this time there was no question in Damon’s mind as to what it meant. That was a smile he was more than familiar with. The unecessary breathing stopped as soon as the door shut once more, Damon straightening only slightly to further accommodate the way the other man pushed up against him, second nature and as easy as breathing despite the circumstance. “Making you uncomfortable, am I?” An involuntary hiss left his lips as hands once more reconnected with his body, moving over a territory familiar in its own way only to this man. “Not happy to see me?” This, this exact visual is what had made him so uncomfortable in the best of ways only moments before. As fingers descended into denim clad regions a groan followed, Damon tilting his head down to look at the man with slightly narrowed eyes. “At least part of you is.” As if he had actually been worried about it.

Damon took a slow breath, letting his head rotate back, the crown of it coming into contact with the wall with a soft thump. “I wouldn’t say not happy.” His words were slow, measured, despite the fact that his hips jerked slightly as he dug fingers into the arms they rested on as if to keep from touching the man before him. “Surprised. I must’ve missed the owl you sent.” The chastisement was barely there, the words light as he reconnected their gazes with a slow certainty. His arms uncrossed slowly, one hand trailing the forearm that disappeared inside his own denim before wrapping his fingers around it, pressure light enough to encourage movement. “No more curls?” His other hand fell to the man’s jaw, tilting it up slightly as he ran critical eyes over the poof he seemed to be favoring now. He had liked the curls, been familiar with them even.

[Mortimer Blackwood]

There was a certain level of apprehension that he had been expecting in some part from Damon. They had left things on, less than savory terms after all. It was to be expected even, he would have been upset if Damon had just accepted him back with nothing, no fight. Damon wasn't a desperate man, he didn't grovel. He had let Mortimer walk away all of those years ago for a reason, That reason most certainly wasn't because he wanted him to leave. He had done it to make a point, and his point had been made. At Damon's own expense. Ten years, ten years they had been apart. It was the longest time that they had spent apart since she had pushed them together. That much was certain. He didn't even dare attempt to put a label on their interactions. He couldn't even call it a relationship. To name it such, would be to stifle it. He wouldn't dare. Ten years might not seem like much to him any longer. Not with his age. He was slowly coming up on five hundred years walking this earth, almost all of them had been as one of the undead. Mortimer could afford to spare ten years, it was like a tedious year that never ended to him now. Certainly as time went on, ten years would seem like nothing. He couldn't, however, afford the lack of familiarity with the younger one who would still see ten years as a very long time. Damon wasn't young or new any longer, not by any means. But ten years was still a long while. Neither one had any intentions to apologize to the other, they didn't need to see one another to know that neither of their positions on the matter had changed whatsoever. Otherwise, it wouldn't have taken ten years to be back in the same room. Mortimer had made the first move, and Damon had chosen to accept, and now, this was where they were. Typical power play. Even If it was pointless. This was a scene that had unfolded countless times before them. It never grew old. Not to him. Not with him.

How could one get used to this? He had been carrying on for dozens of years with the same man, off and on and it was still new. Every time as new as something so routine could be for him. It wasn't, tedious, as it was with some. He actually enjoyed this, the feeling of control, the slight waver of Damon's lips in response to his own actions. Mortimer knew his hands could be powerful even in their most delicate of motions, but with this one, this body against his it wasn't with an ulterior motive. At least not most of the time. This? Was to ensure that he was forgiven, that he would know Damon still felt for him, still wanted him back in his life. Since Mortimer was here for the duration, he might as well ensure that his partnerships were well cared for. There had been others of hers before Damon. Others that weren't worth naming due to their lack of longevity. None that even had discernible faces from the masses of people he had known over the years. Given so, he was glad that it was Damon who had made it, that Damon was the only one apart from himself that had managed to live past their given expiration date, to surpass expectations. He suspected that he knew why, most owners liked it whenever their pets played well together. Were they much better than that? To her? He knew that he was, he knew that it was deeper, that his fleeting bitter thoughts were easily logically folded and put away neatly. No, he knew where he stood, he had always retained a firm grasp on his position despite that fact that the time he and Damon had spent apart, seemed like a holiday weekend compared to the time it had been since he had shared a 'meal' with her.

There was something familiar with how close they were, the space he had pushed them into not even wide enough to him to widen his stance, the shaped and polished porcelain locking his feet where they were, too close together to allow much comfort from the other physical strains caused from such proximity. This was as close to the feeling he had observed whenever most people went back home after a long time apart. Given that he had never had a home to know what that was like, he could surmise that this was as close as he was ever going to get. Another revelation he didn't wish to analyze the motivations of. The only dampening of this 'reunion' was the other aspects that they could get to later. The irritation Mortimer wasn't even aware that he still harbored, that he knew Damon had to already be aware of. Perhaps that was why he had taken his sweet time in saying anything at all. Given the gap between when they had been this close before, and now, he wasn't likely to stop due to his irritation. Not this time at least. “I wouldn’t say not happy.” The measured alterations in Damon's tone from how he had been speaking outside of the bathroom was entertaining. Rewarding even. Every slight movement registered into his hand, a sense of pride at a job well done blossoming within him. He could see the restrain that Damon was attempting to keep from the strain of his arms, the tense of his jaw. Only causing Mortimer smile to deepen into something almost carnal.

“Surprised. I must’ve missed the owl you sent.” Mortimer's bottom lip jutted out only a fraction, the other parts of him never stopping in their motions. He knew that though the words were easily phrased, there was something deeper resting behind them. Something real, honest. To that underlying reasoning, he could feel regret. There was hurt hidden in there, but externally Mortimer only reacted to the chastisement. Even then only with a facial expression and a low 'Aww' sound. Almost mocking, but he respected the olive branch for what it was. It deeply pleased him that Damon felt that way. His free hand moved to Damon's button and zipper, deftly undoing both to give his occupied hand more freedom as he rolled his shoulder down and moved just a hair closer. His eyes allowed the contact with Damon's. For once allowing himself to return the sentiment that Damon was offering. If only just to show that it registered, that he understood before his smile, constant smile moved back at the contact of Damon's cold skin on his own mostly covered arm. Even the light cardigan was too much of a barrier. Layers were not something he was going to enjoy long, that was apparent. “No more curls?” Had he still had curls the last time he had seen Damon? He could have sworn that he had switched styles long before then. They didn't look well under his pilot's cap, and he was all about appearances most of the time. His eyes rolled playfully, tilting his jawline into the offered hand of the taller man. Besides, this was more stylish. Though his locks were indeed shorter than the ones that Damon was referring to, the curl was still there if he wasn't careful. It was why he had been forced to learn how to use product so early on. “It's a whole new me!” his voice was just above a whisper, but there was an excited undercurrent that almost made himself chuckle. “They're still there,” he offered “Just changed a little bit.” leaning up a bit, he nipped at Damon's sharp jawline with his teeth, never stopping in his quest while he was speaking. “Do you miss them terribly?” at this, his eyes lifted carefully to Damon's darker ones, changing the rhythm of his hand pointedly. It was just about as much of an apology as he would ever utter. He needed to get business out of the way, before getting on to other, business. More than on topic should be covered tonight, might take awhile if Mortimer has his way with as many interjections as he had planned.

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_{Word Count 1380
Inspiration silence
Tags Damon
Status Complete
Template By Arro @ Caution 2.0
Picture By Credit pic here!}

[Damon Santiago]

Despite the reservations he’d had when he’d walked through the doorframe of the club, despite how they had left things the last time they’d spoken Damon couldn’t even pretend to be surprised to be pressed up against the confining metal of the clubs bathroom stall, Mortimer’s hand working expertly within the rigid lines of jean pants by way of greeting. The very familiarity of the situation was equal parts raw and fluid. Like lines in a script they played it out again and again- different settings and different situations, varying degrees of just how something went down, all of it played through his perfect recall in quick succession. It was something that might have caused him some amount of unease had he not come to some sort of grips with what exactly had transpired between them all those years ago. Mortimer couldn’t be held accountable for something he didn’t understand, not in the long run. The realization struck him full force as he leant into the other man’s touch, neck arching just slightly as his nostrils flared with unnecessary breath. He’d partially accepted it before he’d come here tonight, accepted it before he’d even heard his name floating around in the breeze. Why should he be held to fault when the real blame lay at the feet of she who had made them. Mortimer had never taken another life into his own, never been responsible for the changes that came with it, or felt the pull of the bond that was created along with the other person’s rebirth. He’d never experienced the connection from any but the opposite point of view. And he’d never really seen the process up close and personal from any but her, and she was hardly the best role model. Damon couldn’t fathom how she managed to separate herself so completely from the bond that came with it, how she seemed to exist totally outside of it. He rocked back slightly on the balls of his feet, positioning his back more firmly against that which it was resting and sliding ever so slightly down, putting them on a more even plane even while eliminating some of what little space had remained between them. It changed the position, freed them both up for room. Easy, like breathing, there was no questioning here. He found his eyes running over his jawline from this new angle and without preamble his teeth closed around the angle that jutted out the most, breaking through the surface quickly before receding once more as if nothing had happened. It was a reclaiming of sorts, though not of the kind he left with Avery. There would be no mark that stayed on his nearly impenetrable flesh; the purpose wasn’t to warn others away or to chastise that who he bestowed it upon. It was more for himself, a taming of some beast locked deep within the long dead flesh. His, the possessive glint which his eyes now roved the other man’s body couldn’t be deterred. His in a way that mortals couldn’t understand. His in a way their mistress had never intended.

Again familiar lines crept out from between even more familiar lips and he could feel his lips twitching in response, one eyebrow leveling slightly at the exhalation that left his lips. Had the situation been different, had the carnal urges within him not been so dominant in that moment he might have responded to it, continued the conversation further with his own usually scripted response. He might have taken offense to the way things were so easily brushed off, looked for some other meaning behind the letters formed into breath the other man had uttered. Might have regardless had his pants not been made completely undone. They’d carried on countless conversations in previous situations similar to that which they were in, inane and serious- but something very nearly feral suggested that they keep it to the minimum, promised that something else was needed first. A constriction that seemed to exist nearly around his ribs and draw him in closer, fingertips gliding over the mapped contours of flesh… His pupils dilated slightly in response to the other man’s gaze, features solidifying the moment before the ready smile slid onto his lips. Even so, even with what his instincts seemed to be demanding he had to ask had to keep dialogue for just a moment longer. He could see the question running across his face; understand what he was trying to puzzle out. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen him carry off different hairstyles over the centuries, hadn’t seen him without his curls the way he always seemed to remember them. Their very last meeting hadn’t had him sporting them, which may have been in part why he was half-hoping they’d be back. “It's a whole new me!” He didn’t even bother hiding the eye roll that followed the words, more amused than annoyed by the excitement that practically radiated off of Mortimer’s body. He was more than acquainted with the way he took to new things, changing trends. It was an exuberance that Damon had seen in none other of their kind. Like a link to humanity that he knew Mortimer neither wanted nor possessed. “They're still there. Just changed a little bit.” He’d barely cast his gaze back on the aforementioned hair before he felt the body sliding against his, the only warning he got before incisors sank just slightly into the flesh of his own jawline, strangely reminiscent of the very move he’d pulled before. And with it whatever misgivings he might have still been harboring completely evaporated as something finally settled more firmly in his chest, a groan that was only in part due to the actual move wresting from his lips as his hips jerked. “Do you miss them terribly?” Another moment he might have pretended to think it over and yet he found the hand trailing his forearm continuing even as he uttered a short “no”, fingers pressing unapologetically into the flesh before dropping and smoothly dipping beneath the many ridiculous layers that he insisted on wearing. 

His pupils were slowly fading into the quickly burgeoning darkness overtaking his irises, lashes flickering just slightly over them as his hand moved over the muscles hidden beneath the clothing, up along the abdominal muscles and ribs, pushing and pressing at the familiar flesh until he came to a stop just below the pectoral line, just below where a normal persons heart beat started to register… with a slow precision his fingers seemed to curl into the flesh beneath, nails biting into it as he drug the hand even more slowly down, eyes keeping a steady contact with the pair just slightly beneath him. The skin gave way easily, borrowed blood building up beneath his nails and running in rivulets his palm seemed to trace until he came to a stop at the protruding hipbone. In stark contrast his thumb ran slowly over the man’s cheekbone, pressing lightly into the bone beneath as he removed his hand from the confines of clothing and brought it up level with his own face. His tongue flicked out to trace a line across the gathered offering, circling once around his thumb before he pulled it between his lips, feeling his own teeth cut into the flesh and mixing the fluids within his lips with an appreciative growl. His hips had given up being still, moving along in time with the hand guiding them, arching slowly in and out of the embrace. Had they been in a different location he would certainly have spared no time to preserve the excess of garments separating him from the skin beneath, from the already healing lines he would have taken more time with otherwise. Undressing him without disturbing the balance they’d already found was fairly impossible as well, so he settled for pushing clothing out of his way as he went, the hand cupping his face moving down and pressing into the muscle beneath to lift the face into an easier position. Left leg sliding out even further, coming to rest between the widened legs of the man before him and pressing his thigh between the other two, bringing him even lower from where he’d descended before. His own chin angled ever so slightly, face hesitating only as it hovered momentarily before his lips too descended- covering the pair hungrily, tongue running roughly over the arched bow of his top lip.

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