Here We Go Again [Jeri]

[Baxley]

This is much better, Baxley thought as he shifted his grip on his knife and kneeled forward on the tree he had perched himself in for the moment while he kept eyes on his mark. A good hunt was just what he needed to get his mind off of things and people. Get his blood pumping and his mind focused. It was an excellent way to get him concentrating on his task at hand instead of worrying over frivolous things that most likely wouldn't amount to anything.

So what if Jericho was pissed off at him for no reason at all? What did Baxley care about it? A scowl settled over his face under his mask as he shifted and then abruptly grimaced as he pushed to much weight over his broken wrist again. It might have been a smarter idea to wait until after his wrist had healed fully before going out to hunt again. He eyed the Nivali below with a critical eye. It was a healthy male and look to be in decent physical condition. There was no way it would go down without a fight and those vermin could be a handful at times. He decided that, yes, it would have been smarter to wait. Oh well, he was already here he might as well continue on. A good fight might help him in the long run.

Easing his way back into the shadows and from there dropping from the branches down to the ground below out of sight of the Nivali scavenging around. He'd wait until the night when the Nivali would rest and give him an element of surprise to catch the beast off guard. Until then he'd return back to his makeshift camp a ways back to rest and eat. Baxley wasn't entirely sure what the beast wanted way out here, but with the creature's family camp not far away they wouldn't be moving for at least a little while. Even if they did he had all the time in the world to track them down. Not that he'd need it.

The forest was a dangerous place to be especially on one's own so he kept his hand on his knife the entire way. Green eyes flickering restlessly over every little noise that was made. Call him paranoid if you wanted to, but something just didn't feel right to the man right now. He felt like he was being watched and scrutinized by some unseen shadowy figure. It left a bad taste in his mouth and he sped up his steps. Dodging around trees and bushes around the edge of the forest trying to get back to his camp he left on the outside without it seeming like he was being a paranoid bastard. It was probably just his mind playing tricks on him again.

(We're impatient. Also its in Caedere.)

[Obelisk]

His nature was a volatile one.

Emotions often got the better of Jericho; he’d give into his anger, follow through with his spite, and often the results were violent. Revenge killings were animalistic and brutal, and though Jericho liked to think of his self as a gentleman’s assassin (a practitioner of the finer arts involved with the occupation), those were aspirations he did not always live up to. Revenge, righting wrongs done against him; He poured far too much energy in protecting his delicate ego. If his enemies knew just how fragile Jericho’s sense of pride was, the furious light of his existence could easily be snuffed out.

Fortunately for Jericho, the man’s skills in cloaking his intentions and emotions were incredible. This astuteness of skill could often disguise his intentions from his own conscious mind. His honest desires were played out in abstract dreams, completely nonsensical and tinged with red—a color of passion, life, fury. The waking world came as a knife, slicing him free from slumber and his dreams bled away, and with them any hope of understanding. Frustration built, boiled over, and was summarily pressed down into a compact, cold blackness that ate away at his gut.

For three months he had dealt with these feelings. For three months he had failed to understand them. The threads of his sanity had frayed, allowing odd and horrible thoughts to slip through. He had taken on cheap jobs in a desperate bid to slake those thoughts, but nothing could quench the fire of his self-righteous rage.

Rules had been broken and the infraction had led to this. He had slipped into the comfort of his rogue persona, the one that allowed him to move without sound and to strike swift and without mercy. Silvereye was buzzing with rumors as to where Jericho, purveyor of exotic goods and owner of a popular store, had gone to. They imagined that he, as many rich men did, had slipped away to enjoy an unannounced vacation. The gossip hounds had no way of knowing that Jericho had willingly slipped back into the world’s underbelly, becoming Leewe, wolf. He had stalked the canals of murder and conspiracy for the better part of a month.

The last he had seen Baxley, Jericho had come off as chillingly aloof, all but ignoring the man at the docks as he carried on with other business. His cold exterior had masked the inferno within that had erupted upon sight of the other man. It had felt, then, as some sort of affirmation to a theory Jericho wasn’t even aware he had.

Stalking through the night and tailing a murderer without a contract or pay in mind had not been his plan. He had been scoping out the local town, searching for leads to close in on his latest mark, when a familiar head of red hair slipped by. In the instant he realized the man’s indentify, the wolf’s focus shifted onto different prey. It was instinctual and impossible to ignore. He felt murderous.

Garbed completely in black, Jericho’s body melted into the shadows of the forest. He moved with predatory grace, slow, deliberate, watching and waiting for the perfect moment to attack. His head was completely wrapped in black cloth, allowing only for a sliver to allow his single eye sight. He thought about how he’d do it, how he’d finally be rid of the confusing miasma of thought and emotion clouding his judgment, plaguing his days and infesting his nights. A knife to the throat would be quick. A blade to the stomach would prolong the death and ensure an agonizing fade. The tree line grew thicker; the wolf closed the distance.

He lunged.

Baxley would find himself pressed against a tree with a solid, heavy body holding his in place. A blade just kissed against his neck, gleaming ghoulishly in the faint light streaming through the canopy. The hand that held the blade shivered in a mixture of rage an uncertainty. The slightest bit of pressure and it would be all over. The hand pulled back. The knife’s point was pointed directly towards Baxley’s throat. It careened forward and--

Struck deeply into the wood of the tree. Hands tugged Baxley’s mask open and away. His covered face settled into the crook of the man’s neck and he inhaled deeply, savoring the scent. Gloved fingers ran reverently down Baxley’s cheekbones and jaw, recapturing a memory made three months ago and left to rot until only pieces remained.

[Baxley]

Baxley held no illusions of what would happen to his life and career if his identity became know to the world. It was not something he willingly thought about for to long, but his traitorous mind never would let him forget just how much was on the line doing such risky business. Baxley was under no debilitating thoughts that he was invincible. To the world he was a cold blooded murderer and that's all they needed to believe to execute him if given half a chance at it, and even he would admit he probably did deserve it in the long run. It didn't mean he wouldn't go down without a fight though. If it came to it he'd fight tooth and nail to defend himself no matter who was sent out for his throat. He knew this and so he had learned to embrace his slight paranoia that had built up long ago. It had saved his life more than once.

When the inkling feeling of being watched intensified to a near unbearable level he had subtly started to pull his blade out into the open where he could use it if needed. If it was just being paranoid then Baxley would feel silly about it later on when his mind wasn't furiously yelling at him that he needed to bolt out of there right now. Baxley would look back at this and kick himself for not listening to his mind. Instead he abruptly found the wind knocked out of his body as a similarly dark dressed figure slammed into him, forcing him into a tree and trapping his knife wielding hand between Baxley's own body and the rough bark. Instinctively he struggled against the body pinning him, trying to throw it off or dislodge it enough that he could free his good hand.

The feeling of steel pressing ever so lightly yet threateningly against his skin froze his movements however, and he ended up swallowing and finally trying to focus on the body pinning him. Eyes widened near comically behind his goggles then shut tightly, refusing to watch as that knife pulled away from his skin and shifted to what Baxley knew to be a killing blow. He swallowed again and held his breath as his heartbeat thundered in his ears. So this was how it would end then. Dead in the forest to an assassin's blade without witnesses or anyone to mourn him.

Would anyone even care if he were to die?

Baxley would swear he felt the air moving as that blade came careening towards him. Body tensing and then freezing as instead of the feeling of a knife to his throat he heard the thunk as it struck deeply into wood near his head. Eyes opened in disbelief, wondering if the man was really that pathetic at hitting a target up close. Only suddenly hands grabbed at his mask and yanked at it, tearing it away from his mouth harshly and a head buried itself into the crook of his neck. Baxley nearly choked at the far too intimate feeling in a tense situation like this should have been. Shock froze him for a moment, to far gone to retaliate when the man seemed to fucking nuzzle against his throat.

Those hands on his face and jaw shocked him into action. Bucking up hard against the body still holding him in place and forcefully pulling his hand and knife from his back. Ignoring the shooting pain in his broken wrist he would grab at his unknown assailant by the jaw and force his head up and away from his neck. Knife posed to strike out, an ugly scowl decorating his handsome face. He didn't know what the hell was going on but he was damn sure about to find out.

"What the fuck are yo--" Baxley froze again as he finally got a good look at the covered man. Though he couldn't see his face, from what he could see he had a pretty damn good idea of who his attacker was now. His breath was robbed from his body as he stared in complete shock at the man. Knife was still held tightly in the one hand, but the other released his jaw and jerked back like he had been stung. He blinked dumbly and opened his mouth to speak, but closed it a moment later. To stunned to form coherent words or even think.

Reaching up numbly to grab the cloth covering the man's face and tug at it. Baxley had to know for sure if this was him or not. He couldn't believe it until he saw it for himself and would have to face the truth. If this was really Jericho who had attacked him like that... It wasn't unlikely that he had a new contract out for his head. Would Jericho have been pissed off at him that much to agree to it? He hadn't thought that he had fucked up that badly, but with Jericho he never could tell. If Jericho had agreed to kill him... or at least his cover for when he hunted.

Something churned uneasily in his stomach as those thoughts danced mercilessly in his mind, taunting him. This was why he disliked people getting close to him. When people got close to him they learned things he didn't want anyone knowing. They could find out things about him that people would pay fortunes for if someone wanted it badly enough. Baxley wasn't foolish enough to think that, if for the right price, his 'friends' wouldn't betray him. It was how the world worked and turned and it wouldn't stop for him.

[Obelisk]

Baxley struggled against him and the wolf thought, yes, he should be afraid. He had committed horrible crimes against men who chose to cross him. For stealing one of his belongings, Jericho had taken a man’s hand in retribution. For snitching on him and forfeiting his whereabouts to his enemies, Jericho had cut a man’s tongue out. His world was one of absolutes. There was very little grey area where his pride was involved and yet he found his self at odds with his own desires. He could kill this man and consider it an act of retribution, a way of restoring his personal world to balance – it had been off kilter ever since that night and he’d been sliding and grasping for solid footing ever since.

The knife jutted out from the tree, stark evidence of the wolf’s indecision.

His indecision was seized as an opportunity and Baxley struggled, but Jericho was an unmoving, solid force. He seemed inhuman, impossible and literally shaking with the promise of threat and violence. But that threat was reigned in, pulled back and twisted, then exhibited in an odd show of familiarity and affection. The man who had wielded the blade that could have ended Baxley’s life was touching him, caressing him, with a gentleness usually reserved for nervous youths. There was no nervousness here, however, and this coolness extended outward to the point he did not even react when Baxley brandished his weapon.

Jericho growled against the shove but relented enough to afford adequate distance so that when Baxley tugged his mask away, his features were in focus. Black cloth fell away to reveal an expressionless face, unreadable, and strange. He looked tired, haggard, more the stray dog than the proud wolf. His beard was gone and replaced with two days worth of stubble. The feral quality extended and concentrated in his single eye, which burned with every emotion his facial expression denied.

For a tense and ominous moment, Jericho stared back at Baxley, giving up nothing. He did not think that his actions would spur thoughts of paranoia and betrayal within his colleague’s mind but had he been aware, he would have reveled in the knowledge. The frozen span of time broke when Jericho’s hand shot out and secured around Baxley’s good wrist. Gloved fingers dug into flesh and bone then twisted, aiming to disarm the man. His other hand secured around Baxley’s jaw and Jericho stared at him with such ferocity, it seemed as if he was ready to affirm Baxley’s suspicions. He said nothing and leaned forward. Baxley would feel something hot and wet against his bottom lip –Jericho’s tongue—before fingers brutally pressed into points on his jaw that would force his mouth open.

It was a vicious at first, more teeth than anything, but it slowed and Jericho’s tongue languidly dipped inside Baxley’s mouth, tasting, exploring. His fingers had slipped inside to insure, should Baxley choose to bite down, Jericho’s tongue would be spared any damage. The slow poison of the kiss was juxtaposed against the fierce way he held onto Baxley, grip unfaltering and dangerous. He was a predator toying with his prey, perhaps, as Jericho had given no indication that he was not there to fulfill a contract.

And maybe a contract would have made more sense than this – whatever the hell he was doing.

From the corner of his eye, he saw the handle of his knife and it mocked him and his corrupted resolve. Not so much the dangerous wolf. More the abandoned dog desperate for its long-lost master’s affection. And he would have it, one way or the other.

[Baxley]

The cloth covering fell away and Baxley was left staring numbly at what he had already known to be true, but had refused to admit without absolute evidence. That evidence stared him back in the face with such a ferocity Baxley really thought he was going to die this day. Jericho looked horrible even to him, haggard, and tired, but that eye burned as it stared at Baxley in a way he had never been on the receiving end of. If he were a weaker man Baxley might have flinched and dropped his eyes so he wouldn't have to stare at that eye. As it was the shock or his own stubborn nature kept his dark gaze glued to the eye.

His mind was a chaotic maze of dark thoughts of betrayal and death, something he was sure he was going to meet today with the way things were going. Those thoughts were only reaffirmed when Jericho's gloved hand grabbed his wrist and twisted violently making him hiss painfully and lose his grip on his knife. Letting it slip through his fingers and fall to the ground with a thud to be lost among the forest floor and leaving him defenseless against a man who knew him nearly as well as he knew himself. The other hand latched onto his jaw, holding it in a not so painful as annoying grip and making it so he couldn't talk, not that he could have even if he was free to do so.

Baxley's mind finally started to turn and catch up to what was going on, but even when it caught up it still made no sense to him. If Jericho really did have a contract that required Baxley's death then why wasn't he dead already? It made no sense. Neither did what Jericho decided was the next course of action, forcing his mouth open and kissing him.

He grunted his surprise and pain when Jericho's mouth covered his viciously, biting at his lips and seeming to try and devour Baxley more than kiss him. Baxley could do little more than stare dumbly foreword and hiss painfully when that wicked mouth nipped open his lips to the point he could begin to taste his own blood. When it slowed up more and Jericho pulled it back into something slower and softer Baxley could finally stir and pour something more than lax acceptance into the kiss. Sucking skillfully at his tongue and the fingers prying his mouth open. If it weren't the situation he was in he could have lost himself in that kiss.

Jericho was kissing him. For three months he had been left to think and dream about those lips and that body pressing up against him. Thinking that it was a one shot thing from the threat Jericho had then issued the next day about their night together. He wasn't the mention it at all lest he wanted their business together to end, and he hadn't. Not a single word was ever mentioned since then. Baxley was a big boy. He could get over things without throwing a tantrum like a spoiled child over something he wanted. That wasn't to say it didn't hurt and that he didn't want it, because he did. He very much wanted it.

Just not while the thought that he was going to die was hovering over his head.

That grim reminder was enough cause for Baxley to start struggling again. Jerking his head away from Jericho's tempting lips and shaking it, biting down if he had to, trying to get those fingers out of his mouth. The man was trying to distract him and it had worked for a time. Now Baxley wanted answers. "What the fuck are you doing?"

[Obelisk]

Baxley’s response to the kiss elicited a pleased growl from Jericho, but the spell of affection broke. Baxley snapped his head aside, Jericho was robbed of that contact, that taste, and a bewildered anger burst inside his chest. His face twisted into an ugly snarl when teeth crushed against his fingers and he pulled them free then repositioned his hand around Baxley’s neck. It was not enough pressure to choke the man, but enough to suggest the act. Jericho was not sure why he was holding back, or why his fingers thrummed against the man’s throat in circular caresses.

So easy to end it now. Snap his neck. Choke the life out of him.

Didn’t want to. Couldn’t. Too valuable. He’d never forgive himself.

So angry. Why?

Three months. Without a word.


His thoughts were a harried fragmented mess. Jericho held onto Baxley, single eye zipping over the man’s features as his mind was sent reeling. He had weathered those feelings for months, pushed them aside and swallowed them. This night they had erupted and his head was full of their howling demons.

What the fuck are you doing?

Baxley’s heated question was enough to break Jericho from his trance. His head snapped up and that wild eye fixed onto Baxley’s. There was more clarity there, a sense of acknowledgement, but he was still far gone, lost in the violent insanity poisoning his blood. His lips upturned and twitched; a silent snarl. The answer to the question was Jericho had no idea what he was doing. This was instinctual and not planned out in the least. He had not expected to be here, doing this. There was a mark with a bounty on his head running around that Jericho needed to collect on.

But he was here, stalking and manhandling an associate in the woods.Very uncouth of you, his voice of reason chided. To which Jericho responded by putting more pressure on Baxley’s throat.

“Three months,” He rumbled lowly, avoiding the question entirely. “Three months.” This was said as if driving a point home, though the ‘point’ had yet to be made. Jericho fell to tense silence, glaring at Baxley. It appeared he was waiting for an answer, an explanation or excuse to a grievance committed against him. It was not as if Baxley had abandoned him. Jericho had laid out the rules after that night. He had been the one to steer things in this directions.

He had not expected the consequences to hit him so hard or so personally.

And now Baxley was dealing with the fallout.

[Baxley]

That hand wrapped around his neck in a grip that triggered a memory from the dark parts of his mind. Back to that night, when Jericho had started all of this by that stupid little kiss. He had wrapped his hands around Baxley's neck just like this making breathing annoying but not difficult, yet. If given any reason it would become difficult as he very well knew. He swallowed reflexively and stared defiantly at the man though he knew that to be a foolish action.

Nothing happened. Jericho just glared and snarled furiously at him like this entire mess was entirely Baxley's fault. Like Jericho wasn't the one who had jumped him and started manhandling him and threatening to choke him to death. No, apparently Jericho wanted to blame it all on Baxley.

Why of course none of it could be Jericho's fault, that was just a silly idea!

Baxley felt the stirring of anger gripping at him pushing him into a more volatile state of mind. Jericho was being strange and uncooperative (Though that seemed to be typical Jericho.) and it was starting to get annoying. Teeth were bared back at Jericho and a furiously thrashing tail pinned between Baxley and the tree fluffed up in his irritation. If this bastard thought he could blame it all on Baxley...

Baxley pushed his body against Jericho's at the man's irritating response. It solved nothing, yet he acted as if he expected Baxley to answer. "Jericho...." Green eyes narrowed dangerously at the out of his mind man warning him not so subtly that he was getting tired of playing guessing games. "Three months. On a trip after you fled from me." He would remind the man tensely, flicking his eyes away from that burning green one.

An angry red flush creeping up his face as memories came unbidden of the morning after. Baxley would rather not remember that next day when Jericho had all but fled from his house. Probably ashamed and furious at what they had did. They had broken one of his damn rules after all. Whether it was because they had broken a rule or because it was Baxley he didn't know and probably didn't want to know.

The red head raised his broke wrist and wrapped his fingers securely around his wrist of the hand holding his throat, tugging at it as best he could with the pain throbbing. "Let. Me. Go." If Jericho was here to kill him then he would rather the man just hurry the fuck up and do it. Not torture him like this.

[Obelisk]

“Fled?” He repeated, spitting out the word as if it was something vile and reprehensible. Jericho wasn’t the one who had hopped aboard an airship to sail off on a merry little adventure that had lasted for three fucking months. That was a quarter of a year. A quarter of a year in his life spent waiting and wondering. Thoughts had a way of running off and creating fantastical stories. Baxley had left for good. Baxley was off cavorting with whores and lesser people that had no right to—

He cut off that thought at its head.

Baxley was dead, eaten by some sort of beast before Jericho had the chance to kill him. Imagination was a terrible thing. When he had seen Baxley at the docks, whole and alive, Jericho had wanted so much to, right there and then, rip him apart. Pull him close. Kill him. Kiss him. Taste him. Kill him--

“Shut up.” The demand was directed towards his own thoughts as well as Baxley. Jericho noticed that something was off. Baxley wasn’t putting up as much fight as he knew the man capable of. He recalled the push against his jaw, the shallow force behind it. His hand dropped from Baxley’s throat and secured around his broken wrist. A cursory feel affirmed Jericho’s suspicions. “You’re taking this whole ‘limp-wristed’ deal a bit too literally, don’t you think?” His lips pulled back and he smiled widely, but there was nothing handsome or charming about the expression. All teeth, all cruelty. His grip tightened, twisted, and pulled healing bones out of place. He could feel them grinding, hell, he thought he could hear bone grating on bone.

He’d use the flood of pain to his advantage. With Baxley distracted by the agony sparking out from his wrist, Jericho tugged him away from the tree and spun him around before smashing him against the trunk again. He twisted Baxley’s arm around his back and used his body as means to keep the man in place. The hardened leather of his body armor pressed against Baxley and nothing about the way Jericho felt was pliant or human.

A horrible smirk was just out of Baxley’s vision; hot breath drifted against his ear.

“I think you should apologize.” The voice was dark but smooth, a mockery of Jericho’s usual charismatic drawl. Again, as if in a willful bid to further infuriate and confuse the man, Jericho issued a tantalizing, if firm, caress over Baxley’s abdomen. It started at his beltline and moved up until his palm was pressed firmly over the left side of Baxley’s chest. Even through the layers of fabric, Jericho could feel the quickened beat of his heart.

He smiled.

[Baxley]

"Yes, fled. You fucking ran like a coward. Refused to talk about it. Refused to face me and come to terms with what we did. Instead you forbid me to speak about it and fled, Jericho." Baxley snarled out the truth as he saw it to the man, swinging his dark gaze back to Jericho's eye. The man would have to face the truth sooner or later that Baxley wasn't the only one to blame for this mess. Right now it wouldn't do any good though as Baxley could see that glazed look in his eye. He wasn't even paying Baxley a of attention.

Baxley glared hotly at the man and snarled. Whatever the man was playing wouldn't work on him. He opened his mouth to fire off a smart ass retort to being shut up, but abruptly slammed his mouth shut and winced. Ending up hissing instead that tapered off into a whine as that curious feel of his wrist shot a throbbing pain signal straight to his brain. Wait. What was he doing...? "Oh no. No, no, don't you fucking dare you basta--aaaaahhh!"

If he had had his other arm free he would have punched Jericho in his smiling face and then stabbed his one good eye out. As it were tears blurred his vision and a pained scream tore through his throat, body trying to fold in on itself but stopped by Jericho's solid body pressed against his. It ended up with him half leaning on the man trying to take in painful gasps of air and trying to to scream again as that grip tightened harder against his wrist. Fucking up what had been healing nicely and making him whine painfully against Jericho's shoulder.

He shuddered and gasped as his body was roughly pushed and shoved around. Winded and cheek scratching painfully against the wood trying to get his bearings back. This wasn't something he was used to by a long shot. Didn't know how to act, or what to do. He managed to gasp out a shakey, "Fuck. You."

Maybe, just maybe, that wasn't the smartest idea he had ever had.

His heartbeat thundered loudly. Far to loudly to him, drowning out all other sounds besides it and the hot breath teasing his ear. The hand pressing and caressing his body felt good in all the wrong ways. It was like a lover's caress and that did not fit in the current puzzle, but Jericho seemed intent on making his entire mind fucked up right now so perhaps it did and he just couldn't see it. This wasn't something he had ever experienced before, and if he were truthful it was exciting and terrifying.

He really didn't want to think about why it was exciting.

"I'm not apologizing for you being an asshole." Again, maybe that wasn't such a good idea. He seemed to be having a lot of those flawed ideas lately, especially when it concerned a certain brown and silver haired man. Really though he was extremely confused and out of his comfort zone. He didn't know what was going on or why, how he should react or not react, he knew nothing right now. Feeling strangely like a fish out of water in this situation.