Blood Cravings. [Remi]

[Fable (DELETED 5728)]

The man woke in his king sized bed. Muscled arms flexed upwards and over the top of his head as he stifled a yawn. The man was hungry a strong feeling in the pit of his stomach – an ache against his throat. He blinked several times – waking up as he looked over to his boyfriends sleeping form. Fable was a romantic. He liked to be close to Remington – when the man wasn’t hunting with his faction or working for their sire. Fable himself had a job to do, he worked for someone within Andras as well as co running the Antique store with Lee. He gave the man most of the ownership he needed to. Fable could only come out of night, and well – there was a lot of questions on that part.

The telepath bent over the shadow. Planting a kiss to the man’s temple. He looked him over, his chest didn’t move – it looked unnatural. He looked dead, but knew that wasn’t the case. He slipped out of the bed then, padding over to the bathroom in nothing but Calvin Klein boxers. Running the shower for a couple of minutes before stepping in it and getting himself clean. Moments later he was out and rubbing himself dry with a lilac towel. Leaving the tiled bathroom he went to the chest of oak drawers in the corner of the room. Slipping on a brown jumper and a pair of black cords. It wasn’t anything special. Fable liked browns, and blacks – it made him look old, vintage.

The man then made his way over to the kitchen. He grabbed a small green mug from the cabinet and pulled a blood bag from the fridge. He opened it with his teeth and put it in the mug, watching it slosh within it’s confines before shoving it in the microwave nuking it to 98.5 before pulling it out. He raised the mug to his lips and took a sip, the temperature was perfect for him.

The mug slipped from his hands though. The blood tasted horrible on his lips. He gagged a little, the mug smashed against marble flooring as he looked at the mug. The blood tasted.. well. He couldn’t describe it. He couldn’t drink it anymore – not if that was how it was going to taste.

He did notice that Remington was awake, and staring right at him. “It tastes horrible.” He said. Replying to his worried glance.

[Remington Rothfelder]

“Are you sure about this?”

“Shut up.” Remington knew that Henry was just worried about the possible consequences of their actions, but that was entirely missing the point. You didn’t make friends with Remington ******* (an improvised middle name he used when introducing himself) Rothfelder and expect to come out on the other side unscathed. Everything about him was wrong. Wrong. He only ever showed up to school about once a week, usually on Fridays. He wasn’t one of those students who could never make an appearance and still ace his tests either. His grades were in the toilet, and he was probably going to flunk Junior year. Again. Truancy would have arrested him months before but he was in and out of juvie so often, it almost seemed like picking the wrong battle. Especially when he was Rothfelder. A ******* Rothfelder.

Henry shut his mouth as was suggested. He had learned early on that trying to sound tough around Remi was a good way of making him put you in positions where you had to prove just how tough you really were. In truth, the only reason they were really still ‘friends’ was that Henry knew when to keep quiet, and somehow managed to stick by Remi’s side even through the shitty times. “I wanna get to Vegas before the old man even realizes we’re gone.”

Brilliant plan there. Getting the keys to one of his father’s prized cars had been easy, but disabling the tracking system that the man had placed in it had not been so fun. Then there had been getting money. See, he could have just swiped one of his father’s cred it or debit cards to withdraw cash, but the best case scenario there was that the older man would have known something was up immediately. Plus, they needed enough not only to pay for a hotel, but for gambling and any incidentals. Remi didn’t know how much that was, but he didn’t want the temptation of taking a card and leaving a paper trail. He’d been caught that way the last time, and he didn’t like to make the same mistake twice.

So he had broken into one of his dad’s private vaults, one of those he knew the man wasn’t going to check regularly. That was the good thing about Old Mr. Rothfelder. He was very patterned, kept to a schedule. If he was lucky, it’d be a good month before the man even knew he was missing. He’d pinched a bunch of things that looked valuable and pawned them a few days before, walked out with a few grand on him, a few grand that was stuffed into a duffel bag. He gave it a toss into the back of the expensive sports car and…

Suddenly where Henry had been standing there was Fable. He was nude except for a pair of boxers, and the immature Remington had to deal with this immediate tightening in his pants.

“What?” He asked. Then the world went white.

. . .

His eyes popped open. Fable was not in bed with him, which really wasn’t all that concerning. The two of them had their own busy lives, and really only spent time together when their schedules allowed for it. None the less, his feet were under him a second later and he padded towards the bathroom. The air was still warm and thick with humidity as he plucked up a purple towel. Purple towel. When Fable had said he’d decorate with the colour, Remington hadn’t thought he’d meant the towels. Thank god they were just in the en suite and not in the guest bathroom. He didn’t want anyone to get the wrong impression about him. Like he was one of those flamboyant types.

He dropped the thing to the ground and found his way to the kitchen where Fable appeared to be going through his evening ritual of heating blood. A brow lifted at the admission. “That’s because it isn’t fresh.” He replied. He hadn’t gotten dressed yet. A hip came to rest against the counter, arms folded over the breadth of his chest, head tilting to one side in question. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you go hunting before. Why is that?”

[Fable (DELETED 5728)]

Fable was still staring at Remington with those curious orbs of his. He looked down at his own appearance,, how he happened to be dressed and ready for the night whilst Remington had bed hair – some boxer shorts and well, a well-toned chest on show – not that he minded. His boyfriend was way hotter than he was, but he had no self-esteem issues.

Remi liked to show off his assets especially in the bedroom of all places. He grinned at the man for a moment, forgetting his issue with a blood as he just simply admired the man in all his fresh out of bed look before coming back in the real world – the world where he had to explain the blood, and the mug shattered on the ground. He coughed for a moment. Fidgeting as he made his way over to the corner of the small kitchenette. A sweeping brush and a whole roll of kitchen towel. He needed it.

After a moment of cleaning up the mess he had made he shoved the kitchen towel into the small rubbish bin, where the bloody paper now resided, the sweeping brush back in its hiding spot in the corner, behind the pantry door. Remington had caught him off guard, with his question. Fable blinked at him, trying to find the correct words to say. Why hadn’t he ever hunted? He had never done it. There was something about having someone at his mercy he just didn’t like.

“I know it’s not fresh.” She told his boyfriend with a shrug of his shoulders. He had just become so accustomed to drinking blood bags, especially when he had to go out and help with the antique store. He didn’t talk to Velly much – it was his own fault. He still had all these questions. He guess he was just ashamed to ask them, like he was already meant to know the answers. He had been a vampire for about two months already.

“I don’t hunt.” He said with a shrug of his shoulders. “The idea of harming someone-“ Fable’s head shook as he took a step, and then another step – closer to Remington. Wrapping his arms around his boyfriends waist, planting a kiss to his cheek. “It’s not me.” He finished.

[Remington Rothfelder]

While Fable busied himself with cleaning up the spilled blood and the shattered mug, Remington let his arms fold over his chest. He hung back a step, and didn’t offer to help because it allowed him the chance to see his partner in motion – which was a terribly selfish sentiment, but Remi figured if there was one person he could get away with being selfish around, it was his partner. His shoulder pressed into one wall which supported his weight, his gaze never really moving from the other man’s body the entire time, much like he was some sort of predatory cat stalking its prey. He, at any moment, could have sprung, and there wouldn’t have been a single thing that his lover could have done. If he were to say, decide to shove Fable against the counter and make out with him until his lips ached.

That knowledge was enough to stay his hand, that he had that sort of power in their relationship. Though it was evident in the way he looked at him. There was both this need to consume, and yet this deep well of willpower and restraint that forced him to act tame. But it was just an act.

A brow arched at the words. Didn’t hunt? He didn’t say anything at first, though when arms curled around his middle, his own slipped about a chest so he could tug the other man against his own. He felt lips on his cheek. It was gentle affections like that, Remington wasn’t all that good with. He was normally detached from people in a way that made it difficult at times for him to interact with people. This had only exacerbated since he had become a vampire. He had been a loner in life, but in death, he really only had any time for his faction or his family. And not even all of the components of the latter. Which had nothing to do with disliking them or thinking he was better than any of them. There were just a few members he didn’t talk to given the sheer size of the bloodline.

It wasn’t a bad thing. He didn’t harbor ill will about it, because that was who he was. A shadow.

His hands slid from a back then, down down down until they rested against hips, so that he could pin his lover to him, peering finally into his eyes. “We are not at all alike in that respect. I am very good at hurting people, Fable. Physically, emotionally. I am very good at ruining people even when I have good intentions.” He tipped his head down then so that he could let his forehead rest against his lover’s, their lips hovering a short distance apart. He didn’t complete the kiss, but it was right there for the taking if the other man wanted it. “I like to hunt. I like it a lot, you should come with me and get your hands dirty. You might even enjoy it, the taste of real blood and not that refrigerated crap.”

[Fable (DELETED 5728)]

He looked at his lover with a curious glance, way to familiar with how his body curved into the males, how they fit like two pieces of a puzzle. Cute. The man’s hands slipped to his own waist as Fable himself let himself lean against Remi, the scent of contraband filled the air. Teasing him with the scent of blood as he thought about grabbing another bag from the fridge and drinking it solely for the nourishment, not the taste – or pleasure he used to get from it. When Remington mentioned going hunting with him, getting his hands dirty. He didn’t say anything. His lips that were usually quite smiley, were straight – frowning almost. The idea of hunting, shedding blood seemed terrifying.

“What if I hurt someone, kill someone?” He shook his head. “Get myself in a position, that you – and Velly will need to kill me. I’ve seen the Crownet. Read the Obituaries.” Fable was speaking fast now, thinking of the negatives – none of the positives of drinking fresh blood from the vein. The man didn’t have the strength most vampires had when they drank from the vein. It kept him nourished, fed – but it didn’t give him strength. He was still tired early – and usually asleep before dawn.

Though, the telepath thought about the words Fable had spoken before – pinned against his lover’s side he laughed. His chest rumbled against Remi’s bare chest as he shook his head. His free hand raising to rub against the stubble of his own chin. “I highly doubt you’d hurt me.” Though he could be wrong, he was 99% sure the man had no ill intent towards Fable. He lifted his head then, to look at his lover. He was so close, now he could almost kiss him. Fable pushed his head forward a little bit and then his lips connected with Remi’s. It was lingering, passionate filled with love. An emotion he usually kept for Remington, and no one else. There was Velly – but she was his sire.

He pulled back after a minute or so, and smiled at the man. “If you really want to hunt, then let’s do it. I’m just letting you know, I’ve never done it before.” He waggled a finger at his boyfriend with a lustful smirk on his lips.

[Remington Rothfelder]

The body pressed against his own was firm, though Remington was built larger in stature. The weight of the muscle and flesh against his own was pleasant. Remi was not the type of person who did well with a lot of people, or in crowds. He normally disliked affection, and the list of people allowed to show it to him was tiny. For those who could share that experience with him though, the physical contact itself was an anchor of sorts for the Shadow. It was the type of thing that could pull him out of rage or intensify it. He was detached from emotion just enough that the act of feeling another person had the power to bridge the gap between skin and mind.

His hands laid against a lower back so that he could peer into eyes. “If you hunt, you will hurt someone. That is something you need to accept immediately. You may kill someone. If you do, we will cover it up, because that is what we do. You may be immersed in the world of humans because of your business, but you are not, by any means, a human.” He began even as he held that gaze. It was a cold way to look at thing perhaps, but Remi knew all too well how violent a species mankind was. Vampires were just more predatory versions of that. He had never been a killer before his turning, but afterwards – well he had never been too fond of the human masses. 90% of the world could have been exterminated with very little feeling on his part.

“And I will make sure you do not leave behind evidence when we hunt together. If you are not confident in your abilities to hunt alone, then don’t.“ He left it at that, because Remi cared about Fable, but that wasn’t going to stop him from killing the man if he, for example, accrued several violation reports against him. Death for their kind was not permanent. ‘Death’, really wasn’t anything other than a time out in some dark corner. The body might have been weakened for a short time, but the mind? That was something that only had the power to go stronger with adversity. Maybe it wasn’t very romantic of him, but Fable going to the realm was a lot better than humans finding out about their species, forcing them outside of Harper Rock, and him dying a true and permanent death.

The kiss was drawn out after that, this flower that budded and then bloomed in its intensity until, when it ended, Remington offered a grunt. He needed to get dressed before he got ideas about not going out at all, so he pressed a kiss to his lover’s forehead and pulled away, nodding to the bedroom. “Come watch me do the opposite of a strip?” He asked before turning on a heel, marching his way towards a closet.

“A first timer? Well then we’ll have to pick somewhere fun. Maybe a secluded place with a few people in case we need some practice. You know anywhere like that?” He asked, glancing over a shoulder before tugging a pair of jeans on and up over his hips, fastening and zipping them into place.

[Fable (DELETED 5728)]

Remington and Fable were two completely different men they had completely different outlooks on life, that much was clear – what Fable didn’t understand was why two opposites seemed to be attracted to one another. The way Remington spoke, it seemed he didn’t give a toss about the life of a human. Whereas Fable did care. More than he should of really considering from what his boyfriend was saying that humans were cattle. A hunt. A hunt to kill, to drink. Fable was immersed in his own thoughts that he wasn’t paying much attention to anything else around – not even Remington. He was too busy thinking about how much it would break him if he did end up killing someone, Fable was a pacifist. He thought too much of humans, he thought of them as potential customers – something to bring in the money at the end of the day. He shuddered.

“I know I am not a human.” Fable said, he didn’t snap – like he did want to in that second. His orbs looked directly at Remington. “I know..” He said again, this time repeating it to himself, it was after he mentioned it again that he realised he was a vampire, much like Velly and Remington. He had been having a hard time coming to terms with it – he had fangs, he had the ability to kill if he wanted to, he just didn’t accept it. He couldn’t. He knew if he accepted the fact that he really was a creature of the night he would have to give his business up and he didn’t feel ready to do that, not yet at least.

He was distracted then when Remi brought him back – asking him to come watch him do the opposite of strip. He laughed a little, his features softened and he nodded padding out of the kitchen to follow Remington to the bedroom. The bed unmade and creased as his eyes lingered there, an urge to make it filled him. Fable was the type of person who liked clean and tidy. He had an OCD of sorts. How Remi actually dealt with that side of him, he’d never know.

When Remi was done getting dressed Fable gave his nod of approval. “I would say a club, but isn’t that a bit too risky?” Truth was Fable didn’t know – why would he. He hadn’t gone out of his way to look for places to hunt because that was just it – he didn’t.

[Remington Rothfelder]

He layered clothing because it was winter, though he would have been equally comfortable going outside nude in the freezing. He didn’t have to worry about his body temperature or catching hypothermia, but there were certain appearances that needed to be upheld. Looking human was important for someone like him. Normally when he went hunting, he did so alone, and had the benefit of being able to blend into the shadows perfectly. He was a silent hunter who had never been caught feeding, not even when he’d been badly injured. Why some people had issue with it, he would never understand. He didn’t really have that option if he was going out with Fable, which was why, instead of grabbing his enormous sword, he opted for a boot sheathed knife and a gun that could be holstered under his jacket without being too noticeable.

He turned to face the other man once he was settled, and noticed Fable’s attention on the bed. That was not at all where it belonged. He almost cleared his throat as if to say ‘focus on me, not the messy bed’ but he decided against it. He wasn’t one of those people who begged for attention. On the contrary, he was about as opposite an attention whore as there could possibly be, to the effect that most people did not know he was there until he started to speak his mind. But he was just the kind of guy who didn’t believe in saying something unless it added to the weight of a conversation. He didn’t really do idle chatter. None the less, he was always present in one form or another for the important things.

The Tytonidae Anniversary party. He’d considered inviting Fable, since it was open to invitation, but the man always seemed so busy with work. He'd also never shown interest in the gang.

“Let’s go.” He said. He would decide where they would end up, though he doubted it would be a club. His arm curled around the other man’s middle as he dragged him towards the door. Like the gentleman he was, he pulled the entry open to offer Fable a way out and then joined him in the hall. “There are a few abandoned buildings where druggies and bums like to hang out. Or we could clean up the slums some. Even with all the cops there, the crack den seems to be a great place. Everyone is always so baked out of their mind.”

The elevator ride down was quiet, but neither of them were particularly talkative. So Remi decided to break character a little bit and drum up a conversation that they’d never really had before. Because he didn’t know Fable all that well beyond his interest in history and antiques. He knew that the man had parents that had died, but Remington had never really explained what his own issues with his family were. “Did you know I have a criminal record in the States?” Great ice breaker there. He didn’t follow it up with anything, just let it hang in the air as they exited the lobby that led out into the Quarantine Zone.

[Fable (DELETED 5728)]

Fable stood there, watching his other half for a moment. Inquisitive blue eyes stared. He had inherited his eyes from his mother, she had such pretty doe eyes that anyone could fall for. His father did. How adorable it was. The way they held each other when he was but a child made him jealous, they were in love, very much in love even until the very end. Fable closed his eyes in remembrance of her; he could even smell her perfume. She always wore the latest things. Her hair a brilliant golden colour, it always reminded him of the sun. A moment later he was back to reality, remembering his parents was always a hard thing – left a lump in his throat. He blinked his lashes astray of a few tears, a sore spot for the Telepath and he was smiling at Remington. Keeping his mind reigned in, settled.

“Yes, Lets go.” He told him as he slowly followed Remington out, the shadow was the perfect gentleman holding the door open for him. The man almost gave him a kiss there and then for his kind service, but would keep it for later on. He may need more then, he was about to do the one thing he feared the most. To hunt, his hands lifted to his collar as he pulled on it, moving it from left to right, a nervous habit he had taken recently.

Remi offered the option of bums and druggies, that didn’t seem so bad at least it wasn’t taking someone important off the streets. Someone who say, had a family to go home too, or anyone else really. Fable eased and slipped into the Elevator his elbows stretched backwards to rest against the metallic pole that ran from one side of the elevator, to the other. The ride was silent for a moment. Then conversation was sparked. Fable blinked for a moment, making sure he heard the shadow correctly. A criminal record? He was shocked.

“How?” He asked casually as they both stepped out of the lift a moment later and was slipping past the zombies in the lobby until they were out in the fresh of the night, he paused and looked at his partner. “What did you do?” He turned his head to the sewer grate then to the river. “Can you walk on water, by any chance?” He asked casually, like it was something you ask anyone really. He laughed a little before turning his head back to Remi.

[Remington Rothfelder]

There was this unease in the pit of his stomach, which was odd for Remington, because he never lacked in confidence. Maybe brains, and maybe kindness, but he never lacked bravado. So where did it come from? Was it some sort of premonition about what the night was to bring? He grunted when he realized that it was not going away, as if it were a sensation caught in his throat and he thought he might hack it up like phlegm. Of course, that did nothing to assuage his worries, and he wondered if, if something bad did happen – what would the result be? He was certain he could take care of himself, and he knew that he was protective of Fable. But if they were, for example attacked, would he actually be able to do anything to help the man?

Or would Fable be able to do what was needed to defend himself?

That was a startling realization right there. He had grown very used to Tytonidae having his back. More important than that, he knew that the members were a unit, a team. They did not need him, but accepted him. Most of them could and had taken hits in the line of duty. He knew, as soon as he entered into a war room with them that they were able to take care of themselves, and that was a big part of why he felt so comfortable in the position of protecting them. They were his responsibility, but they were not his chore. Not his burden. A team.

Could Fable stand up against that? Could he hold his own in a fight? Another knot right there in his gut.

“I was younger. I have a long record actually, but my father was very wealthy, so I never really had to worry much about anything other than parole. I walked a lot more than I should have, and part of my sheet was expunged because almost all of it happened when I was under age.” A shrug then. It was the past. He may have been, in small ways, defined by the things he had done, but he had changed a lot in the decade since then. He had channeled his rage at the world into doing something constructive. Probably would have ended up a hardened criminal if not for his love for fighting as an art form. He had turned his body into a canvas in more ways than one. Tattoos. Muscles. Reflex memory. Those things were all deliberate and carefully honed over time.

“Yes, I can. I can carry you across if you want.” He offered, even as he looked across the river in the direction of Gullsborough station. Gangland would have been a good option a few months before, before Bancroft had come into power. But with the number of cops out and about, it was just impractical. So maybe the abandoned buildings near the water treatment center to the south east of the city.