Who: Russell and Carrick When: Week 5, Thursday night Where: A quiet bar in Jannati City What: Desire. Status: Rating: Likely to be very NSFW...
Carrick had taken nobody else into his bed since Hermes had moved into the apartment on the waterside. It had been only a week or so - hardly any time at all, especially for one as old as the Spartan - but every night that his eremenos was away from him, Carrick was growing hungrier. Not just for blood; he had ample stores of synthetic blood drinks, and in any case he'd been trained long ago to be able to cope with thirst. What he hungered for was the feel of bare, warm skin against him; fingers digging into his back and slim legs wrapped tightly around his waist. He could have taken any one of his house slaves, but none of them interested him. Besides, he didn't want Hermes feeling as though he had been replaced when he came back home. The boy had been through enough.
He thought fondly of the witty and worldly courtesans of Ancient Greece - the Hetairai. The Spartan women who had taken up the trade had been beautiful and deadly, with tongues as sharp as the knives they carried under their thin dresses. Perhaps an evening with their modern equivalent, a courtesan or Companion was what he needed. He considered booking an evening with one of the expensive ladies of the evening who plied their trade in Jannati, but irritably changed his mind as son as he started flipping through their profiles on his phone. Tonight he was in no mood for luxury or seduction and the dance of traded witticisms before a deal was struck. He didn't want a boy either; their kisses would only make him think of Hermes. In truth, he didn't know what he wanted tonight.
The vampire's pale eyes scanned the bar a from his shadowed corner. From time to time his gaze lingered briefly on somebody, but he never made a move towards them or attempted to catch their gaze. That was, until he saw a tall, heavily muscled figure moving towards the bar with a long, loping stride. for a moment, Carrick had to think hard before the name returned to him.
Russell Wallace. The werewolf he had followed to the abandoned warehouse in the industrial quarter of the city, and with whom he had shared such a deliciously rough, lustful hour. He smiled to himself, a predatory, hungry smile. He'd found what he wanted.