Another round of fighting,  another night of lacklustre sleep...if a mere two hours worth could be referred to as such. How Roarke had continuously kept up such a lifestyle, he couldn't fathom. Even in his early mercenary days when the enemy's blade could fall across your nape at any juncture, he needed times to rest and regain his energy before he charged back into battle. He would not have been able to keep up such a momentum over a long period, indicating that whatever it was he experienced that night five years ago, it changed him in more ways than one. His body felt the exhaustion, the fatigue having sunk down into his bones, and yet....he could feel an inner energy. It burned like the low coals of a dead fire, merely keeping him upright, not warm.<br/><br/>He turned to the familiar voice with blurry eyes and a staggering stance. The sword hire knew he had heard that voice before, somewhere....the recognition sparked a dark part of his soul with emotions he didn't fully understand. Suspicion was the expression plastered on his face, but in his core the feelings of exasperation, coyness, relief, and with the touch of that trailing hand....a bubbling excitement. The breath returned to his lungs as if he had been holding it for the last half decade, an vivacity coursing through his aching muscles the lower those fingers tread. His bright gaze continued to gaze intensely at the helmed man, unable to hide his accelerated breathing.<br/><br/>Every fibre in his body screamed at him to answer that hands cupping call. Despite the shiver it sent down his spine from the cool touch of metal, his organ already was showing a positive response. The answer was clear by the way his hips involuntarily leaned forward. There was the hint of the faintest whisper at the back of his mind, like the tickling of a serpent's tongue.<br/><br/><i>Yes.<br/>
<br/>
At last, he has come.<br/>
<br/>
Release me.<br/>
<br/>
<b>Release me!</b></i><br/><br/>With a snarl, Roarke tore himself away from the taunting man before him. He rolled away to grab at the discarded weapon on the ground, and returned to the fighting stance he all too often boasted. "So you're the bastard that keeps making my life a living hell night after night." he hissed, glowering at the armoured figure. "Who the fuck are you?" after glancing down at the fact the man was hovering a feet or so off the ground, he modified his question. "WHAT the fuck are you?"<br/><br/>His grip tightened on his sword when he noticed the creatures, once again, had turned to sludge and disappeared to leave the bloody mess behind. "If you are the one responsible, then you should know already that I prefer to fight first, talk later, and only fuck when<i><b>I </b></i>want to fuck."