Burn [Sho and Flaming Dead Man]
<h1 id="title">Elliquiy Role Playing Forums</h1>
		<h2 id="linktree">Play-By-Post: Bondage, D/s, S&amp;M =&gt; Bondage: Human Solos =&gt; Topic started by: Sho on 08-09-2010, 02:48:06</h2>
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				Title: <strong>Burn [Sho and Flaming Dead Man]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sho</strong> on <strong>08-09-2010, 02:48:06</strong>
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				It was going to be a long day. First there had been the numbers to crunch - his father had shoved them off onto him, as always, saying that he was better with numbers in the first place. He had spent hours pouring over the thick papers, all heavily coded to stop cops from figuring out what drugs they were smuggling out and what money they were lending or placing in bets, trying to figure out who was past due and who wasn't. The ones that were just barely past due got a warning - maybe a bit of blood on their doorstep, a punctured tire, something. Something that they would recognize. Sometimes all it took was a little sign to get someone to pay up, and that always made Quinn's day a bit easier.<br><br>Then there were the ones who <em>weren't</em> so easy. The ones who borrowed and refused the pay, the ones who got so behind that they had to be brought in and taught a lesson. Sometimes the ones who, even after being taught a lesson, had to be killed.<br><br>That was the case today.<br><br>Mr. Weston, a small furniture store owner, had borrowed money from them. He had borrowed a bit of money to pay of debts to another gang and then he'd gone and gotten himself so deeply into debt that the two gangs ended up having to decide who would kill him - and it might as well be sooner than later, before he got the chance to spend the last of his savings and the gangs couldn't get their hands on anything to recoup their losses.<br><br>Mr. Nabokov, Quinn's father, had been rather insistent that they see the man dead and punished by the end of the day.<br><br>Quinn would have loved to have just shot him and been done with it. Pain brought up some unpleasant things for him - a terrible, heady mixture of fear and lust and disgust, all rolled together, so that he didn't know whether he was looking at something beautiful or terrible. <br><br>He stood up, washed his hands in the small bathroom in his apartment, brushed his hair back. He had on slim-cut white pants, made of a neat, expensive linen, and an even more expensive navy shirt, tucked in, all neatly belted. He was immaculately coiffed, or had been at the beginning of the day, though by then his hair was falling out of place a bit. He was lucky - with very little effort, he managed to look pulled together, or at least handsomely dishevelled.<br><br>Wrinkling his nose slightly, he remembered that he'd be meeting his new bodyguard today, someone who could help do the more unpleasant tasks of torture and general punishment, like beatings. Quinn preferred not to do it himself.<br><br>He liked to stick to his books, keep matters like pain and pleasure as far away from his mind as he could.<br><br>He paused in the mirror to check himself - not even noticing his reflection; not really. <br><br>His father, Nabokov, had been a drug-and-arms dealer in Russia, before moving to Japan for a brief stint. There he had met Megumi Iwamura, who became Megumi Nabokov. She bore him and died within a year of it, of a heavy fever, leaving only her son to mark her brief, fleeting presence on the earth. She had been a shockingly beautiful woman and Quinn had inherited that from her - the odd, pale green eyes of his father hinted that his mother too may have been half-European - but it was offset by the exotic cheekbones and wide, almond-shaped eyes with a fringe of lashes so long they brushed his reading glasses (which he rarely wore, anyways). <br><br>His full lips were pressed into a thin line as he got into the elevator and then into the waiting car, riding over to his father's workplace, an abandoned warehouse far in the belly of the city, where a scream would go utterly unnoticed or unreported. With his sleek black hair, his face looked almost too pale; perhaps it was because he knew the pain he'd have to order to be caused.<br><br>Slim, pianist's fingers tapped a rhythm on one long-legged thigh, quickly striding in to sit down in a folding chair in the small basement room where he'd meet Emmerick and then their victim would be brought in. It would just be the two of them - afterall, the man had passed the qualifications to be his bodyguard - and they'd be alone with the victim until the deed was done and the man was dead. <br><br>He sat on the one chair, a cigarette dangling from between his lips, a bad nervous habit that he'd been trying to break. The smoke created a pale blue haze in the room, hovering around his striking features. "Another day..." he murmured to himself, blowing out a breath full of smoke like he was some sort of vengeful dragon.<br>
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				Title: <strong>Re: Burn [Sho and Flaming Dead Man]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Flaming Dead Man</strong> on <strong>08-09-2010, 07:14:04</strong>
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				Emmerick was not a professional.<br><br>Or at least he didn't appear that way.&nbsp; He refused to wear anything he deemed to formal, claiming that it made him too self-conscious to work properly.&nbsp; If it weren't for his 'talents', he would have surely been denied from the beginning.&nbsp; However, he was allowed to wear his green jacket and a pair of cargo pants, taking on the look of a civilian army recruit.&nbsp; Amongst other weapons, he kept a set of blades--three on each arm--beneath his sleeves, ready to be unleashed and strike through whomever stood in his way.<br><br>For three days, he had to prove himself.&nbsp; For three days, he stepped into that basement and obeyed the orders he'd been given.&nbsp; For three days, he'd mercilessly tortured and killed numerous candidates.&nbsp; It was his job, and he had no regrets.<br><br>He'd been chosen because the Family knew him all too well, they knew what he was capable off.&nbsp; He'd been a drug dealer, had stolen from them various times--every time, he came and went like a ghost, leaving behind a small trail of bodies, employees of the Family that'd been too weak and too slow for their own good.&nbsp; Eventually, after a year of such play, the Family'd had enough.&nbsp; They tracked him down and sent a group of men to his current residence.&nbsp; However, they weren't sent there to kill, but rather offer him a deal.&nbsp; "Stop stealing from us and we'll let you live," they'd said, several guns to his head.&nbsp; He would have declined, the idea of death rather befitting; however, he had a counter deal--it was small, but it was all that he could ask for.<br><br>"Under one condition," he'd said, his voice cool, "I will <em>not</em> be treated like a dog."&nbsp; The implications were easily understandable: if they refused him humanity, he'd rather die.&nbsp; They agreed and he was escorted to that very basement, several homeless, helpless men lined up to die by his hands.&nbsp; He'd been asked, in those three days, to do unspeakable things.&nbsp; Torture involving everything from a simply cut to the removal of limbs.&nbsp; He was unafraid.&nbsp; He had to show them that he no longer had a heart, that although he demanded respect, he'd truly become an animal and a tool.&nbsp; He was emotionless, a machine, and he was proud of it.<br><br>Four days after his recruitment, he prepared himself in the bedroom he'd been given.&nbsp; He pulled the jacket over his stained white beater, his steel-toed boots over his pants.&nbsp; He strapped on his various weapons--his blades, knives across his back under his clothing.&nbsp; He kept a combat knife tucked in his boot, the only one obvious to the untrained eye.&nbsp; He pushed his bleach-blond hair from his face, only to have it fall right back where it was.&nbsp; His face was expressionless, hardened from the years he'd spent alone and the blood he'd shed over that time.&nbsp; His eyes were the coldest of all, a dull grey that somehow seemed to soak up every fragment of light within reach.<br><br>When it was time, he was escorted from the room and down to a vehicle, which took him to the building for the fourth time.&nbsp; He hadn't even bothered paying attention to the world around him, outside the vehicle.&nbsp; His eyes traced colors through the window, though they didn't really see anything.&nbsp; His mind was an entire world away.&nbsp; The travel was short and they arrived quickly.&nbsp; He stepped from the car and shut the door behind him, following the familiar footsteps to the elevator and into the basement.&nbsp; The man that sat waiting for him looked no different to him than all the others he'd been introduced to.<br><br>He stepped up to him and stared down at him, his cold eyes examining his soul and deciding which way would be most painful for him to die.&nbsp; It wasn't that he'd already decided he didn't like Quinn, it was simply his immediate reaction, these days.&nbsp; He breathed in the smoke of the cigarette and the pack in his jacket began to burn a hole in his pocket.&nbsp; However, he knew better than to let his guard down and smoke around someone he hardly even knew.<br><br>Part of Emmerick wanted to slide his blades from his sleeve and rip the man apart.&nbsp; This part of him was aggressive and never thought clearly.&nbsp; If he were to do such a thing, the Family would of course know who did it and would surely give him some punishment worse than death--without Quinn, there would be no need for him, after all.&nbsp; He mentally sighed at the quick, fleeting scenario.<br><br>Before he'd gotten a chance to introduce himself (not that he was particularly looking forward to such a conversation), the man whom he was assigned to kill first was dragged into the area, his mouth gagged and his body tied.&nbsp; Emmerick's attention was drawn immediately to his noises of struggle.&nbsp; He was set in a chair across from the two and tied yet another time to keep him from worming away.&nbsp; When the men finished, they promptly left and Emmerick looked over his shoulder to Quinn.<br><br>"...What would you like done?" he asked, the event clearly an every day job for him.
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				Title: <strong>Re: Burn [Sho and Flaming Dead Man]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sho</strong> on <strong>08-09-2010, 17:32:41</strong>
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				It didn't take more than one glance for Quinn to know he was looking at someone dangerous; no, someone worse than dangerous, someone who would rip him apart without even the slightest thought. There was no moral compass, at least none that Quinn could see at a first glance, and that was what scared him when Emmerick walked down the buckled cement steps to the small room. <br><br>Quinn looked almost too neat to be standing there - just from his clothes, and from the nervous tapping of his fingers, it was clear that he didn't want to exact the punishments himself.<br><br>He'd grown up wanting to take over his father's business, idolizing him, wanting to be exactly like him.<br><br>It wasn't until he actually got to see someone beaten to death that he fully understood why his father had tried to protect him for so long, and why he himself just wasn't cut out for this job, at the end of the day. He wanted to do it, wanted to please his father, but...but he couldn't. He just couldn't rip someone apart, not without cringing, and certainly not without imagining himself in their place (which was even more problematic because aside from the cloying fear, there were also heady surges of pleasure that came with such thoughts). <br><br>His thoughts were broken when Emmerick asked him what he wanted done, eyes widening slightly, dragging himself back down to earth.<br><br>He had to decide this man's death, and quickly, and let Emmerick get it done with.<br><br>The man squirmed, and he was a dirty, pathetic thing who had taken money for gambling debts and who had undeniably done this to himself.<br><br>Yet, still, he couldn't help but not want to watch him be broken apart. "Break his legs, first, in case he somehow tries to get free." <br><br>Quinn's voice was cool, measured, but it was raspy as though with disuse. He seemed to be quiet, eyes burning with something deep within, though the way he lowered his eyes away from Emmerick hid that emotion away effectively. "I'm Quinn, by the way." It was of little matter of the man squirming before him heard his name - he'd be dead before it could ever pass his lips. <br><br>"Then - cut him." <br><br>The thought of watching another human being bleed before him made his throat tighten and his stomach clench as well, though it sickened him that it gave him that response. "Whatever you'd like to do to him, really. Enjoy yourself."
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				Title: <strong>Re: Burn [Sho and Flaming Dead Man]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Flaming Dead Man</strong> on <strong>08-09-2010, 18:27:48</strong>
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				Emmerick watched Quinn's body language, taking note of it and judging him quickly and silently.&nbsp; He filed away the emotions and weaknesses that he noted, though the current situation made no use of such knowledge, so he pretended as if he'd seen nothing.&nbsp; When he was answered, he let his gaze fall back to the tied man.&nbsp; Although absolutely none of it showed in his expression, he was pleased and excited by the man's horrified gaze.&nbsp; He waited patiently and silently for Quinn to finish speaking, hardly even moving a muscle until he was certain.&nbsp; It surprised him that he hadn't been given more specific orders, and he'd found a use for the information that he'd stored away in his head.<br><br>He walked past the man in the chair, his eyes falling on a discarded iron pipe.&nbsp; He thought it rather cliche to use such an item for a reason like this, though he didn't really have a wide range of tools to choose from.&nbsp; He grabbed it and returned, hardly making it around to his front before the metal was raised above his shoulder like a baseball bat and went speeding toward the bones in the man's knees.&nbsp; His heart sent adrenaline through his veins and a very small, brief smile made the corners of his lips twitch as the sound of both his knees cracking reverberated throughout the room.&nbsp; The man cried out in agony, muffled pleas of desperation trying to escape past the cloth between his lips.&nbsp; Emmerick dropped the pipe to the floor beside him and lightly kicked it aside before he cracked the bones in his fists, back, and neck.<br><br>He reached under his shirt and around to his back, drawing two black tanto-tip blades.&nbsp; He would have preferred to use an actual razor for such an occasion, but these two blades were the closest he could get, at the moment.&nbsp; He twirled them skillfully in his hands as he walked around behind his victim, examining his body as he decided where he would cut next.&nbsp; Once behind him, he held the flat side of one blade against his own arm and gripped the man by his hair to draw his head back.&nbsp; He pressed the other blade against his cheek and pressed just hard enough to cut half-way through the muscle.&nbsp; He screamed from the stinging pain and blood began to run into the cloth that kept him muffled.&nbsp; Still, there was no expression on Emmerick's face.<br><br>He held the blade against the man's neck and cut it lightly, though the movement he'd made was dramatic.&nbsp; The point was to scare the man, make him think he was about to slit his throat.&nbsp; But that would be far too quick.&nbsp; The man screamed, nonetheless, and Emmerick calmly walked beside him.&nbsp; With a swift motion, he positioned the blade properly and quickly struck it into the man's shoulder, cutting man of the tendons that allowed him arm movement and essentially dislocating that limb.&nbsp; He was careful, however, to avoid the large artery that resided in that area.&nbsp; He performed the same action to the other arm, then removed the ropes that tied his hands together.<br><br>He held the man's arm in such a position that Quinn would be able to see, kneeling beside the chair, once more.&nbsp; He pressed a blade against the skin of his wrist, then flipped his hand and quickly caught his knife under the man's thumbnail, cutting it right from his flesh.&nbsp; He stared at the man's face for a moment, examining his expression.&nbsp; He'd quickly grown bored with him, his cries for help all too common--not to mention he'd performed a similar process so many times over the past few days.&nbsp; He felt more like just getting things over with, this time.<br><br>He stood and cut the shirt from the man's chest, as well as the bindings, and pushed him onto his back.&nbsp; He straddled him quickly and let his knives slip under the skin of the man's chest.&nbsp; He pulled them downward, carving flesh from bone.&nbsp; His motions were quick as he didn't want him to die before he was finished.&nbsp; He threw the two scraps of flesh that he'd pulled from his upper ribcage aside and then pressed the edge of the blades against his neck.&nbsp; He leaned into them and pulled them across quickly and forcefully, severing everything about halfway through.&nbsp; The man would surely die, and this way he still got to watch the event.<br><br>He remained like that until the man fell still, then got to his feet with a cool air, knives still in hands.&nbsp; He looked over his shoulder at Quinn, blood dripping steadily from his blades, as well as a bit of spatter across his face and clothing.&nbsp; His expressionless eyes and stony face made him appear vacant, like an empty husk.&nbsp; He moved his knives into one hand and retrieved a cloth from his pocket, one which was stained with many uses.&nbsp; He wiped the blades clean and returned them to their sheaths--he'd clean them properly when he had access to such supplies.&nbsp; For now, he walked toward Quinn and lifted the remainder of his cigarette from his lips and placed it between his own.&nbsp; He took one hit, blew the smoke, and returned it, his gaze locked coldly onto his new boss'.<br><br>"My name's Emmerick.&nbsp; Nice to meet you."<br><br>[[ Lol, I was totally on my way to bed and seen that you posted and couldn't help but read.&nbsp; So now I have to post, too.&nbsp; @.@ ]]
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				Title: <strong>Re: Burn [Sho and Flaming Dead Man]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sho</strong> on <strong>09-09-2010, 17:17:09</strong>
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				It was horrific. It always was, watching someone scream and writhe and beg, begging for help that they knew wouldn't come. Yet...and, yet, Quinn's eyes were burning with a feverish light, watching as the man struggled against each and every thing. He turned his head away at the crack of iron on bone - and iron, being more resilient and swung with such a strong arm, won. The man screamed, arching, but there was no escape for him. Quinn drank in that fear, taking it into himself, unable to stop that uncomfortable stirring low in his stomach. It hurt, but God, it felt so good at the same time.<br><br>Each bone cracking - fists, back, neck - each was like a firecracker that exploded right before him in a burst of brilliant, blinding light. Quinn stood still, in the corner, the blood washing away from him. He was careful not to step too close lest he ruin the clothes he was wearing, but he watched Emmerick with the reverence one might watch a master at their work. <br><br>The blood had long ago soaked the cloth in his mouth, which did a good job of stifling his screams, making them audible to just the two torturers.<br><br>Or the one, and the observer, really. <br><br>It was terribly intimate, in a way, watching Emmerick do things that no man should be able to do without flinching. But Emmerick was a professional, scaring the man, withdrawing, then coming back to cut tendons until he was utterly helpless. Finally Quinn strode forwards, surprisingly adept at stripping the ropes away from the man's body to allow Emmerick the room to work.<br><br>He coiled them absent-mindedly. No need to get new ropes for the next victim; reusing the stained and bloody ones would do well to show exactly what was going to come for the next victim. Their blood would join the blood of others, mingling on the rope, the room by then smelling of sweat and tears and blood; trademarks of their industry.<br><br>He set the ropes down in a corner, walking back to crouch, looking up at Emmerick and at the man, eyes flickering back and forth between the man and Emmerick, watching the muscles bunch in the other man's body. <br><br>He gagged when the man stripped flesh from bone, turning his head away for a moment, but was quiet about it.<br><br>He looked back when he was certain the man was dead, hearing Emmerick get up. He slowly rose from his crouch, a certain feline grace hanging about him, that feverish look still burning bright in his eyes. He couldn't disguise it - he was excited, intrigued, but he did his best to blink it away and hide it under a fringe of thick lashes while he busied himself with lighting a fresh cigarette and grinding the old one to dust.<br><br>The light flared, the embers caught the tobacco, and he took in a deep breath.<br><br>"The pleasure's all mine," he responded cooly, looking at the body, "Just leave him. The other men will dispose of it." And then with, perhaps a bit of a forced smile, "You're certainly capable at your job." <br><br>He turned and gestured to the stairs, and began ascending them, "Watching you has made me hungry. There's food upstairs; we can eat outside." <br><br>He didn't wait to see if Emmerick would follow - he couldn't. His breathing was still coming in soft bursts, doing his best to calm himself, and he needed a breath of fresh air.<br><br>There were two boxed lunches waiting on a small table - the men didn't speak to Quinn, merely nodded politely to him, clearly somewhat intimidated by their boss' son. He wasn't like their boss; he rarely drank with them, spent most of his time learning, crunching numbers. He was quiet, and to them, a quiet man was a dangerous one.<br><br>He picked up a boxed lunch for Emmerick and turned to hand it to him. It was warm, a simple lunch, with a chicken sandwich and some chips, but it was enough. There were two cold beers and he grabbed them as well, carrying them to a small table that was rickety, right outside the warehouse. The air was dirty but fresher than the basement cell. He sat down, letting out a slow breath of smoke, eyeing Emmerick. "Where're you from?"
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				Title: <strong>Re: Burn [Sho and Flaming Dead Man]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Flaming Dead Man</strong> on <strong>10-09-2010, 16:59:49</strong>
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				Emmerick glanced down at his shirt, through the opening of his jacket.&nbsp; The very off-white color was spatter with blood, making it look almost like a bad tye-dye job.&nbsp; His jacket, too, was spattered, though the red and green combination made it appear more like oil stains.&nbsp; He wiped his hands on his black pants, then his face to scrape away some of the blood.&nbsp; Surely he couldn't leave the basement looking quite so violent.&nbsp; He wiped more of the blood from his face onto his sleeves until he was sure he'd gotten it all.&nbsp; When he finished, he cracked a few joints in his back and neck, and even more in his hands as he listened to his small speech.&nbsp; He'd expected such a comment from what he'd seen in the man, though he remained unresponsive.<br><br>The prospect of spending time with his new boss was rather unfavorable, and even leaving the body behind didn't sway Emmerick one way or the other.&nbsp; Rather, it was the promise of food that made him follow Quinn up the stairs.&nbsp; He slipped his hands into the pockets of his jacket and kept his cold stare, his steps almost silent, despite the weight of his boots.&nbsp; He kept an eye on Quinn, tracking his emotions.&nbsp; It was difficult to see whether his breathing rate had slowed to normal or not, yet, though the way he held himself was enough for Emmerick to deduce that he was far from calmed.<br><br>What was in the box lunch mattered not to Emmerick.&nbsp; The fact was that it would surely not be enough to fully satiate his everlasting hunger.&nbsp; Even he, himself, could admit that he was a touch man to please when it came to meals.&nbsp; However, he decided that--at least for this first lunch--he'd let it go and grab something more later.&nbsp; For now, he finally retrieved the package of cigarettes from the pocket and slid one from the soft plastic and paper wrapping with a flick of his wrist.&nbsp; He caught it between his lips and lit the end quickly, hardly seeming to notice his own actions.&nbsp; He held the filter between his teeth as he took one of the beers.&nbsp; He cracked it open and drank with the corner of his mouth before he opened the box and pulled the cigarette from his lips, again.&nbsp; He didn't answer Quinn until he'd taken a few hasty bites into his sandwich.<br><br>"Everywhere," he said, taking another bite and swallowing with a gulp of beer before he continued, "and nowhere."&nbsp; His eyes seemed to be constantly alert, keeping tabs on the men around him.&nbsp; Even his voice held a level of caution, hidden beneath several layers of strength and fearlessness.&nbsp; He watched his boss eat, moving through his own food rather quickly; for a normal person, such choices might have resulted in a severe stomachache, though this was Emmerick's usual way of eating.&nbsp; Not to mention he usually had much more than this at a time.&nbsp; With the food out of the way, he concentrated on his beer and his cigarette, allowing his cold eyes to focus directly onto Quinn's, soul-reaping and completely unfaltering.<br><br>[[ I apologize for the lack of posting.&nbsp; o.o;&nbsp; Had some internet trouble.&nbsp; &gt;&lt; ]]
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				Title: <strong>Re: Burn [Sho and Flaming Dead Man]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sho</strong> on <strong>11-09-2010, 02:44:28</strong>
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				Everywhere and nowhere. Vague, though he was sure he could get more from his father if he wanted to, but he didn't. What he learned about Emmerick, he wanted to learn from the man himself. Not from pushing and prodding and pulling him to give him information. He met those cold eyes with his own, pale and gleaming and luminous with the sort of light that only great sorrow or intelligence (or a heady mixture of both) can give. He picked up half his sandwich, then slid the other have over to Emmerick, "You can finish it, if you'd like. I'm not too hungry."<br><br>He had noticed the way that the man gulped down the food like a starving man, and took a slow sip of his beer, polishing off his half of the sandwich with neat, precise bites. He took a few more sips of beer and then, reveling in the silence, picked up his pack of cigarettes. He lifted one to his lips while thinking, gazing out at the heavy metal buildings that seemed to scrape the tops of the sky, oddly at peace in the grinding metallic heart of the city.<br><br>"I'm not sure if my father explained what you'll be doing while you're here."<br><br>He couldn't stop the faint touch of color from coming to his cheeks, embarrassed that his father thought it necessary to protect him, even though his father himself had ten such bodyguards of his own. "You'll be doing things like...that, what we just did...but also being my bodyguard. You'll have Tuesday and Thursday nights off."<br><br>He flicked the wheel on his lighter once, twice, and then a third time.<br><br>The light didn't spark up and he held the little plastic thing up to the light, seeing that there was no fluid, that it was mostly empty. "Shit," he murmured, tossing the lighter high up in the air and watching it glitter like a plastic gem before tumbling, jewel-like, into a pile of trash. <br><br>"Could I get a light from you?" He held out his unlit cigarette, still dangling from the ends of his lips. Leaning that close, a spattering of silvery freckles danced over the bridge of his nose, almost invisible in the dim light trying to filter through the smog. <br><br>"They've got a room for you, in my apartment. In case someone breaks in, I guess, and tries to kill me. It's happened before." Quinn had dealt with it himself then, but apparently his father had been scared that the memory of his short-lived wife would perish as well, and had assigned the most brutal of bodyguards, Emmerick, to protect him.
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				Title: <strong>Re: Burn [Sho and Flaming Dead Man]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Flaming Dead Man</strong> on <strong>11-09-2010, 08:35:37</strong>
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				Emmerick gladly took the sandwich, eating it as quickly as he had his own, and wiped his fingertips on the napkin that'd been provided for him in his lunch.&nbsp; The comment Quinn had made caused Emmerick to laugh internally at the contradiction.&nbsp; If his ravenous, blood-thirsty actions had made him hungry before, then why the sudden change and lack of appetite?&nbsp; Perhaps he was going about his little game the wrong way.&nbsp; He'd have to try harder.&nbsp; He watched him as he pressed his cigarette between his teeth, once more, drinking the beer still from the corner of his mouth.<br><br>Indeed, Quinn's father had explained a lot, though none of it was directly.&nbsp; He'd had his rats do his dirty work, then men that were below even Emmerick's rank at the moment.&nbsp; He watched the man's cheeks tinge pink as the subject of his father was brought up, though his eyes didn't reflect the meaning behind it.&nbsp; It made Emmerick wonder, though just as he'd done with the other information, he quickly filed it away for later use.&nbsp; He was surprised that the man was so loose with his emotions and reactions--he left himself so very wide open to anyone who was clever enough.&nbsp; He eyes fell to his beer can as Quinn flicked his lighter.&nbsp; It was about that time, too, that Emmerick's own cigarette was out and his horrible chain-smoking addiction was kicking back in.<br><br>He'd seen the question coming before the last flick of Quinn's thumb and was thus prepared.&nbsp; As the man leaned forward and continued to speak, he tossed his cigarette aside and retrieved a new.&nbsp; As his gaze lifted back to Quinn, he lifted himself from his seat and pulled his lighter between their cigarettes.&nbsp; He lit them both simultaneously, watching the flame until he was sure the cigarettes were properly ablaze.&nbsp; As he sat back, he looked past Quinn, sliding the lighter back into his pocket and keeping a nonchalant air about him.&nbsp; He'd noticed the freckles, unable to keep himself from seeing the man as a boy from then on.<br><br>Emmerick could see clearly through the front that the man put up.&nbsp; He was afraid, bashful, even disapproving.&nbsp; However, it was the masochism the man held secret that made Emmerick interested.&nbsp; As if attached to his body, he could feel his blades pulsing through their sheathes, begging for a chance to be dragged through that man's skin.&nbsp; The prospect of sharing an apartment with the man only made things more interesting.&nbsp; Whether Quinn realized it or not, he was putting himself into a very dangerous position--if he wasn't careful, his dog would bite, and he'd be sure to keep hold until his master begged for mercy or beat his dog off with force.&nbsp; Then again, this man was surely into that sort of thing.<br><br>His eyes moved his eyes to him again as he finished his beer, draining it completely despite how bad the last few sips were.&nbsp; He crushed the can on the table and pushed it forward.&nbsp; "Next time," he said with his gruff voice, "bring Whiskey."&nbsp; Although said with a straight, hard face and a likewise tone, this was Emmerick's sense of humor.
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				Title: <strong>Re: Burn [Sho and Flaming Dead Man]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sho</strong> on <strong>11-09-2010, 19:38:29</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Quinn leant towards the flame like a moth would, letting it flicker over the end of his cigarette, a well-trained breath making it catch light and blaze up. He let out a slow breath of smoke once he leant back, glad that the other man smoked - it meant that he wouldn't have to hide out, smuggling his cigarettes, so as not to bother Emmerick. <br><br>He smirked when the other man said to bring whiskey the next time, "I prefer vodka, myself. I'm part Russian, though, so I guess that's to be expected. I have a full bottle of Jack Daniels at the apartment that you can help yourself to." He couldn't help but smile a bit, standing up once they were both done, letting out another breath of smoke and tapping a column of ash from the end of his cigarette.<br><br>The men who had already cleaned up the body had stopped for their lunch, and were watching Emmerick, then their boss.<br><br>Quinn didn't seem to mind the eyes on him - he'd long ago grown used to it as a sort of background distraction - but he did glance up at Emmerick. The men knew a bit about their boss' predisposition to pain - a fistfight when Quinn was sixteen had brought it out in all of its shocking, bloody glory. He'd kept laughing, telling the man to keep hitting him, which only infuriated the thug. It was as though he'd taken the pain into him, drinking it in, thriving on it. The men had always been a bit scared of him since they&nbsp; - they understood sadism, as they were all a bit of a sadist at heart, but true masochism was something that scared them. They'd thought that it was Quinn's unbreakable spirit, that he'd been taunting the thug to make him mad, but they didn't understand that it had awoken that first taste of pain in him (not to say that he liked to get punched in bed - he preferred the subtler slide of a knife over flesh, of ropes at his wrists). <br><br>What scared them most, though, and made them stare, was the fact that they could see that sadism right under the surface of Emmerick's skin. It bubbled there, ready to explode, and they wondered how Quinn would react if that happened.<br><br>Quinn didn't even look at them, merely waved Emmerick to a sleek black Porsche. He fished the keys out of his pocket - he refused to let himself be driven around - and slipped into the passenger seat. "Hop in," he said to Emmerick. There was some old rock in the car - Beatles, Rolling Stones, White Snake, as well as some Japanese singers that he liked and listened to mostly to hear his mother's tongue spoken in song. <br><br>He tore onto the freeway, not exactly a safe driver, but so confident that it was hard not to trust him on the road. He blazed past speed signs and pulled into his apartment after forty minutes, about twenty minutes earlier than the ride should have taken. He was quiet, preferring not to speak too much, leading the way up the stairs of what looked like a worn-down, shabby brick building. In reality, the shabby brick was new and bright on the exposed wall in the apartment, with rich, dark wood floors. There were two leather couches, a sturdy table (with a few hooks driven in underneath, in case someone wanted to restrain him, but they were well hidden) and a few chairs scattered around. A large TV that had a thin layer of dust was on a cabinet with an array of DVDs. One door was open, to a simple bedroom, with a navy comforter and a dresser with empty drawers. "That's your room. I didn't do too much with it - I wasn't sure what you'd want it to look like so I just put some spare sheets on the bed. I figured you could choose whatever you wanted for it yourself." <br><br>The prominent fixture in the room was a grand piano, nestled in a corner, blocking most of the window, making it hard to sneak onto the balcony. There was a bar at the far side of the room, next to the huge instrument, which looked a bit like a gleaming whale in the otherwise spacious apartment. He headed for the bar, skirting the scattered sheet music around the piano, "I'm dying for a drink. You want anything? I have that whiskey," he murmured with a hint of a smile, showing a whole variety of whiskeys by rotating the lazy susan that held most of the liquor. He fished out a bottle of vodka, pouring himself two fingers of it, taking a sip and wincing in pleasure.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Burn [Sho and Flaming Dead Man]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Flaming Dead Man</strong> on <strong>13-09-2010, 15:46:40</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Emmerick folded his arms across the table and turned his attention past Quinn as the he spoke.&nbsp; <em>The man sure does like to talk about himself,</em> he thought, staring aimlessly at one of the other guards.&nbsp; He had a feeling that he was still under probation--distrusted and on a short leash.&nbsp; It was funny how fickle their supporting security was; not only would those men that'd arrived be easy to take, but they'd chosen such a lax time to join them.&nbsp; Emmerick figured he would have seen them in the basement when his weapons were drawn, not hear when the atmosphere was light and the Big Dog's son was sharing sandwiches with a stranger.&nbsp; He ground at the filter paper with his teeth, most particularly his canines.<br><br>When the man stood, he followed suit, letting his ash grow from his cigarette without worry.&nbsp; Seeing as how he was often covered in blood, sweat, and various other fluids and stains, a bit of cigarette ash on his clothing didn't mean much to him.&nbsp; He was used to living in complete dumps, rarely able to take a shower, let alone wash his clothing.&nbsp; Surprisingly enough, however, the man didn't stink one bit; it was almost as if his body was built for such hygienic torture--even his teeth were white and his breath was pleasant and his body seemed to give off a warm, intangible scent.&nbsp; It was something that drew others near him and, sometimes, even made them trust him without good reason.&nbsp; It was something that--unknown to him--made him a great drug dealer and an even better killer.<br><br>Emmerick slid his hands into his pocket as he followed Quinn, feigning an aura of relaxation.&nbsp; His eyes were careful, still, watching and noting every detail.&nbsp; Not even the car's label phased him--it was just like any other vehicle, in his mind.&nbsp; He slipped into the passenger seat and rested his head back on the headrest, not bothering to buckle in.&nbsp; He'd hardly noticed the music, background noise that subtly broke the silence, no matter how loud.&nbsp; Although his eyes were looking through the window in his door, his remaining senses were focused on Quinn.&nbsp; They were attuned enough for him to nearly precisely tell how fast they were going without looking at the speedometer.&nbsp; It didn't matter, though.&nbsp; Slowly, Emmerick had begun to forget the reason why he'd been so willing to take the job.&nbsp; The car still smelled like glue and it burned his nostrils, the lack of silence made his head ache, the comfort of his seat ironically made his back ache, and the man beside him made him nauseous with need.<br><br>Somehow, he managed to stay silent and still until they arrived.&nbsp; He didn't wait for any 'permission' to leave the vehicle, stepping out as soon as he'd shifted into park and immediately lighting up a new cigarette; the one he'd lit up at the restaurant before they'd left hadn't lasted very long through the ride and he'd chucked it out the window.&nbsp; He was craving terribly now.&nbsp; Up the stairs and into the apartment he followed, hardly taking in the scenery.&nbsp; He was only interested in two things: the bed and the whiskey.<br><br>He stood silent with his hands in his pant pockets and the smoke stick dangling from his lips until Quinn directed him to his bedroom.&nbsp; He didn't wait for him to continue his speech before he stepped through the doorway and stood near the center.&nbsp; He glanced around, for a moment, then slowly began removing things from his pockets and tossing them onto the bed; a nearly empty pack of cigarettes, a lighter, a few small sewing needles, a pay-as-you-go phone, and a very small amount of change amongst other things.&nbsp; He'd kept the door open, not wanting to feel confined, and was able to hear Quinn's offer, though he waited to respond.<br><br>He removed his jacket and tossed it further up on the bed, revealing the lean, yet thick muscle of his arms and the rest of his fit figure beneath the stained beater.&nbsp; His blond hair fell in his face, a little blood stained and clearly unwashed for some time, though the appearance fit him well, flattering him somehow.&nbsp; Even across his chin, there was a bit of stubble, completing his grungy, yet strangely attractive self.&nbsp; "Whiskey or shot glasses?" he asked, his voice just loud enough for Quinn to hear--he wasn't much for shouting unless necessary.&nbsp; In Emmerick's mind, whiskey glasses meant they'd be drinking casually, whilst shot glasses would mean he'd be getting drunk.<br><br>As he waited for the response, he removed the sheathes at his back and slipped them between the mattress and box spring.&nbsp; He kept the metal bracer-like attachments that wielded his three-bladed weapons on his arms, for the time being.&nbsp; Surely, it would make him more menacing for Quinn than comforting, but he didn't care.&nbsp; He rarely removed those blades, even when he slept.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Burn [Sho and Flaming Dead Man]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sho</strong> on <strong>16-09-2010, 05:04:16</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Even in the apartment, the man never took off his knives, Quinn noted. He had watched each movement of the other man as he walked towards him, silently pulling out a whisky glass, pouring himself two fingers of vodka into one, then two fingers of whiskey in the other. He set both bottles out for quick use, so that when the first round was finished they could be reached for again easily, swallowing his glass almost immediately. He was nervous; it could be read from the tenseness of his shoulders, the tightness in his neck. He was anxious around Emmerick; for all the right reasons and all the wrong ones that built from his excitement at having the man living in his apartment.<br><br>He ran his fingers back through his dark hair, hoping the man would be comfortable in the guest bedroom, though from Emmerick's looks he'd slept in much worse places and been no worse for the wear.<br><br>"Here."<br><br>He held out the whiskey glass to Emmerick, pouring a bit more in even though it was already a generous serving, having a feeling that the man could more than hold his liquor. <br><br>"Help yourself, as well." <br><br>Doing his best to play polite host to Emmerick when his heart was hammering away. It was hard to breathe with a man so dangerous sitting across from him. He was nearly sick with excitement, thinking of those blades slicing his flesh, of all the things that Emmerick could do to him. Yet if his father were ever to find out, if anyone were ever to find out, he'd be in for a world of trouble.<br><br>He didn't want to think about those things.<br><br>He doubted that Emmerick would even feel the same way. It was probably just a job for him. Cutting people up was probably something he did to earn his crust of bread, not something he did in the bedroom, Quinn told himself despite his hope. <br><br>"So...if you don't mind me prying, do you have a girlfriend here in the city? You don't have to answer, of course. I don't mean to be nosy. Just curious." He shut his mouth, aware that he'd spoken too much, and looked away. <br><br>He let the first glass of vodka slip down his throat and quickly poured himself a second, glancing up, wondering if Emmerick was one of those men who had a girl back home and his business was merely business or if he visited the whorehouses of the city or even if he had more...varied interests. Interests in men, in causing and inflicting pain, though it was probably too much to hope for.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Burn [Sho and Flaming Dead Man]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Flaming Dead Man</strong> on <strong>16-09-2010, 06:58:29</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Having not received an answer, Emmerick remained in the room for a moment.&nbsp; He cracked a few joints--as was his horrible habit--and took a bit of time to smoke his cigarette in solitude before he gave up waiting and left the room.&nbsp; He was a little disappointed with the fact that the man had chosen glasses, but at least he was getting free whiskey.&nbsp; He took a seat across from Quinn, his posture relaxed with the cigarette hanging from his lips.&nbsp; He watched the man with secret delight as he displayed more and more of that sweet fear that lingered in his veins.&nbsp; He pulled the cigarette from his mouth and reached for the glass, giving the man a break as his eyes fell to the bottle in his hands; he seemed to relax a little further as he was allowed more liquor.&nbsp; He lifted it to his lips and drank the contents in one gulp, anxious to have the alcohol in his system.&nbsp; He clacked the glass back onto the table and leaned back into the couch as his gaze returned to the man's crawling skin.<br><br>With the small length of silence, Emmerick's mind found the items in the room.&nbsp; He took note of each one, automatically running a scenario in which the object would either be a hindrance or a tool.&nbsp; He took particular interest in the table, though he was unsure as to why.&nbsp; He ran his hands through his hand and kept them at the back of his neck as his attention returned to the speaking Quinn.&nbsp; The question made something in him cringe and his lip twitched slightly; even his gaze seemed to darken a little in the otherwise vacant stare.&nbsp; He looked away from him, toward the balcony, and breathed a cold answer, "No."&nbsp; He'd had a girlfriend, long ago--a fiancée, even--but things were better left in the past, in this case.<br><br>Eventually, Emmerick remembered the alcohol and he poured himself a hearty glass before turning it upside down and the contents down his throat.&nbsp; He was clearly bothered by the idea and his aggression was swelling in him--what a great topic for the man to choose for their first conversation.&nbsp; He bit into the filter of his cigarette a little, then ground it into his own palm without flinching--upon further inspection, it would appear this was a common action for him.&nbsp; He stood and made his way to the balcony.&nbsp; He opened the door just enough to fit his hand through to throw the butt over the edge.&nbsp; When he returned to his seat, he poured himself another hearty glass.&nbsp; He wondered if the man would push it or not--for some reason Emmerick felt he might, somehow.&nbsp; Maybe if he was drunk enough.<br><br>Although he was obviously upset, the comment had made him seem rather distracted, too; it was like he was unconsciously begging to be asked more, to be <em>pried</em> at.&nbsp; He hadn't spoken of his fiancée since he'd last seen her and had never gotten the chance to truly move on.&nbsp; Furthermore, this was probably the biggest cause for all of his anger.&nbsp; He downed the drink and nearly slammed it onto the table as he looked to Quinn's drink.&nbsp; He wondered how many the man'd had and how well he was keeping up--if at all.&nbsp; His eyes dared him to match him, see who would win in a little drinking contest.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Burn [Sho and Flaming Dead Man]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sho</strong> on <strong>18-09-2010, 20:02:09</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Quinn picked up the two bottles of liquor and migrated to the couch, sitting down next to Emmerick, relaxing and stretching his long legs out in front of him. He was exhausted, but in the best possible way, enough that he felt vulnerable and could feel his skin crawling each time the dangerous man looked at him. When Emmerick shot back his second glass of whiskey, he immediately, almost out of habit, poured him a third. He was on his third of vodka by now, and given that they were generously-sized glasses, he was feeling a faint buzz ringing around the back of his head.<br><br>He noted the little twitch-and-cringe when he asked about the other man's finacee, and knowing that it was dangerous to pry, he become all the more convinced that he should do it. At first he told himself he wanted to pry because he wanted to make sure that the other man didn't have any secrets that would harm his father's company, but he came clean to himself. He almost wanted him to get angry.<br><br>He liked seeing that raw power bubbling beneath Emmerick's surface.<br><br>He himself was a quiet young man - he took great pride in his studies, in all the things he did, but he just wasn't much of a dangerous man. In some ways, he was...if someone near or dear to him was hurt, he would hunt down the person who had harmed them and destroy them. But on a day-to-day basis, Quinn kept the business running but he wasn't particularly ruthless.<br><br>Which was why he now had Emmerick.<br><br>And why he was so excited to have him living with him.<br><br>"Tell me. What happened with...her? I'm assuming it's a her?" He took a slow, deep breath, then relaxed. "Have you seen her at all, lately?" <br><br>He shot back a bit more vodka, relaxing, letting the liquor burn its way down his throat, relaxing him to the core. It felt fabulous. He didn't know why he hadn't just brought some liquor with him to killing that man - it would have made it so much more pleasant. He really had to start carrying a flask, he decided, though his skin prickled as he thought back to how handy Emmerick had been with the knives.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Burn [Sho and Flaming Dead Man]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Flaming Dead Man</strong> on <strong>19-09-2010, 01:46:02</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Emmerick sat back, leaving the glass on the table.&nbsp; He could see that Quinn was well into his drunken state, though he, himself, hardly felt a buzz.&nbsp; He pushed his hair back from his eyes, again, his movements still distracted and almost nervous; of course, for him, nervous meant holding back the flow of emotion that could ultimately end in someone's demise.&nbsp; He prepared to stand with intentions to retrieve his cigarettes from the bedroom, his fingers and lips begging for the cylindrical objects.&nbsp; He was struck, however, halfway from the couch with the question, dragging him right back to the place he was running from.&nbsp; That man asked about <em>her</em>, again.&nbsp; He felt a wave of anger ripple through him, causing him to clench his fists and jaw tight.&nbsp; He turned suddenly, without thought or clear goal, and gripped the couch beside Quinn's head, nearest his own spot.&nbsp; His other hand lifted and formed a tight fist in the air, jerking forward and then back to pull the blades from his weapon forward and over his knuckles--three small clicks could be heard as they locked into place.<br><br>Emmerick's pupils contracted so far that it was hard for him to see.&nbsp; He was trembling, blood vessels protruding in his hands and arms as he unconsciously prepared himself to rip that man apart.&nbsp; His hand shook visibly as he held himself back and fought the temptation to drive his fist and the blades through his skull.&nbsp; He panted thick breaths through his teeth, each one hinting a small growl from his throat.&nbsp; Slowly, his forced his eyes shut and stood back.&nbsp; Both of his hands still quivered, even as he reached over and pressed a small latch, which allowed him to slip the blades back into place.&nbsp; Had Quinn been any other man, he'd be dead.&nbsp; However, it was the men under Quinn's father that had delivered a very clear message not to touch him.&nbsp; To kill him over something so foolish...&nbsp; He knew what would come of that.&nbsp; To help rid himself of the anger, he drove his second knuckles into his own chest, making him quietly groan before he opened his still furious eyes and let his gaze rest back on Quinn.<br><br>"... Don't tempt me," he said.&nbsp; He was still panting a bit, trying to calm himself, as he left the room and made his way to the bedroom.&nbsp; He grabbed his cigarettes from the bed, nearly crumpling them in the process, and pulled one from the pack.&nbsp; He lit it quickly and sat on the edge of the bed, <em>still</em> quaking with anger.&nbsp; He swore that if that man came through that door to follow him, he wouldn't be able to hold himself back anymore.&nbsp; He sat with his elbows on his knees, staring at the floor.&nbsp; He'd left the door wide open and from the couch, it would almost appear as if he were sobbing, though he was far from it.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Burn [Sho and Flaming Dead Man]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sho</strong> on <strong>29-09-2010, 07:17:24</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Quinn was about to die. <br><br>That was what he thought, at least, when a fist crushed down into the couch next to his head and tightened there. He wanted to squirm away but was frozen in fear, a jolt of lust shooting up through his body equally quickly, making him quiver in anticipation. Oh, he wanted nothing more than that, wanted nothing more than to slide down into an entirely more submissive position. <br><br>Instead he hardened his eyes and refused to give into his fear, though it clawed its way up the back of his throat at the sound of those angry little growls from the other man, his own lips parting to let out a soft, steadying breath. <br><br>He stay still for a few minutes as the other man retreated into his bedroom, door open, sitting and quaking on the bed.<br><br>Oh, God, had he made the man cry? He hadn't meant to do that. He hadn't meant to push so hard that the other man experienced some horrible memory of the past. <br><br>He forced himself to get up, coming into the room quickly, quietly. His feet were nearly silent on the floor from years of training. <br><br>He leant forwards, fingers gentle, touching the other man's shoulder.<br><br>He let his grip tighten a bit, to show that he was sorry, those pale eyes unsuspecting of the anger he'd raised and the temptation he was posing to the other man. "Emmerick, I-" he murmured.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Burn [Sho and Flaming Dead Man]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Flaming Dead Man</strong> on <strong>30-09-2010, 04:20:33</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Emmerick had hardly held himself together when he was touched.&nbsp; His body stiffened and his mind snapped in the moment Quinn's fingers touched his shoulder and his hands lifted to Quinn's sides.&nbsp; He gripped him firmly and turned him onto the bed beside him, straddling him with his knees on the mattress.&nbsp; His cigarette still dangled from his lips, lit in the short time that was spent between his escape and Quinn's intrusion.&nbsp; His hands moved once he felt Quinn's body rebound from the bed; his right to grip Quinn's neck with near strangling force and his left to the space between the mattress and the box-spring.&nbsp; He gripped a knife from there and pulled it right from the sheath to press the tip of the blade against Quinn's shoulder.<br><br>Emmerick's eyes were no warmer than they had been when he'd killed that man in Quinn's presence.&nbsp; He held the same dark, emotionless aura and his expression was that of a cold killer.&nbsp; It was clear in both his obvious movements and the way he held himself that he'd fallen into that frame of mind--Quinn was his target, his victim.&nbsp; He felt the blade slowly slip into Quinn's flesh, breaking through the skin just above the collar bone.&nbsp; He continued to press--staring directly and unblinkingly into Quinn's eyes--until he was sure the blade was only centimeters from the artery.&nbsp; He took one breath, then removed the blade, flipped it over in his hand, and pressed the edge to the skin just above his own hand on Quinn's throat.<br><br>His lips parted slightly and the voice that rolled from his tongue was just short of a growl.&nbsp; "You want this, don't you?"&nbsp; He pressed the blade a little closer to his windpipe, cutting the skin a little; if the man were to swallow, he'd risk slicing his into his throat.&nbsp; "...You're a sick bastard," he said, not even a hint of amusement in his tone.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Burn [Sho and Flaming Dead Man]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sho</strong> on <strong>30-09-2010, 04:55:16</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Quinn had seen it coming even as the man moved - he might not have been the strongest fighter, but he'd been trained, and he was hardly shabby. He tried to deflect the hands that grabbed him but Emmerick was much stronger, and he merely succeeded in twisting himself into an awkward position on the bed. In a fight, it would have given him enough protection to his organs to save him; here it didn't do much but make it easier for Emmerick to straddle him and pin him down.<br><br>His eyes widened, pupils dilated as he saw the blade, fingers going slack for a moment as he felt it cut into his skin. His eyes never broke Emmerick's, fingertips trembling slightly with fear and adrenaline, grabbing at the sheets beneath them. <br><br>God, what had he gotten himself into?<br><br>He hoped it was worth it.<br><br>"No," he murmured, surprised at how unsteady his own voice sounded, but he was forced to stay silent lest his throat move. He didn't want to go slicing himself and bleeding out all over his own guest room. That would have been a less-than-pleasant way to die.<br><br>Damnit, why had he agreed to take this man into his home?<br><br>At the same time, he couldn't help but feel the excitement welling in him - obvious enough to the man straddling him, as the beginning of his own arousal pressed into the other man's body. Blood was soaking throat his thin white shirt from his shoulder, staining it a dark red, and upon seeing it, Quinn's body trembled slightly. He wanted to fight it, he truly wanted to believe that he didn't want this, but the reactions of his body were giving him away surely as anything.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Burn [Sho and Flaming Dead Man]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Flaming Dead Man</strong> on <strong>30-09-2010, 05:11:39</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Emmerick leaned into the man, carefully removing the blade from Quinn's throat as he closed his eyes.&nbsp; He brought his nose close to the wound he'd made in his shoulder and sniffed at it quietly--the scent of blood was heavy and delicious.&nbsp; He breathed slowly, shifting his hand on the man's neck; he kept his thumb against this windpipe and moved his fingers to the nape of his neck.&nbsp; His jaws parted and clamped around a fleshy portion at the nook between the wound and his jugular; though he bit hard, his teeth were no where near sharp enough to pierce his skin.<br><br>He flipped the knife in his hand, again, and moved it across Quinn's chest, letting the edge cut through his shirt and skin to make a light wound.&nbsp; He pulled back with his teeth a bit, then let him go, opening his eyes to look at the man's face.&nbsp; "You don't...?"&nbsp; Though his face was still cold and his eyes emotionless, he was clearly in disbelief.&nbsp; He moved the knife between his legs and tapped at Quinn's crotch with the dull edge of his blade.&nbsp; "Don't lie to me."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Burn [Sho and Flaming Dead Man]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sho</strong> on <strong>30-09-2010, 07:25:49</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Quinn's whole body jerked as the other man's teeth sank into his neck. It would leave a mark, but it didn't piece the skin, his pulse pounding hard enough that the other man could surely taste it on his lips. His hips pressed up eagerly against the other man's, his body betraying his mind. He wanted this so much it hurt, but he lied, telling himself that he wanted nothing of the sort, that he wanted nothing more than to get away from Emmerick. That he was terrified, not aroused. <br><br>His pale eyes were wie, panicked, but also hazy with a rising pleasure as the other man bumped that rising pleasure with the dull edge of the blade. A tiny sound escaped him and he forced himself to break eye contact with the other man, fingers tangled in the sheets, careful not to move too much lest the other man drive his thumb into his windpipe. The strong fingers at the nape of his neck made him shiver, and he let out a delighted breath as the knife sliced through his shirt. <br><br>More blood rose, so bright on his pale skin. <br><br>"No," he gasped, "I don't...I'm not...I'm not like <em>this</em>, I don't want this." <br><br>He was lying to himself.
			</dd>
		</dl>
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