𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐍'𝐓 𝐒𝐀𝐘 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐄 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐈𝐓 𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐒 𝐇𝐈𝐌. What spurs the sudden need to poke, prod restlessly, to shift & take such a risk in exploring further as the other man sleeps with a face of seemingly rare peace. Strange — amusing, but admittedly endearing how someone of his position, bearing all the honor & responsibility he usually holds is able to lower his guard around someone like him.
Though he knows it's likely not a common occurrence — more a rarity then anything, there's a languid curl, a snake-like coil low in the pit of his belly, happily purring away beneath his ribs like a content animal as he props himself up on an elbow. The sharpened curve of his jaw is cradled delicately against the innermost part of his palm as his hair falls over a shoulder.
Dagger-sharp eyes pierce the sleeping man, though they lack their usual venomous spark, flickering in interest along the other's face, tracing his slackened features, snorting in a softened huff when the other frowns that bit harder, almost as though he noticed the vampire's scrutinizing gaze. Ever alert, always on guard. He's not surprised — if anything, he'd be disappointed given how devoted Mizrak was to his beliefs. In a way, it's almost fascinating how deeply it runs, etched so firmly into his very being.
A few more moment's pass, the steady thump of the man's heart acting as a natural clock in the quiet calm, Olrox's head tilting to the side with a close-lipped quirk of his lips, lunar-like in the sickle's blade way they lilt. Fangs glint in the stray bit of light pouring in from one of the distant windows, a curious sound rumbling when the other finally starts to stir. He's tempted to reach over, but he refrains at the last minute.
The ancient hums, louder this time as he moves ever so slightly to sit up more, studying the way the knight twitches. For a second, he expects him to instinctively attempt to reach for his weapon, the nearest sharpened object, but calloused fingers sprawl, slow in their searching crawl before they find his hand. A darkened brow lifts, a careful arch as he watches Mizrak curl warm digits around his own. It's enough to leave him in silence, thoughts swirling like a tumbling storm as his gaze garners a more pensive look to it, brows coming to a furrowed knit. He gives his fingers a flex, testing the give of the swordsman's hold, but it's stiff, tightening in tired yet stubborn warning.
Dragging the pad of his thumb over the other's skin, one could call it an almost fond gesture, something he himself would deny if questioned.
He can't say what it is that lures him to the headstrong man, not exactly, but he's starting to form a vague enough idea it lulls something back down, smoothing atop bristling feathers like a soothingly gifted touch. Mizrak held a fire in him that burned bright enough to mirror the sun at times, a flaring thing, defiant, always bearing the potential to scorch those around in it's righteous rage when invoked just so. He was honest, devoted, believing wholly in his cause with an unwavering passion that Olrox had nearly forgotten what it'd felt like to experience himself. It entrances him. Snares his focus like a flame in the dark.
Another slow drag of his finger over a battle loved hand, a low chuckle softly rocking through his chest. In a hushed whisper into the chilled air, he admits that the other is undoubtedly interesting.
*CONTINUED. [ ; ] @sinfulpaladin
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