#kataskopeia

says he who knew his actions contradicted those wishes. to no surprise, the thrill of the chase saturated his rationale, best put as an absolute confidence that these fleeting moments would never be caught by eyes unintended to bear witness.   ❝ for you, i won't miss again. ❞   true to his word, soren closes the gap between them, wrist still wrenched in beck's grip. though he lacked the speed harbored amidst the initial hit and run, his lips still crash violently against beck's, other hand put to work in gripping beck's collar, yanking him into the collision. voyeurs be damned; it was only a matter of time   ( and frankly, an obvious guess or two )   before their fraternizing became common knowledge.

jotting down: knowledgeable about drugs, investigate firm

      an admirable attempt, had baby blues not carried their weight in mirrored merriment, grooves wrinkling the corners of his eyes, mischief flowing, eroding as smile marks persist. they would persist upon beck like lions amidst harsh savannah brush stalking nimble antelope, awaiting time to strike notwithstanding opportune moment, for even a nick by nail suffices to infuriate.

such a response proved more than sufficient for a predator who thrived on poking and prodding 'til something gave way, even if it was just a refusal to bear witness to his impishness.   ❝ don't be like that, ❞   he drawls, with all the passivity of a predator that knew its prey doomed.   ❝ you're the one who makes me like this, yknow. ❞  

... another issue for another time.   ❝ catching up on some paperwork, ❞   he answers in earnest, shoulders slight in their dismissive shrug.   ❝ time's not up for you yet. you can't be given any work 'til you finish with dr. derosa. ❞   however brief, the pause is evident to those who listen, the formation varied: lips wanted to say "won't", but "can't" crawls out instead.

oh, how hearing his   ( ex )   wife's name only bolstered nero's resolve, that grin slathered in shit as it spread evenly along his face. beneath false glasses slides fingers, thumb pinching nasal bridge as index sweeps sand from lid pockets.   ❝ please? don't make this more difficult than need be. ❞   his plea masks exhaustion, etched into lines not frequently found beneath healthy eyes.

      insubordination seemingly suited him; he wore it well throughout various careers, a leash he would oh - so - lovingly jerk should said tug mean his master would stagger for even a second.   ❝ my extraordinarily capable handler? ❞   soren scoffs, shoulder slightly shrugged and palm offered openly in his direction, putting that very same man on display.   ❝ i would be leaving you in a place sufficiently safer than this, sir, ❞   he adds, canines peering through the parting of smug lips. gritted teeth hid the pain better than neutrality, and his genuine enjoyment surely sweetened the sour sting of his sharp stab wound. flattery might not salvage this supposed slight, but he'd pour it on all the same.

by conscious choice, their designated room featured a plain brick wall for a view, giving little vantage point to any would-be assailants. while scaling the side of the building was an improbable solution, that would involve knowing the number of their hall… which had been kept utterly locked behind closed lips. at the most, he supposed a trail of his blood could give away their location, but not only had he cloth to cover the puncture, but the dagger's presence in his side plugged up what could be a gushing waterfall. steady steps kept the prick at bay; with a brief glance, the clean edges gave him confidence that it wouldn't be a serrated wound... a bonus, if he says so himself.

all that said and done... he can't suppress an eyeroll and shake of the head. beck had no right to reiterate that sort of spiel, but considering who once spoke those very same words... he supposed there was merit. with a snicker, he ultimately just throws up another dismissive, defeated hand.   ❝ you got it... boss, ❞   he jeered, taking one final look at the messy canvas of men sprawled out about the pavement. they better be quick with cleanup; the last thing he needed was for the boys in blue to come snooping about.   ❝ oh, but allow me. ❞   he hastily walks ahead   ( smothering the smarting pain that came alongside his hurry )   and pretends to roll red carpet before every step his master makes.

❝ where're we goin'? my car's this way, ❞   a lazy, drooping arm points dangling digit to the wall, where many attempts at darts peppered everything but bullseye. truly a wonder that he hit the board at all, rather than the bustling group of bargoers. with another heavy listing to the left, his head sways forward, half - lidded eyes try to make contact, baby blues deluged by black pupils. for a moment, he is at peace, smiling tiredly into bemused eyes. 

❝ —WAIT, ❞   soren barks, jerking upright   ( and, in doing so, threaten to take the two of them down ).  ❝ i won. we can't leave! they owe me. i drank 'em under the table, ❞   he whines, dizzily turning back    ( and spiraling beck in his haste )    to look at his companions, both of which were heads down on the bar.

      lord give him patience, for strength would result in homicide.   ❝ don't even start. you give me shit when i make perfectly natural puns, but you're allowed? fuck off. ❞   every slight, no matter how major or minor, paled in comparison to this betrayal. he's of no mind to cling to false idols, false hopes — no, he would remedy this plague by tearing evidence down and unceremoniously suffocate it in his pocket.

     in the midst of tactile clicks, soren sprawls out along the living room couch, springs creaking as a hefty leg dangles from armrest. free from daily duties, a brown, lightweight turtleneck envelops his torso, while dark sepia slacks loosely hang from long limbs. eyes glued to phone, arm propped lazily against sofa backrest to give distance between screen and vision, the only semblance of acknowledgment is a slight spike raising the right edge of his lip. the bastard's smirk lingers until further probing, in which bright whites flash a wide grin.   ❝ they're not spiders, ❞   he declares in turn, cheeky confidence failing to suppress growing snickers.   ❝ they're tarantulas. ❞