Jayme had been sitting in here for about three hours. Highly unusual, he just didn't go out, he got too distracted to think to do so. Today he had though. He'd taken the day off and decided to do something unusual it was the five year aniversary of his wife's death. He'd made up his mind to not stay home and mope over it this year.

Still here he sat at a corner table obviously alone, drunk and brooding. He was wearing a pair of tight black jeans and a blue metalic rayon shirt halfway unbuttoned. the clothes showed off his incredible physique and his large body in a flattering way. It was the first day he'd not worn his wedding ring. A pale band circles his finger still from where it was. Perhaps it was the alcohol, you say, making him brood on a day of sad memories.....but no. His thoughts are not with his wife, she is gone. He accepts this now, though firing his bereavement therapist helped with that more than anything else.

He is watching people, a normal preoccupation, and that is why he is brooding. The alcohol has made him losen up enough to do what he normally would not, watch men. He likes them, but that's his problem, admitting it to himself.

He sits nursing his drink, brooding, and feeling slightly aroused. Perhaps this wasn't such a good idea.

Degla looked like he was disgusted with the crowd, dressed like he belonged, and moved through it like he were God. It's the eyes that make people move. They're empty, meaningless. There isn't anything to them, in them, about them. No substance, just a shell of an existance. And this frightened people. Fasinated people. Made people move.

Degla's a red head. Not simply that orange-yellow-red color that is commonly called red-head but the real, untainted, bloody red. He stands out over the crowd, despite his empty blue eyes. His hair is at that point where it becomes impossible. He can't pull it all back into the smooth ponytail so strands hang in his face. His clothing consists of a pair of leather pants, tight at the waist, butt, and thighs, and just slightly looser around the calves, a pair of boots with silve clasps under them. His shirt is an older style of a button down dress shirt, the collar flipped down and much larger then average, laying across his shoulders. It's worn untucked, fitted to touch his body without seeming clingy or tight. He's too thin, standing at five eleven.

And he's moved to sit alone at a table for two. Small and round with two chairs, he sits and speaks breifly to a waitress and then turns his empty eyes to the ceiling, tipping his head back just slightly. You'd never know there were seven blades on his body.

Jayme finished the rest of his drink after watching the redheaded man pass in front of his table. Why was there something so, compelling, about the way the man moved. Jayme who's attention normally wavered was slightly breathless while his undivided attetnion had been on the other man's movements. He'd gotten a lump in his throat watching so he finished the drink. He wanted another, but there was another "lump" shall we say, that was embarrasing enough that he didn't want to go get it and reveal his current state.

Gently he took the waitress's elbow as she moved from where the redhead sat. He ordered another drink, told her he'd pay for what the other man was having and gave her more than adequate funds. He would look at that other table when the drinks came, but for the moment there were still plenty of other views to admire. Jayme has likely not been this drunk since college. Were he sober he'd feel like a voyuer. Drunk he isn't sure how to feel.

Maybe it was because he portrayed himself as God to himself, even, that drew attintion to him. Somehow, he could draw all attintion to himself and still manage to remain behind the scene when he wished, without changing anything except the way he moved. There is a differance between walking like a God and walking like a man, between stalking around and prowling around. Tonight, he prowled. Tonight, he was God.

Alright. A mortal God. Degla never forgot he was mortal.

When his drink came with news that the purchase was on another man, and the other man was indicated to, Degla turned his head, resting his blue, spacey eyes on Jayme without moving another muscle on his body. He raised the beer bottle to the other, then tipped the cold drink down his throat, before standing and moving once more, prowling.

He kicked back the chair and seated himself, without being invited, next to Jayme, setting down the green-tinted beer bottle. He said nothing, but fixed his blue eyes on the crowd, sitting beside the bald man that had purchased his drink.

Jayme got his drink when the waitress came by and so he gazed breifly to see how the waitress would expalain to the redheaded man that his drink was paid for. The man looked over movingnothing but his eyes. Jayme watched him rise, move and make his way to where Jayme sat after he'd raised his bottle.

Then he gave a sligh nod as he other man sat down at his table. Jayme's eyes moved constantly, scanning. One might thnk he was paranoid the way his gaze seemed to leap and waver so much around the room. He wasn't the stares where all fascinated and appreciative. His attention just wavers so much it's difficult to focus on any of the eye candy available for veiwing for more than a few seconds. There is so much to take in, more so because Jayme doesn't get out much.

Still even though his gaze meanders at an alarming rate throught the crowd, he can feel the presence of the strangely charismatic man who has joined him. Feeling him so close Jayme's bald head is slightly sweating. His breathing is slightly irregular, and his pulse is definitely heightened, both from watching the crowd and from the strange desires he feels at being here.

He lets his gaze shift to the other man for a brief time. He can't keep his eyes to himself in this state. His expresion while he looks the other man over is admiring.
"Jayme." he says by way of introduction and he offers his hand.

Degla’s eyes moved constantly, but they did not dart around at a furious speed like Jayme’s did. In fact, they moved over the crowds, the bodies, the faces, the bodies very slowly, taking in each figure, then moving on to the next. His mind was a chaotic mess, receiving information, images, processing it, then spitting the uselessness of it out.

Degla lifted the bottle to his lips, tipped back his head, but he didn’t actually sip anything with this drink, rather let the cold liquid hit his lips, the stinch of alcohol rush his nose and harass his eyes, then returned the bottle to it’s upright position, his eyes coming to land on Jayme’s hand, assessing it carefully. He lowers the bottle to the napkin on the table that he’s using as a coaster and lifts his eyes to assess Jayme over all with that same slowness he’d used over the crowd.

He let the corner of his lips twitch a little into what should have been a smile but looked more like a twitch of the lips. He reached across the table and put his flat, thin hand into the others, grasping, without shaking. “Deg Rome.”

Jayme doesn't really shake either he holds it for a moment and looks into those cold eyes. He's never seen eyes like that before, creepy but entrancing at the sme time. Jayme's latest drink is gone already. He is begging to get a bit wobbley. "You come here a lot?" he asks.

"That's a terrible pick up line," he replies, turning his empty eyes away to scan the crowd, and for a moment, it may seem as though he isn't going to release Jayme's hand from the grasp. Finally, however, his fingers unwrap from the big man's hand and he tips the beer back, allowing the beer to wash into his mouth this time, his adams apple bobbing slightly while downing the foul drink.

He put the drink down once more, and brought his hollow gaze back to rest on Jayme again. "Jayme, that's a lovely name." He tilted his head to the side, bringing eyes most likely to focus on his law line and lips as he spoke the words. Demonstration 101. "To answer your question, only as often as fate has me come."

" I've only been here one other time." Jayme says, somehow disappointed his hand has been released. "Fate brings you to bars...."Jayme sounds confused and a tad slurred. He may very well be too drunk to walk, it's not like he does this all the time. "A lovely name, mmm, I'm Scottish." he slurs and waves to the waitress while he turns to look at Deg again....his eyelids droop and he wears a crooked grin.

"Fate brings me to people in bars." He corrected. His voice was as empty as his eyes. Not empty of meaning but empty of emotion. He looked, again, across the table at Jayme. What he was not saying was that the people in the bars that fate brought him to was a man he'd been hired to kill. What his own mind seemed unable to comprehend was that this other man happened to already be dead. And somewhere in his mind he knew this.

Deg waves the waitress away. "Your smashed. You don't need more." As if he has the right to say so or not, Degla takes the role of comander in charge rather well.

"S'awright, I didn't drive. I wouldna drive to a bar.....Call a taxi when I'm ready I promise." he says. He is still confused by talk of fate, but he is smashed. the waitress left reluctantly, Jayme being one of those men who tips too well out of fear of not tipping enough.

"Maybe I should call another drink to take me home." he says finally nodding.

"Maybe I will take you home if you wait long enough." Long enough for what? For the insane man with dark eyes and a hollow voice to finish looking for the dark haired man he's been hired to kill. He pushed the remaineder of his beer across the table to Jayme and let his eyes drift slowly over the crowd. Sitting here, looking over the crowd, drinking casually with another man, he looked like he fit. He still acted like he was God.

"It seems that he is not here," he said after a few long minutes. It's a quick and easy search, it always is, because he really does know, somewhere in his mind, that Raven is dead and that he won't find him here.

"Then maybe I will wait, but who's home?" Jayme asks, he'd never dare sober.

He doesn't care who's not here. Deg does still look like a God, possibly more so to a repressed drunk man who's only had it once in his life and that five years ago. In spite of his drunken state he is still watching and admiring the lithe bodies moving in the crowd and on the dance floor.

Degla raised his eyebrows again, the red arches becoming gracful and slim. He rose slowly from his seated position, knowing well that he was going to take advantage of a drunken man whose morals he did not know. But Degla did not care for morals of any sort, except for those of his own baby sister. And he did not care that he was going to take advantage of this man.

"Your home." He replied, and he's walking. Come hither, Jayme. Follow your temporary god.

It takes him a bit to stand up and walk. Once he gets moving though he seems to gain momentum. "Too hot in there any how." he murmurs as he reaches the door and follows Deg out. "My house, I have to pick one." Jayme says drunkly.

This caused Degla to pause outside on the side walk as he pulled a pair of keys from his back pocket, put one back and inserted the one he'd kept out into the door of a perfectly matnanced '78 Nova. It's paint job was sleek and black, two red strips running over the hood.

"What do you mean," he pulled the passenger door open for Jayme and moved around the car like a peice of slik, sliding into the driver seat. "Pick one?" The floor board of the passenger side had a purple scrunchie, an algebra book, and a hair brush. The interior was red. The seats black and leather.

Jayme is a bit too drunk to explain he has more thn one house. He isn't so far gone that he can't determine which one is closest. Attention deficit and alcohol make him twice the mess he normally is. Jayme gives directions to the five bed room house he hasn't stayed in in over a year. It's furnished, he goes by to water his plants and check the mail. Lawn people come and go on their own but this isn't the house he typically sleeps in at night. It doesn't matter though, it will serve his puropose he can sleep there until he is sober and then walk to his shop and get one of the vans to drive home, home. in.

Degla followed his directions and pulled into the driveway of the large house, parking and shutting off the engine. He got out and slid around the car, moving like he was still in the bar, parting a crowd, to open Jayme's door, hit the lock button, and waited for Jayme to get his drunken self out before closing it and following him to the front door and waited for him to unlock the door.

Jayme took out the keys found the right one after some fumbling opened the door and then went and deactivated the key pad for the alarm. As he moved through the darkened hallways motion sensing lights inset in the wall just at hip level came on. It leant the place a strage affect as the dim light moved with them through the hallways. Jayme made it to the stairs and led Deg up. If it occured to him on any level of conciousness that a strange man was in his house with him, the thought did not claw it's way to the surface.

Jayme went to the master bedroom and drew the curtains from around the large four poster bed. The whole thing is draped in purple velvet. The house is silent except for the faint hum of electricity moving through it. Jayme sits one the edge of the bed and kicks his shoes off.

The lights, Degla knew, were motion sensor. He's cheated many of the same alarm and protection precautions. He follows Jayme, his boots silent and stealthy on the floor. As he moves behind Jayme he removes the blades fom his calves, unbuttons his pants and removes two from his thighs and re-buttons his pants, then removed the one hanging down his back by a string without faltering in his movment. Jayme didn't turn, he's done everything right.

Upon reaching the room he waists no time in putting the blades down on the floor against the bed and straddling Jayme's lap, his knees on the bed, his butt on Jayme's knees, one hand back pulling off his own shoes.

For some reason this is funny to Jayme he can't put it into words though, he just simply gives a throaty chuckle, "Friendly aren't you?" he speaks quietly and still slurred with a hint of his accent. If he were sober he'd be under the bed right now.

Good thing he isn't. Once Deg's shoes are gone, somehwhere on the floor near the foot of the bed Jayme puts a hand to the small of Deg' s back. He gives a crooked grin, "You gonna be upset if I have no idea...well I have no idea." he says he can't quite formulate the sentence I have no idea what I'm doing.

"Not as much as you think." Not as much as anyone thinks. The only affection in the whole world that Degla holds is for his baby sister. Anyone else is a person who is either one day going to be killed or is going to roll over and die. And he held no regaurd for them at all.

His lips teased over Jayme's and he drew back. "It doesn't matter. I do." He's not been with many men or women but when he's felt like it and been offered to it, he's never yet simply turned it down. He slid his hands over the top of Jayme's shoulders in response to his hand at the small of his back.

"Glad somebody does then."He says as Deg's lips draw away from his. Jayme puts the free hand on Deg's thigh. He slowly move the hand away from the knee sliding it up the thigh. His hands only shake a little, a slight tremor. He kisses the other man again.

Degla didn't respond, only let him kiss and kissed back. He moved his own hands down Jayme's back from over the man's shoulder, untill he reached the hem of the shirt and pulled it upward, letting cool air touch Jayme's back. His fingers ran around the man's waistband, then back up his sides. They both tasted of alcohol, both smelled of it.

Jayme took his time exploring vaiations of the kiss, something I'm sure he'd only do drunk. He could feel Deg pulling at his shirt, feel the other man's fingertips sliding along his skin. His own hands shifted, the one on the back slid down to the butt and the other hand Jayme moved up to Deg's chest begining to finger clumsily, but gently with the buttons there.

Degla had already helped Jayme with the buttons by only wearing four of the seven buttoned up, leaving an amount of bare, hairless chest exposed under the white. His onw hand trailed back down the front of Jayme's chest, sliding slowly like silk on silk. He slipped his hand into the half unbuttoned portion of Jayme's shirt, his long fingers playing over bare flesh, pausing over the nipple.

His own kisses varried in reaction to what the other was doing, one hand pushing back strands of flaming hair, then moving down the buttons on Jayme's shirt without fumbling. Simply, one button undone, on to the next. He shifted his hips over Jayme's.

Jayme gets the buttons undone. He rocks his hips slightly with the movement of the other man's over his own. He breaks off his kissing and then starts again, with a fairly chaste kiss to the lips then he moves down to the chin, the neck, he pauses and stops then kisses behind an ear. He's surpringly gently for some one so large. He kisses the shoulder next, then the chest. One hand is tangled in the other man's hair and the other now hold a shoulder.

Degla tipped his head back with the kisses around his chin and neck, his ear and chest. It doesn't suprise him that this man can be gentle, many bigger men could be genlte, many small women could be vicious and rough. But he has the thought in his head, for a man that claims he does not know what he's doing, he seems to be doing fine.

Degla continued to rock his hips against Jayme's own motion, useing both hands under either shoulder of the shirt to push the shirt from Jayme's torso and run his fingers down the chest, feeling, testing. He opened his empty, dead eyes to watch Jayme kiss his chest.

He does seem to be doing rather well, I'll blame his very active imagination. He's thought about such things in the back of his mind many times, but never admitted it to himself. Of coarse when Jayme decides to concentrate on only one thing, it tends to be intense undivided concentration.

Jayme moves his hands downward as he moves his trail of kisses downwards. He has to stop when he gets to the waist line of the trousers though. Then he brings his hands from behind Deg to where they can better serve. He isn't as clumsy with the trousers as he was with the buttons though, he is growing more eager. He kisses Deg's neck some more while his hands work. He remembers which spots seem to have ellicited the best reactions, so he revisits them.

The assassin rolled his head backwards once more to better expose his throat to Jayme, hooking his fingers and running fingernails over Jayme's chest, grazing the flesh. He stops the motion of his hips, rolling his shoulders backwards until his white shirt fell off of his body. His back and chest ripple without being too bulky. Perfect, porcelin.

His fingers follow Jayme's lead, allowing the bigger man, the 'less experianced' drunk beneath him to lead. He unbuttons Jayme's pants, slides down the zipper.

Jayme pauses and makes an approving noise in the back of his throat. He slides his hands down the back of Deg's losened trousers and firmly but gently squeezes the buttucks gently kneading in time with their rocking while he continues kissing Deg's neck and throat. Then he moves one hand forward to tease better and picks a nipple to focus his kissing techniques on.

Degla rolled his hips slower as the hand slides down the back of his leather pants, drops his own hand down the front of Jayme's pants to play and tease lightly. He rolled his head again when Jayme turns his attintion to a nipple. He leans his head down, the stray strands of red hair falling to tickle across Jayme's shoulder. His lips tease at Jayme's ear, his teeth pulling the lobe gently.

He's not made a sound yet, no moan, no words, nothing. His dead eyes are closed, his mind possibly elsewhere but maybe focused on the task at hand.

That's probably been the most encouraging part for Jayme, the silence, no criticism. He is pretty good at telling when the other man seems to like something, which in turn seems to excite him. Jayme moves them both further onto the bed so that when he lays back his legs don't dangle and Deg is roughly sitting on his hips. His hands reach up to play lightly on Deg's chest from the new position.

In this new position they happen to be pressed tighter togather as well. Degla rocks his hips again, sitting up where Jayme is laying down. Degla reaches up and once more shoves back hair, opening his empty eyes and gazing down on Jayme from his upright position, his lips set in an unsmiling line. If his body was no reacting, one might think that Deg wasn't even noticing what was happening.

His fingers toyed and teased, played and roamed. He leaned forward, sliding his arms around Jayme's waist and cupping his butt, bitting and nipping at Jayme's stomach. If silence is a good thing, Degla is perhapes the best candidate.

Jayme made no noise other than a sharp intake of breath when the biting and nipping began. Needless to say it got quite a rise out of him. His hands went to Deg's hips holding him against himself as he rocked his own hips more. It was getting hard for him to concentrate on the forepaly now. He was getting very eager. He released the other man's hips only to dip hands into his trousers again and tease some more.

He continued to move in the rhythem that Jayme set him in with his hands, continued even when Jayme's hands dropped away. He ran his tongue up the length of Jayme's chest, leaving a long wet trail, and then he slid off of Jayme, sliding the other's hand out of his own pants. Standing, he slid his pants down his toned legs and stood there naked and comfortable in his nackedness in front of another man. His empty eyes were on Jayme, watching, waiting paitantly.

Jayme sat up breathless and removed his own pants. His gaze remained slow and steady as it took Deg in, he was breath taking. Jayme could scarcely breath as he looked. Deg did indeed look like a God. Jayme knelt then, that's what you do before your God afterall, kneel and of coarse worship.

((Curtian's close))

((Curtian's open))

Degla lay awake now, after several hours of sleep. He'd awaken with his limbs tangled with another, larger mans and his memory had rushed almost immediatly back to him. He'd untangled his legs but hadn't moved from the bed. At the moment he lay naked, one arm thrown over his eyes, the other resting across his shapely stomach.

Blankets covered him from hips down, leaving his torso bare and pale and perfect. His hair had been pulled from the small ponytail and was now laying in a disheveled state. He did not leave the bed, did not leave Jayme's side. He was waiting.

Jayme woke up not long after. It hadn't merely been a good dream then. He took a deep breath. Was that really such a bad thing. It's not like he has anyone to answer to. He does blush slightly at the last thing he remembers doing. "I'm not too sure what to say." Jayme says, then he kisses the other man's shoulder. His eyes are still those of a worshipper. His voice is still heavy with sleep.

"Then don't speak," came the reply from that empty voice, without removing his arm from over his eyes. It's hard to tell if he doesn't care to hear Jayme talk or if he's being romantic. Probably neither an both. Whatever the case, he finally moved his arm and opened his eyes and eventually he turned his head to face Jayme. His emtpy blue eyes annalyzed Jayme's features carfully, then closed again. "It was good," he said, not a mumble, simply said.