Loki felt at home everywhere he went now because, well...since his making, he’d lived everywhere at least once. But the winter time always brought memories to mind, things that he could not often recall unless he sat for hours in attempt to recall them. The winter reminded him of his home, or as the mortals now called that land, Norway. The weather there had always been brisk and cool, the ground hard and the air smelling of salt and fish.

Of course, winter brought back memories that he enjoyed as well, such as the feel of someone he loved. He’d loved his wife, yes, but they’d been married because their father’s choose it. And he loved his children dearly but in a far different way. But his Nafi, his true love, how he missed him. But things simply couldn’t be the way they had been. Winter brought the memory of a night worse then being turned, a night almost equal to watching helplessly as his eldest son died. The night he had to flee from Nafi and all the evil that his lover was made of.

Winter had once been grand, something to cherish, it brought him his memories, his family that he often forgot he’d had, the human he’d forgotten how to be. But for 4,oo5 years, winter has made Loki relive that night over and over in his mind, a painful twist of a knife deep in his chest every year. What was worse, Loki had begun to wonder in the past few decades, had he been right to run away, accusing Nafi of being a monster? Wasn’t he a monster as well, a killer? Guilt adds a second knife, this one in the back, and what makes it so terrible is this knife in the back was his own knife. No one else stabbed him in the back save for himself.

Loki was not chilled by the cold, he could scarcely feel it for he was chilled by something much deeper, leaving his heart and his mind cold and empty, but to live among the humans required dressing in accordance to what was appropriate. And what was appropriate was winter attire.

Loki was simply dressed in a pair of regular slim fit blue jeans, light blue denim, hugging his strong legs and hanging low on his hip bones, belted there with a leather strap. Today, one might think that strength came from excersice on free time. In loki’s time, it came from living. If you wanted to eat, you worked the fields. His polo shirt is a dark blue, setting off the blue of his eyes only to highlight the pain in them, the sweater he wears over it clings to his figure to show that he is both thin and built strongly and is low cute at the neck to allow the top of his polo shirt to be seen. The sweater is black, looks expensive, might be, probably wasn’t. His hair is plaited down his back in a long, tight braid, pulled from his face to show his pale skin, a clean line of neck and jaw. He’s hansom, because he is a vampire. But he was nearly as hansom, if only more work and weather worn, as a human, but he can not recall that. His skin is nearly ghostly white, though he’s fed this evening and left the body covered and hidden so that he may properly lay the soul to rest closer to the morning. His fingers are long and pale, calloused on the insides, but it’s smooth. His nails look like glass.

Loki had set out on a long walk, attempting to push away those memories that accompanied winter time, but he found himself standing on the beach, the toes of his boots just out of the laping waters reach. The water was calm tonight, nearly flat as glass. He'd always been drawn to the ocean, had spent many decades being a Viking, a Sailor, a Fisherman, and even a Pirate. But even the ocean didn't keep his thoughts away, the image of babies dieing, his lover killing his youngest children, his twins and his baby girl.

That event had never happened, he'd not met Nafi for nearly two centries after his turning, after his children had long since passed on. But that night, watching those events, so terrible. A red streak suddenly appeared on Loki's cheek, a single perfect trail of blood sliding from his left eye to drop off of his chin.

"Fjandinn Það, Nafi." His whisper was horse and thick with an accent similar to the older diologue of Norweigin, though his language went back much further then most scholars had yet found.

Jibril never felt at home. He didn't know where his real home was. No matter how hard he racked his brains, something might come up, but it always slid away. Things helped him feel a little more at home, things like the people he knew, and Logan. But he never knew where his true home was, and he had this feeling, that even if he did learn...he'd never be able to return. All he can remember is dry heat and sand. Lots and lots of sand, exotic people, and beautiful cities. And after that, nothing, it hurts worse than any wound he has receieved.

What hurts just as bad as the same, depressed, almost horribly angry and violent feeling he gets every Winter. He too, dreads Winter, though he no longer remembers why. All that he does remember is that it makes his heart hurt and his head boil. He had taken his random spurt of anger out earlier, on a broken down building. Nothing is left but a pile of rotten wood now. He had destroyed it, and it had felt so good, so relieiving, that it frightened Jibril. He had been trying to avoid Logan as of late, so he wouldn't suddenly and accidentaly take his anger out on the boy.

Jibril looked as if he loved the holidays. Shoulder length spiral curls, perfectly shaped, fell around and in his face. They were bleached a blinding, perfect white, with the tips either green or red. He tries to hide his emotions and feelings under all of this whole mask. His eyes were glowing, now that he was no longer in public, were a torrent of the uncomfortable, mixed, and confusing emotions that were raising through him and in his mind. All of him was glowing, nothing like he had been when he was younger. His pale skin was bright and ever so pale , none of him was hidden - wearing a white fishnet tanktop - bellybutton, tattoo, and chest mucles exposed. His pants were the typical style, heavy, ladden with buckles, straps, and chains. They had a camo style to them; colors of deep scarlet, bright crimson, and a pale rose. He had on no decorations save for his platinum peircings and his usual tattoos; the ones on his arms and back.

He was walking along the riverside, barefooted, with the bottom his his pants soaked through. His gorgeous black wings were out too, also trailing in the water, and every now and then one would fall out. He was careless, but he was too busy thinking. Thinking about what he was so unhappy about. But it didn't help all the time, sometimes only making him angrier or sadder. He was looking up to the sky, pale, sad face open - as if asking the moon if she could tell him why he was so unhappy. But he knew he'd have to find the reason out himself one day. But it still hurt so much.

He was headed in Loki's direction. But he either didn't notice, or didn't care at the moment. He just kept looking up at the sky, even when a voice several yards away spoke. He just kept walking, the water rippling around his bare feet. He walked under some hidden subconscience snapped him aware. He found himself unable to breath momentarilly and he gave a choke, hand going against his chest and his torso fell forward slightly, bending at the waist.

It took a moment to calm himself down. What was wrong with him? His eyes were wide, blazing with his previous emotions but most noticable of all - confusion. He lifted himself upright once again. And he spotted Loki. He looked at the other confused but most noticably of all - he didn't even recognize him. He didn't even need to say it. His eyes were ringing the question loud and clear.

Who are you?

The sound of someone walking through water near him had once, just after his turning, frightened him. The thought of being able to hear from so far away, supernatural abilities that came with being what he was, had scared him. He'd been scared of himself, of what he would do, what he must do, to other living beings in order to supress that raging hunger inside of him. He could remember the feeling of bloodlust and thirst and how much he wanted rid of it. The mere sound of a human breath had made him flee. Winter brought back those memories. He'd been a monster, and yet, he'd left Nafi for being the same kind of monster. Hypocrite.

Now the sound of footsteps in the water did nothing to frighten him or rise that forbidden hunger. He was old now, powerful too. He could control himself now, he could even pass for human despite how lovely and how pale he was. The footsteps did nothing for him. He'd once been human and known that if someone wanted to talk they would approach. After three hundred years of being as he was, he'd forgotten what being human was like. But then he'd begun to live among them again and he relearned how he was expceted to act and look. But it didn't help him remember what it had been like.

He didn't turn at the footsteps. But the sudden choking sound made him forget his memories for just the breifest moment, bringing his attintion away from his beloved ocean. Loki turned, and when he moved, he looked utterly human. He did not flow or glide or look graceful in any way like he had 5000 years ago, or even 1000 years ago. He turned at the waist first, then his hips followed until his eyes found...

Loki chocked. On nothing particular because he was not breathing to choke on air. He simply felt a sudden clenching in his chest and he took two very natural steps backwards. This time when he moved, he did glide, like he'd flowed over the ground. You see, he only resembles a human perfectly if he is trying too. Any other time, his real nature might show through. He blinked twice, the second time sent a fresh tear down his cheek, directly over the previous path leaving the same wet, red path down his pale cheek. He shook his head. Who was he, he was so firmiluar so...he knew him. But from where. He looked so much like his beloved Nafi. He covered his chest where his heart was faintly beating, though rapidly.

Surely not, he was imagining things. This angel, or perhapes simply man, looked nothing like his Nafi, he was making it up in his mind. Allowing Nafi's memory to get the best of him.

The same horse voice whispered, "Hvorfor må du tilholdsstedet meg?"


((Translation: Hvorfor må du tilholdsstedet meg? = Why must you continue to Haunt me? He's talking to himself...))

Everyone is a monster.

Jibril didnt expect the other male to have a reaction similar to his own. The sight of the other's tear made Jibril's heart ache - why, he didn't know. His slender, pale hand came up, covering where his heart was, confusion etched into his face. Whywhywhy? Why was he feeling this way? It confused him and only made him more upset, making him do the only thing he could do at that time - cry.

They weren't blood tears, they were clear and hot, sliding down his pale face. He made no noises, these were silent tears, one he did not know why they were coming. Loki might be denying it, but those green eyes are the same ones that Nafi had, and the look in them is easilly recognizable Those eyes and the look in them are the same on the one night he was thining of, identical - yet completely different.

Nafi's eyes were clear and rpoud, gleaming with blodlust and power. Jibril's eyes are clouded, filled with emotions yet completely unreadable. The expression were so close, anyone could think they were the same - except Loki. Nafi's, on the night of their breakup, were full of love, despair, and utter confusion - tears of anger spilling out. Jibril's tears were of confusion, and his pain was the pain of someone who was lost, alone, and sad.

He lifted both hands up then, shying back from the other as he tucked his hands under his chin, arms pressed to his torso. The other spoke a language that was somehow familiar, yet completely alien to him. Jibril felt weirdly skittish, and looked as if he was ready to run at any moment. It felt so odd to feel this way, something he was unused to. Finally, his deep voice, the same as it had been - save for it being much more rough due to his smoking - broke the silence, almost a whispery rasp yet as clear and loud as if he was shouting. His voice was quiet, careful, and sad.

"Who are you?"

Because you make me feel so many things, becuase it hurts. Whywhywhywhywhy?

nononono.

He closed his eyes, squeezed the shut tightly, causing the trail of red to ripple just a little below the eye and spread under his eyelashes like ink, it almost looked like a bad eyeliner job. He turned his head to the side and down just slightly, trying to clear his mind, willing himself to relax. The other cirled his arms up, stared at him out of Nafi's eyes. Nafi's eyes but not the right emotions. Not his proud, dominating, powerful Nafi. Those sad, confused eyes.

Loki's eyes, when he opened them were clearer, the pale blue tinted red from the blood hoovering and threatening to spill another tear. This was not his Nafi. But he certinlly wouldn't want to see this angel again. He reminded him far too much of his love. The winter was already a painful enough reminder, why were the gods, the god, some almighty, whatever! why were they torturing him now?

That rasping voice was firmiluar but it wasn't as close to Nafi's voice as those eyes. He took reliefe in that and his body loosened, his posture became comfortable. Loki lowered his arm slowly and put on hand into his pocket, the other hanging at his side. He tended to lean back just slightly, taking a half an inch off of his five feet six inches, the way a sailor or someone always out on the water might stand. Loki's always stood like this. He's not relaxed right now, but he's taking comfort in this voice that isn't Nafi's, and he's making himself look less tense.

"Loki Njord. And you are?"

His voice hasn't changed. Not one bit. His eyes are jaded, darker, orginized and tired. They were once happy, joyful, less orgignized and more confused and questioning. But his tenor voice, that lilt of an accent that thickened his words, it was the same.

Jibril didn't recognize the name, everything else though, was somehow familiar. This has happened before, yes, but never before was his feelings so strong. It was like something was trying to claw out, telling him to well...something. He couldn't figure it out, one of the reasons why he was so confused. So many things racing through his mind, it almost hurt. He wanted to cry. He was crying. He wiped his eyes with a pale, slender hand. He looked miserable.

He was miserable.

He was very unhealthy looking too. He'd been drinking a lot so he had pounding headaches. He'd smoked a lot and nearly went into a drug-and-alchohol-induced coma. He's hardly gotten any sleep and so the circles under his eyes are darker. The other had seemed to relax, but he was still so tense. Nervous. But his feet began to step forward once again. One of the few parts of him that didn't realy change. The small things. His hands and feet were the same, save for the change of pigment in them. His body, besides quite a few more scars, hadn't changed. his hair was a bit shorter than Nafi's had been.

But he really looks the same.

And he has the same walk. Its weird really. Different personality, but they have the same swagger, the same grace, and the same feline way they take their careful steps. He kept walking until he was about a yard away from Loki. Loki. It fit him, yet Jibril didn't like it on him. He needed something more extravagent. something more powerful sounding. And Jibril didn't even know why.

He offered out his hand.

"Jibril Digger."

Raspy voice, thick Arabic accent still from so many years ago. His wings twitched, flexing slightly. They have grown over the past few millenia, as well as he. But he was the same. His look was gentle as he looked into Loki's eyes, almost lovingly among the torrent of emotions in them.

Aside from Loki's very convincing efforts at looking relaxed, his eyes grew confused anyways upon the name Jibril, the accent. The Arabian accent. There was simply far too much in common between this angel and his beloved Nafi. It was not possible that there could be so much similar, despite how much was different, between the two.

He reached his hand out, the movment slow and natural, once more not the gracefulness you would find in a vampire, even one as young as two years old. His fingers curled around the other's, the palm of his hands were calloused and not very soft, though they were not scratchy or uneven as a mortal's would be. Vampires don't maintain scars or physical changes of any kind unless the scar was there prior to the turning or was made by a holy item. In this case, those callouses had been worn onto his hands 6ooo years ago.

The hand in his felt...not firmiluar but rather like it belonged there and his eyes moved back up. Nafi? How could it be possible. But how could it not be? After all, anything's possible, especailly when the events occur between two immortal beings. Eventually they are bound to meet up again, right?

"Simply Jibril? And no other name that I may address?" His tone hadn't changed but his eyes grew fearful, his heart hopeful, his mind regretful for asking that question.

Jibril's hand was strong, despite how unhealthy he looked. His hand wouldnt let go of the other's hand. He shook his head at the question.

"I...I don't know...maybe...but I don't know..."

He looked rather sad that he could not answer the other's question. How sad! He realized he was gripping the other's hand. Oops He gave an apologetic look and lowered his hands down to his slim sides. How embaressing. He had a hint of a blush on his cheeks, but none the worse for wear really. In fact, he looked slightly healthier and youthful with the color in his cheeks. He sniffed. What was he supposed to say? He was obviously quite uncomfortable now...

Erm, maybe he should just leave.

He schootched, rather oddly, to the side. He was now very uncomfortable. The other was making him feel weird. Maybe they knew eachother somehow. For some reason hiding his back was important. He shyed backwards, steps splooshing as he did so. His mouth was forming words but no sounds came out, and when he tried to speak, it was chopped and messy.

"May-maybe I should just uh...leave, so sorry to bother you...yea, uh...that's right..."

He wanted to leave but he wanted to stay too! Which is probably the reason he didn't go running right away.

Loki didn't release the other's hand when Jibril didn't release his own. He would have dropped his hand away immediatly except that the Angel continued to hold his hand and for some reason it gave him a week excuse to continue to hold the other's hand in his own. His eyes roved over the other slowly when Jibril started to stutter.

"Can't you recall?" His question about the other's 'maybe but I don't know' over rode any words that Jibril was sputtering away about leaving. He let his hand go back to his hip, his fingers wrapping nearly around that thin waist. He didn't want Jibril to leave and yet, what a reminder he was of his loved, painful Nafi. He did not want to hurt more then he was already. He did not think he could bare that.

Oh but they looked so much the same. Felt the same. He found himself longing to be wrapped in the safety of Nafi's arms, of Jibril's arms because this stranger of an angel reminded him so much of his Nafi. He found himself on a pile of plush cushions that were a makeshift and very comfortable bed, he lying on his back, his head in Jibril's lap. He would allow the angel to do wwhatever he wanted of him, like he did with Nafi.

This was strange because rarely was Loki a sex-driven creature. Actually, rarely did the thought of sex cross his mind, he has slept with only two others since he left Nafi.

He could see this Jibril covered in glinting golden blood, see him moving about, prowling naked and glorious. But that was not Nafi, that was Jibril, a stranger he'd only just met. But then why was he so much of a memory? Was it really possible?

"I've other names," he said it almost idlely. "Nafi, my love, called me Yngvi. And I've called myself many other names since then." Yes, he did that deliberatly.

Jibril's hands raised, covering his face as he closed his eyes tight. A shake of the head, his head hurt. The other's questions and the emotions he was creating within Jibril was too much for him. He lowered his hands, shaking his head once again.

"I can't remember..."

Jibril looked over the other. The other was staring at him. Jibril's eyes flashed, pupils narrowing briefly before he took in all of Loki. It was sort of an epiphany. He realized how attractive the other was. All this time he had been focused on the emotions, he never relaized why he was feeling some of them. Now he did. His eyes took the liberty of controlling his shock - roaming over the other's body intensely. He couldn't see everything, but he could figure what the other looked like with less clothing on.

He blinked rapdily, face heating up slightly. Oh dear, he hadn't meant for those thoughts to come through his head. He licked his dry feelings lips veriously, shifting slightly. But as soon as the other spoke, he seemed to give his entire attention to him. Jibril's eyebrows raise slightly. Nafi? Yngvi? Somewhere in his head, he recognized them - but what? His mouth opened and closed, tears wanting to wll in his eyes but it was as if he had none to spare.

"I..I..they sound...."

Familiar. But he didn't know from where!

"A history book, perhapes?" Loki suggested, his tone suddenly showing a fragment of disappoinment and reliefe. This could not be Nafi. Nafi would not call himself by any other name, Nafi would not do this, play these games with him. Nafi might have even hit him for leaving him or embraced him for having him back.

Whatever Nafi might have done, this Jibril couldn't, no matter the great similarities, be his Nafi. Nafi wouldn't forget him. Would he? He'd never been able to forget Nafi, try as he might. His eyes, however, remained level with the other's eyes, watching the other look him over and watching the blush creep to his cheeks.

Loki gave a half smile, just a twitch of lip, that knowing smile. "Nafi at the very least would be mentioned in the Arabian history somwhere, I'm sure."

Jibril shook his head.

"Not in a book..."

His hands clentched and unclentched as he frowned suddenly. This whole situation is weird. He wrapped his arms around his torso, feeling the cold finally creeping up on him. The blush was still on his face, but it toned down slightly, and he was able to look the other in his face. It seemed like the realization of some ncomforable emotions had somehow helped clear his eyes, and the gaze was more intense. But his ears perked up.

"Arabian?"

But then his mouth stopped working and his mind trailed off. Before he could think too hard a zat of pain went through his mind. He winced deeply and went forward. He didn't lose balance but his head felt like it was going to split. He fell to his knees, soaking the lower part of his pants, and bending over at the waist. His wings were drooping slightly, because of the pain in his head. His back was exposed through the white fishnet, swirly and written tattoo clear as ever against his pale flesh.

He didn't care about getting wet. The pain in his head was dying down, but he lost all thoughts on what they had just been talking about. A country was it? He winced, lifting himself slightly and rubbing his temples.

"I'm sorry...but I guess I just can't really remember..."

Why was he speaking of Nafi to a complete stranger? Loki never spoke of Nafi, not to anyone. Even those that he allowed to travel with him for a number of years. No one knew about him and his Nafi, no one that he spoke to anyways. And here he stood, speaking about him to an angel he'd only just met simply because he resmembled Nafi?

His thoughts were interupted when the Angel before him pitched himself forward, dropping to his knees in what seemed to be pain. Loki may randomly apply the word headache to himself when his ming was too full or he was growing annoyed but he could not honestly say he knew what a headache felt like. He hasn't had one since all those years ago as a mortal. His calloused hands had come up, one of the touching the other's shoulder, as if he'd tried to catch him, was too slow, and was now a comforting hand on the shoulder.

"Are you alright? Your not injured are y..." His eyes had been moving over the other, trying to see what had made him fall but they'd not gotten any further towards the legs when they stopped at the back. Between those great wings, covering that pale back, was a tattoo. Now most peoples eyes are drawn to tattoos, just to look. But Loki is not most people and his eyes are not simply looking. They've grown just slightly painful and very amazed.

One hand reached out and settled at the neck, the top of the back where the tatoo ended. A rough finger moved downward over the spine, touching the unfirmiluar swirls and curling smoky ink. It stopped, hesitated, and rolled over onto the back of his hand rather then the palm, brushing only the much softer flesh of his cold fingers against the tattoo, caressing it, closing his eyes and tracing it, with no effort he got it right with his eyes shut.

His other hand had remained on the shoulder but the touch there had become less helpful and more gentle, loose, like a loving caress instead of a touch. Only lovers touched like this, only those who were truely deeply in love. Loki found it hard to swallow and he licked his lips.

"Forgive me, Love." His whisper was horse and low, his voice had cracked and a third bloody tear rolled down the path on the pale cheek and dripped on Jibril's back. He pulled back, his eyes roaming Jibril's face, moving fast, taking in details. hold me... /hold/ me! he thought intently. His face looked broken, his eyes full of painful memories.

Jibril's head was now feeling light, but there was no more jabbing pain. The other's hand was rubbing his back, a gesture that Jibril appreciated. His wings relaxed and he did too, as the hand trailed over his tattoo. Then he found himself paying close attention to that hand. The touch. It was different. He knew why too. He has touched Logan like that, and there was once someone else too. Someone so long ago. He couldn't remember, that was why he didn't want to remember. They had done something. No jab of pain, nothing, and his mind swireld deeper into chaos. Someonesomeonesomeonesomeone. What was their na- Loki had said it earlier.

"Yngvi."

He couldn't remember much else. All that he remembered was that his name was Yngvi, and he loved him, and Yngvi left him. That is all. And the memory is already trying to slip away. Soft skin, deserts, moonlight. Then it was gone. But now Jibril knew that this person...Yngvi, Loki, whoever...was connected with his past. Deeply, and was the reason why everything changed.

He didn't know whether to be angry or overjoyed at the site of him.

He lifted his head up, seeing another tear. They had loved eachother once, right? His hands twitched and he raised them. The other looked so sad. It made him feel sad too. Tears began to fall down his face once again and instead of opening his arms and waiting for someone's consent as he usually did, he took the other into them. This was so confusing.

If this was the ending to a happy sappy romance fairytale, Jibril would have regained all his memories, forgiven Yngvi/Loki and they would go on to live together, happilly ever after. But this isn't that way. Too many problems they have to solve still, others are involved in their lifes. And Jibril has yet to barely grasp just who Yngvi used to be to him and how he changed him. But right now, he was just content to hold the other in his arms and offer comfort.

Perhaps for the both of them.

(( oh my gawd, sappy post. ))

Too many problems they have to solve still, others are involved in their lifes.

Far too many problems they must resolve, because while Jibril's arms are wrapping around, him, closing in on him and holding him where he wanted to be, he realised this was where he was suposed to be and where he belonged. But Nafi made that impossible. He could not belong to someone who could do such monsterous things. And Loki knew this, he knew that he could not stay with Nafi because of this, even now, four thousand years later. Their lives were different, Loki was a peacful creature, always had been and must be much more so now, and Nafi lead a life that made him kill children, among others. That had been the turning point in both of their lives. Nafi's only changed more then Yngvi's.

As for others, Jibril's got them. Logan, the mess with Logan's father, or father figure. The demon, Verkur. Jibril's got many others. But not Loki. Loki has kept people, beings, at arms length since the time he'd been with Nafi. He'd made a companion of one other of his kind over 3ooo years ago, and one now, a child of their kind. Two companions, neither loves.

Loki curled into the arms, closing his eyes and forgetting everything except that he was right here right now, where he wanted to be. The other said his name and Yngvi's heart rejoiced. Jibril, Nafi, must remeber him now! Why hadn't he been able to remember at first? It didn't matter, he must remember him now!

Yngvi fit into Jibril's arms comfortably and perfectly, the tears began to come in more then single trails, flowing bloodly from both eyes, leaving bright red along white cheeks. He turned his face inward, pressing his eyes to Jibril's throat and letting out a long low moan of pleassure in the warm circle of arms, and sorrow. He felt guilt now. He knew that he could not be Jibril's and it was his fault that he couldn't. It was his fault that they were not still companions, his fault everything was ruined. Someone once had told him he was too nobel and one day that was going to hurt him. They told him that nearly two thousand years too late.

"Tilgi meg , behage, Tilgi meg."

(translation: Forgive me, please, forgive me. --Don't know if Jib would remember the language but Nafi would have known it because it's Yngvi/Loki's first language)

It really hurts, doesn't it? Finally, meeting up with someone you had loved greatly yet knowing that your relationship will most likely never be the same passionate, amazing one it had been. It hurt just to hold Yngvi in his arms, and he didn't know why. Maybe deep in his subconscience, he realizes all of that and it breaks his heart to realize that. But his hearts already broken, so we can say 'smash up the pieces' of his poor heart.

He felt the smaller male curl up in his arms, and Jibril shifted, pulling the other into a comfortable position against him, wrapped in his arms. The other was crying again, some of the blood tears getting on his chest. Jibril was trying to think through things calmly. He only had a vague recognition of who Yngvi was, but they must have been important - judging by all his emotions. A slender hand lifted and he cupped the other's face gently, tilting it up. He was looking gently over the face of the other, inwardly frusterated as his inability to remember anything more than vague recognitions.

He leaned his face down, licking and kissing away the tears on the other's face before letting the head relax against his shoulder once again - hand still against the lovely face. The other arm was wrapped around the other, holding him against him. The vampire was so small. Logan was taller. It struck him as odd and weirdly, any thought about Logan dissapeared as he looked back down at Yngvi. His thumb stroked the other's face and he sighed.

"I'm sorry...I can't really remember anything...but you, you were a Love of mine, yes? I just can't remember where...when...or how we were..."

He looked apologetic, slightly ashamed at the inability to remember. Damn years of drinking. But his inner, hidden self had never expected to once again meet the cause of his sorrows and most passionate dreams and memories.

Blink.

Blink blink.





What?

No.......

Wait......





Yngvi chocked on a sudden sob. He'd been crying silently, those tears rolling down unaccompanied by any sound. But now he choked on a thick, sticky, hot sob in the back of his throat.

He couldn't remember? At all? "Nothing?" The word sounded as thick as the choke but not with contempt. Not with any emotion at all aside from the soft sound of more, quieter sobbing. Jibril couldn't recall anything. Nafi had lost his memory. But how? How could he forget? Was this why his personality was so much...different from his dominate, comanding Nafi?

Because he couldn't recall that he was? Or had he done that to him? Had he made him so meak? Loki reached back in his mind, recalling that night to his mind. And even though since that night he'd never tried to think about it, each and every detail came back like tonights victum's face, or last nights clear stary sky. Nafi sliding to his knees, clinging to Yngvi's ankles. The most powerful being in Arabia groveling at the feet of, in comparison to age, a mere child.

He choked back another sob and more tears spilled. Squeezing his eyes closed, he sat up just a little, without removing himself from Jibril's arms. "You must forgive me. It was all my fault. I did this to us. I.....you...I....." Scowl. Gulity feeling rose. He'd called him a monster...yet he too was a monster. He'd left Nafi against his better judgment and hurt them both. And now this... "I was a monster." Not you.

He doesn't explain why, maybe he'll find something proper to say. It wasn't Nafi's fault 4000 years ago. It was his. Jibril had no memory, probably his fault somehow, he felt it in his heart that it was his fault. Everything was his fault. If Jibril had no memory, he would not blame Jibril for being a monster by reminding him that he once had thoughts he was. Pale blue eyes shone with the reddening of tears, the anger he spoke of when he spat the word monster about himself. The wounded little boy who had found his family but with the knowlege that he would only mess up again and that Jibril would be batter without him.

"I was a monster and you couldn't....I didn't deserve you." His eyes went to Jibril's jaw, that lovely perfect line, he closed his eyes and leaned up to kiss it. "Don't be sorry. It was my fault, everything wrong in the end, it was my fault. You loved me and I did a horrible thing. I shouldn't have ever left and I'm the one that's sorry."

Jibril's eyes grew wide suddenly, alarmed at the sound of the other's choke, and pulling his head back slightly to look at the other who was obviously distressed. His eyebrows raised, he bit his lip nervously. Before he could ask questions though, the other talked and he paid attention, once again kissing away the other's ruby tears. He had shaken his head at the other's question, once again looking ashamed but kept quiet. Until the other finished and kissed his jaw. Jibril's chest tightened and he heated up but calmed himself down the easiest he could, kissing the other's jaw back.

"Do not call yourself a monster. It isn't true."

He knew it, somehow he did, it wasn't the other's fault in anyway.

"There must have been a serious reason why you had left me...it is my fault I cannot remember. All I can remember is usually horrible things while I'm in a drug enduced haze, whether it me alchohol or well...pot."

He sighed, looking rather shy about his admitting to being an alchohol and a pot head. But he didn't continue on anything else about that. He hand on the other's face wiped away more tears and he let it slide down the other's face, feeling throug the sweater, and then onto the other's thighs. His fingers couldn't stop touching, especially the legs and thighs, he had some strange, very hot attraction to the other's thighs. Sadly he couldn't see.

But it didn't stop him from feeling.

"But I can remember just a little about us. We had been happy, very, very happy. I also remember sand, beautiful starry skies, a moon so big, and pillows."

He smiled, looking coyly at the other, rather out of tune with the melancholy moment.

"And someone's pale skin under that very moonlight...beautiful legs and a beautiful face with an expression of ecstasy and happiness." He stroked the other's thigh, leaning down to kiss the other's cheekbone. "Where had that smile gone?

Loki felt the heat and the kiss. He closed his eyes almost as if the kiss had actually, physically stung him. But he was savoring the painful and sweet kiss, storing it to his memory. What fate had brought him to meet Nafi now, here, and why? He opened his eyes to look up at Jibril with an intense gaze.

“No. I was a monster. I am. You just can’t recall.” After all, he’d known he was a monster, and many had and have reminded him of that. Nafi included, the night he left.

“I…” Serious reason indeed. He said nothing for a long moment because he had no excuse that would not place the blame on himself rather then his love. He was trying terribly hard to spare Jibril’s memories. If he no longer did horrible things, he didn’t want him to remember that once he had. After a moment he liked his lips. “I’m what todays world likes to call a vampire. A night walker. A blood Sucker. I killed nightly. That’s…bad enough that it made me…monsterous and you deserved better.” It didn’t seem to matter that Jibril smoked pot. It couldn’t damage an angel’s health.

“What….horrible things?” He asked hesitantly.

The hands drifted down his body, through the sweater his chest was still firm, unchanged by time, to his thigh and his body reacted in a way it hadn’t since he’d left. He hid it by curling up a little more, pulling his legs up and leaning into Jibril’s body. Loki knew he should move, get up, get out of Jibril’s arms, because he knew that he could not enter Nafi’s life again and destroy it once more. He should move, but he didn’t. And even knowing he should not provok this, he would have willingly let Jibril see his legs if he requested. He’d probably set his hair on fire if Jibril asked it. Once upon a time, every demand Nafi made, Yngvi had obeyed before he’d even thought about it.

But I can remember just a little about us.

Hope and dread filled him. Sand? He didn’t explain the sand. If he explained the desert, he might have to explain that Nafi was banned from that land. A soft smile came to his lips. “The pillows.” He closed his eyes, recalling the pillows. “We lay on piles and piles of plush pillows every night, for hours. Until I had to go below when the sun came up and you took me to … my coffin.” He didn’t say coffin sadly at all, rather like he treasured and caressed the word carefully. The stroke along his thigh invoked a similar response below the belt and the coy smile brought a shiver of memory. He looked up and something in his eyes were very meaningful.

“You can recall that?” And then the eyes saddened just a fraction at the question. “It’s been jaded too many times.”

Why? Maybe it is becuase they have to solve their problems. They can't run from eachother anymore. Jibril may not remember, but that is what he is doing, subconsciencly running away from Yngvi. Until now he never knew where he was, and now he is here, in his arms - not that he actually ever knew where Yngvi ended up. Jibril met the intense gaze with his own soft, yet so much stronger gaze of his own.

He sighed and shook his head.

"I'm as much of a monster as you are then - it all has to deal with those horrible things. Killing - no - slaughering people; women, men, children, eating them and enjoying it. There are times though, that I could tell I had been afraid, terrified, that I was losing my mind and that I needed help from someone - the only person who could help me..."

He looked over at Yngvi.

"I think that had been you, the person I needed most. But after that, things get fuzzy. I can't remember anymore, until a long while later. Sometimes I get an image from a few hundred years ago or so. But not much else."

He looked, almost pained, to Yngvi.

"Your excuse wasn't the best. If we had been close, then you know I wouldn't have cared and nor would you if I didn't." He sighed, wondering why he had gotten angry just then - but his anger dissapated quickly. "I'm sorry, but if I ate children, your bloodsucking was and is nothing in comparison."

Jibril sighed and leaned his head forward, pressing it against the other's chest after the other spoke. He breathed in deeply as he had with Verkur and Logan, memorizing the scent of the other. He himself smelt as he usually did, his own strong smell (not unclean - just a natural marker), oranges, leather, and whiskey. The pot never really left a scent on him. Another deep breath.

"Yes, I can remember that. You were - are - beautiful. It was beautiful and I must have been so happy, we must have been happy." He sighed again. "It is a shame to be jaded. This world is so jaded, everything has been done, nothing is new, and everyone is too old for their young age."

He titled his head up, chin against the other and his mouth inches away from the other. He was looking at the face again, trying to recall more memories. They were there, he knew it - it helped talking becuase it brought them up slightly easier - but he still had to struggle to get them.

He wanted to kiss Loki.

(( He is such a whore. ))

it all has to deal with those horrible things. Killing - no - slaughering people; women, men, children, eating them and enjoying it.

Loki closed his eyes and counted for a moment before looking up into Jibril's face. Could he remember all of that?

could tell I had been afraid, terrified, that I was losing my mind and that I needed help from someone - the only person who could help me..

He choked on another sob, coughed, choked again. He'd needed him to stay sane? He called eating children sane? He needed him to be sane and he'd...left him. He couldn't look at Jibril, ashamed now more then ever that he had left him. In a very weak attempt to justify himself, or perhapes a very strong and new way to torture himself, he sighed. "I returned. I was too late, you were already gone." He was too late, it was his fault he left and his fault he'd waited so long. Well...partly it was Axel's fault for telling him not to go. He suspected years later that Axel had been jelous of he and Nafi.

you know I wouldn't have cared and nor would you if I didn't.

"But I left you. I cared." He merely whispered it and maybe if Jibril had been a human he wouldn't have been able to hear him. "I left you when you needed me." Granted, eating children touched a closer home in him then one might expect, after all, he'd been a father. And lost children. He knew what it felt like from experiance.

He turned his face back to look at Jibril, nearly cried out because you can only cry so much blood. When he turned back, he found his face near Jibril's, his lips close. Kiss me. Not a good Idea, we both know it. Do it anyways.

"We were happy. We were very happy." Before I ruined it.

Jibril listened carefully, looking pained as the other spoke. So it was the other. And the other left him. Jibril's eyes were ever so sad, even more saddened by this information, and while the other left him - he couldn't get angry. His licked his lips, the other was so close. Jibril wanted him. He felt he knew why, their past together and a feeling that was trying to burst out of his chest. It scared and hurt him so much though, that he kept trying to repress it.

Kiss him.

He wanted to, he knew he shouldn't, but he wanted to. His breath was soft and warm against the other's mouth. He was honest, he might not remember all that happened, but he remembered the feeling. True bliss, true ectstacy. It brought tears to his eyes.

"I wish I could be that happy again..."

And then, a look of need coming over his face, he opened his mouth ever so slightly, and then sealed it over the other's. He wanted - needed - the other, he really did. His kissing ability hadn't changed much, probably an even more intense feeling becuase of that buzzing Jibril gives off. The Angel knew he should pull away from the other, that he shouldn't do this, but his body and subconscience didn't want to. His body remembered the vampire's, fingers running over the other's body, remembering where the other enjoyed being touched, the sensitive spots, and the pleasure spots - feeling them over in the same lusty, yet loving, and gentle way.

Jibril enjoyed it too. He had already gone too far to stop it suddenly, pierced tongue sliding into the other's mouth. His hands were moving over the other's body, rubbing, touching, tracing, playing with the hair - but most of all, holding him against the older one's body tightly, possessively. He really did want Loki...Yngvi...He did.

Loki had expected anger, a feeling of betrayal from Jibril that he felt in himself, but it didn’t come. Instead, Jibril just looked sad. Loki would have preferred anger to that quiet sadness and he felt his heart begin to ache, the feeling of pain stronger then it had been in so many years. He wanted to wrench himself out of the wonderful arms and just run away again.

His own breath simply wasn’t there. He didn’t need to breath and so he was not. Something compelled him to hold his breath, not move or all of this would go away and he’d be alone with his thoughts and memory. Perhaps that would hurt less.

“I wish I hadn’t made it otherwise.” He paused and turned his face up, noting the look of need. He’d seen it before, before it had made his chest swell with pride that the angel who needed no one needed him. Now it only hurt. That look, it had all been for him and he’d walked away from it.

Lips sealed over his own and he knew that this wasn’t just some random stranger that looked like his Nafi. He held him the same and kissed him with the same naked, hungry need. Loki found the fear and anxiety, the worry and the knowledge that this couldn’t happen between them melt away and he leaned up into the kiss. The tongue ring, as it slid between his fangs into his mouth, surprised him. This was a new thing in his Angel’s body. But then, so much of Nafi had changed.

Loki’s fingertips ran around the waist of the other, dancing along the hip bones until they rested in the lowest point of the back. When Jibril touched and stroked sensitive places, the ones along his hip bones and the inner sides of his thighs, at his throat and the back of his neck, he shivered and his fingers tightened on the hollow of back bone instinctively. A sound escaped his throat and was pushed into Jibril’s mouth, something like a deep rumble that could vibrate the tongue.

Mine, his hands said clawing at the sides of Jibril’s body, mine. His arms around the waist, the fingers moving up to the place where the wing met the back and rubbing along the slop, that place that wasn’t Jibril’s back but it wasn’t the wings yet either. Mine. Was mine, no longer. Mine for just one more moment.

(( OOC: I'm so used to the Nafi/Yngvi that I find the Jibril/Loki highly depressing. ))

Jibril growled, a deep low rumble in the back of his throat, pleased that the other kissed him back. He might not remember what to do, yet his body did, and pulled the waist and lower half of his body against him while pushing the upper torso back slightly; dominating the slim vampire. It was almost...natural feeling to Loki, to Jibril, and if he really had so many times before...it seemed permanetly etched in his body. It was in his mind somewhere, of course it was, but he wouldn't be able to remember.

Not now at least.

Jibril shivered as the other's fingertips danced over his back, and he in return he only pulled the other against him harder - yet gently - deepening the kiss. It was the same kiss, same body, same person...but one could say it was almost a new experience. Of course Loki has gotten stronger, right? But so has Jibril, so much more powerful yet he is still careful, and he has become even more strong and magnetic - even if not in his old, General-like ways. He has become so powerful and old in fact, it seeps out into his aura - thus that odd yet refreshing and wonderful buzzing feeling whenever one is near him or touching him.

Jibril's body had memorized Loki's body, and Jibril was reintroducing himself to it, feeling everywhere. Partly out of wanting to remember the other, and partly out of lust. He couldn't help but leans forward, onto his knees, then pushing him and the other onto the sandy bank, still kissing him. He loved the feel of the other's body, it was hard yet the skin was soft - seeing as his hands had crept up the other's shirt - and was full grown, yet not a man's but neither a boy's. More like a male who was in his prime. Not at all like Logan's body.

His eyes snapped open. Logan.

He practically ripped himself away from the other, falling on his ass - knees up in the air as he looked at the other, wide-eyed, confused, and with tears in his eyes. He didn't know what he was feeling right now. He loved Logan but wanted Loki and wanted to feel the same way about the vampire - and it was in there, hidden away - but he just couldn't...he...

He stopped himself from continuing on what might have turned out to be something he regretted. He didn't want to, but one doesn't know what could have happened. A few tears slid down his face. His head hurt. This situation is completely different from Verkur, Verkur just wants his body and Jibril simply gives him the sex he wants; being with Loki would require sex...and love, love that he was all-too-frighteningly willing to give.

"I...I'm sorry Loki...I just can't - not yet, not now - it's my fault..." He paused, still looking deeply hurt and highly confused. "I shouldn't have done that. I'm sorry."

He almost looked like he fainted as his eyes rolled back and he collapsed fully on the ground, but really - oh. wait. No, sorry, he did faint. Over load of emotions and a severe migraine. Just about anyone would faint.

(( OOC: I'm evil. Lets see how Loki deals with this. ))

The low grumble brought memories. Pillows, moonlight, feathers, wings, skin, lust, love, Nafi’s sweat, ice cold skin. Whimper. He whimpered in a less then submissive but somehow obeying way that he always had. He’d never been as submissive as he’d seemed but love had been so great and...well we can call it being punch drunk. He couldn’t help obeying everything Nafi said. It was like an instinct to heed his every word.

He was pulled to and pressed against the other and he wasn’t sure it was a good thing but he melted into place, their bodies, despite the size difference, fit together like this, perfect.

Yes, Loki has gotten stronger. But only as strong as a vampire can be. He is nothing unusual or supernatural, only a little better then younger vampires. Faster. Speed is what has grown on him, his speed has increased more then anything over the years. Loki hadn’t yet connected why there was a buzzing feeling surrounding Jibril. Perhapes if his head were clearer but right now it didn’t mater.

Rolled onto his back he stopped breathing and his hands stopped moving. This was going to far. He was letting this go too far. This couldn’t be. He left Nafi, Jibril, even if Jibril couldn’t remember. He left him and he was letting Jibril do this without remembering that he should hate Loki. He should stop this.

Jibril’s hands wandered over his body and while they did, he remained very still. He was allowing Jibril to just do this, but a long time ago, his hands would have been moving too. Now they lay pressed into the ground, his fingers dug straight into the dirt like hooks, preventing himself from doing anything. He would not touch Jibril, he would not reintroduce himself to the body that he longed for. He would not allow himself that pleasure and that pain. As for his body, maybe it didn’t feel like a child or a man because when he had died he hadn’t quite been a man by todays standard. He had to stop Jibril but right before saying so, his throat thickened and Jibril was leaping away from him.

Jibril scared him. Loki shrank back and loosened his entire body in a way that someone prepared to take a beating might. Nafi hadn’t ever really beat him but after he’d left he wouldn’t be surprised if Nafi killed him for his disobediance, for making him look bad, calling him a monster. He was ready for anything. Except that.

“No.” He crawled away from Jibril and then got to his feet. “No. It was mine. All of it was my fault. I should have stopped thi...” He frowned at ‘I’m sorry’ and then paniced when the other fainted. Nafi doesn’t faint! That’s...weak...yes, weaker then Nafi would ever let himself be.

He leaned over Jibril and made sure he was still alive, and when he knew he was, he gathered the angel into his arms and looked around. He moved towards a tree and lay Jibril out beneath the shadow and debated on leaving him, leaving the city, running away again. It would be for the best. If he cleaned jibril off and then left the angel would wake and find no Loki, not smell of Loki, and would sum it up to a bad dream.

He’d reached from Jibril’s shirt in order to do this but stopped. He was tired of running. But more then that, he was tired of the horrible feelings (which would never go away) and the need for the knowledge that Nafi didn’t hate him and understood why he’d left like he had. While he could never get that from Jibril, because Jibril could not remember, he could at least apologize to the angel, let him know he still loved him, and then learn to live with the feeling of not knowing.

Nafi couldn’t remember him, if he couldn’t even remember him, which hurt as it was, he would never be able to get his forgiveness. Loki crumbled to his knees and lay down beside Nafi’s body just for one last time. He would leave before the sun rose and tomorrow night he would leave the city and put it all behind him.

Curling into a small circle against Nafi’s side, he pulled Jibril’s arm around and over him.