Subtle Hustle [Silas]

[♥ Nathan ♥]

In the wake of rediscovery, Boston has been reshaped from a personal hell to a kingdom worth conquering. It is easy, in the days following Nathan’s newfound comfort, to pretend that the weeks previous were simply another person entirely; that it was not he who had spiraled so wildly out of control. With his wolf quieted and his work at the firm settling into place, the man has returned swiftly to his confident, comfortable facades – and the restoration of his pride sees him on the streets once more, keen to uncover every secret that Boston has to hide.

Though the animal yet slumbers, Nathan’s bearing and stride project the aura of predator – the sleek, modern businessman at his finest, a testament to power and influence, all condensed down to an expensive suit and feral blue eyes. He is overdressed. The bar the werewolf has stumbled upon – only his first, he hopes, for the evening – may be upscale, but still falls short of his particular brand of decadence. Nate seems not to mind; despite the contrast of his well-dressed appearance with the work-casual nature of his fellow barflies, he manages to make himself right at home, ordering a drink with the air of a regular. As though he is not an outsider; as if this place is a usual haunt.

His motives, for this night, are largely mundane. For Nathan’s own satisfaction, the darker corners and shadows of Boston are depths that must be explored, mapped, understood. There is a wealth of information that he has yet to learn regarding his new home, and where daylight finds his investigation practical – street names, directions – the night is for bars, for clubs, for entertainment. Nathan may not be hunting, but it is with this latter objective in mind that he takes to a stool at the bar and nurses his bourbon slowly. The werewolf leans back so that the majority of the room is visible, and his expression grows curious, musing. The space is filled with the dull drone of private conversation, and the air currents run heavy with the scents of sweat and alcohol, but something is amiss – and it has the man’s wolf shifting in sleep.

The scent of animal is lurking on the draft.

It is, he is learning, not an unusual occurrence in Boston, where the supernatural populace greatly exceeds the one he had known back in Vegas. Nathan cannot help his interest; it is the human’s need to control and catalogue fueled by the wolf’s instinctive curiosity towards its own kind. The meeting of dual desires is a force that is near impossible to deny, and Nate’s eyes narrow as he scans the restaurant’s population. His senses are not keen enough to pinpoint the source with any accuracy, but he has enough experience to hazard guess – and enough ego to dismiss the whole affair nonchalantly should he be proven wrong. The man turns back around and summons the bartender to him with a quick flick of his fingers, leaning in close and conspiratorially.

”The man in the corner,” he murmurs, nodding his head towards a brooding dark-haired man at the end of the bar. ”—get him another of whatever he’s having.” Nathan’s smirk grows wide, lascivious, as he leans away with a rap of his knuckles on the bar. It is a bold move, one easily mistaken as a flirtatious advance, and the werewolf seems to have no problem with that; he is used to playing this role, and though his interest is piqued for more innocent reasons, the game is the same. Attraction and intrigue. The bartender simply shrugs and sets about filling his order – and Nathan settles back to wait.

[Zephyr]

Boston wasn’t a completely new place to the hunter. He’d been here before, following up leads, killing things. That had been in another life, however. He hadn’t set foot in this city since before, and yes, he preferred to separate his life into two parts. Before Matthias and after. He’d had someone with him then, he hadn’t needed to sit alone at bars glaring at glasses of bourbon like they’d offended his soul or something.

And that was just what he was doing.

He’d only arrived in the city a week ago, and he had gathered some decent leads about the wolf pack that lived in the city, but nothing really worth following up. He’d been working like a mad man, trying to keep from thinking about other things in the interim. Unfortunately though, the past always has a way of catching up with you, and the first moment he decided to take a break was the first moment his past decided to come back in full swing. There was only one solution to this problem that he could actually see.

Drink more.

So, he’d entered a bar he’d never actually been in before. It was a little classier than the dives Matthias’ liked. Maybe that was part of the reason he’d decided to come into this place, trying to escape the past. Trying not to imagine a leather jacket, dark jeans, impossibly bright blue eyes and an insufferably cheerful smile that could light up the seediest of bars. It was working, for the most part. After about three drinks, the world was starting to spin in front of him. Silas usually hated how he always got wasted so damn fast, but at times like this, he welcomed the fuzziness in his head, the muted conversation around him lowering to a dull drone.

No matter how drunk he got, he couldn’t mistake the way his wolf roused within him. Silas was used to ignoring the beast, didn’t want to accept it as a part of himself. There was no way for him to rid himself of it, do he dealt with it with careful denial, even now pushing it down with all his might as it pressed against him, curious about…something. But it wasn’t a something Silas was interested in. He wasn’t hunting tonight. Tonight was for getting as drunk as he possibly could and then pouring himself into a cab and passing out in his motel room.

He was dressed as he usually was, expensive black suit and slacks, red shirt on underneath, unbuttoned at the top to display his obvious lack of a tie. He was huddled at the bar over his drink, brown-green eyes narrowed down at his half empty glass as he silently gauged how drunk he was at the moment. Draining his glass, he lifted his head to get the bartender’s attention, gaze narrowing as he realized that he wasn’t. Silas licked his lips, rapping his knuckles on the bar for a second as he contemplated barking something out at the bartender…only to have a drink shoved at him.

…before he’d asked for it.

For a second, the doctor stared at the drink like it was going to bite him, barely listening as the man told him who the drink was from. Head snapped up from his startled contemplation of the drink, eyes narrowing in a glare that was nothing short of scalding. He made no move to approach the man, still trying to figure out motives. Silas wasn’t used to subtle cues of attraction like this. He was used to boisterous affection, too much touching; clinging, and a smile that was loving and only for him.

Suddenly, his gut clenched painfully and anything he’d been about to say choked in the back of his throat. Abruptly, he nodded gruffly to the man, taking a drag of the bourbon to aid his thought process before he rasped out without regards to anyone sitting between he and the man. “Do you usually buy drinks for dark and grumpy strangers in bars?” The words came out in a low growl, all rumbling grouchiness with a hint of challenge (what, he hadn't been around Matthias for so long without learning something) a sound that he had perfected even before the wolf had taken permanent residence inside of him. “How boring your life must be.” He hadn’t bothered to look at him…his eyes, they were painfully blue but there was no doubt who he was talking to.

Yeah. Because Silas wasn’t capable of a simple thanks. Never had been.

[♥ Nathan ♥]

Nathan watches the exchange between the man and the bartender out of the corner of his eye. That the stranger seems offended is not the response he’d been gunning for, but he’ll take it – he is no stranger to making unwanted advances upon his own gender – and so it comes as a pleasant surprise when Silas accepts the drink. When Silas addresses him. Nathan acquiesces to the give and take; the man has seen fit to acknowledge him, which soothes his fickle pride, and so he willingly scoops up his glass and moves to sit nearby. His posture is casual as he leans back up against the bar, elbows propped up behind him, and he swirls his drink idly in one hand as he thinks the man’s statement over. Where growled words would warn a lesser man, Nathan has never been known for his prudence – and to Silas’ likely displeasure, the werewolf is only encouraged.

”Only attractive ones,” the man replies smugly, hiding the curl of his lips behind the rim of his glass. He takes a slow, pointed sip of liquor, and allows his eyes to slide down Silas’ face. Here, with the corner to themselves and the distance between them closed, Nathan knows his guess is correct: the surly stranger is the source of that feral scent. ”You’re the only other man here who knows how to dress,” he offers by way of explanation – and though it is not his motive, it’s certainly still true. ”That’s deserving enough of a drink, wouldn’t you think?” Blue eyes flick back upwards, and his smile is crooked and inviting, even innocent.

Though he had not been looking for a challenge, Nathan has found one, and the wolf stirs within his chest; its curiosity is yet honest, it is merely assessing, but the man cannot back down from such obvious cues. There is pleasure to be had in pushing where he is not wanted, in wheedling his way into the other werewolf’s good graces. ”And I wouldn’t say boring. I rather enjoy it,” he intones softly, and turns to place his drink back on the bar. ”But I’m not the one sulking in a corner, inhaling bourbon like air. Perhaps I should defer to your knowledge.” Nate inclines his head subtly, brows drawn upwards; his tone reads not of scorn, but of gentle good humor. Silas, with all his brooding good looks, has made himself interesting, and Nathan will not be dissuaded so easily.

It’s simply a matter of finding the correct tactic.

The werewolf extends a hand, meeting the other man’s gaze and holding it. ”Nathaniel Hart,” he offers. ”Nathan. You have good taste.” In clothing; in alcohol; in granting Nate the time of day. Nate is deliberately unclear – another vague assertion to string Silas along. The werewolf eases back against the bear once more, fixing the doctor with an assessing stare. The nature of his job makes him suspicious regarding wolves he does not know, and his own need for order and control only compounds that; he has no reason to doubt the half-drunk stranger, but Nathan still needs to know. His encounter with Sabra only serves as evidence that people can, and will, slip through the cracks.

”I work for the Maliks.” It is a revealing statement to those who matter, and largely meaningless otherwise; the influential family is not unknown, but far less important to mundane humans – or those lurking in Boston without leave. Nathan has made it his mission to find out just where Silas stands – and maybe get the guy to loosen up for good measure. ”What about you?” The man turns and waves the bartender back over, tapping at his tumbler for a refill. ”You have a name, or do you prefer – what, dark and grumpy stranger?” The smile that curls the edge of his lips upwards is teasing, cajoling.

He hadn’t been dropped straight away, and really, that’s all the incentive the werewolf needs.

[Zephyr]

Predictable.

He should have known that addressing the other man, no matter what shit came out of his mouth would cause him to come over. Silas chanced a look up at him as he came over, his brown-green gaze quietly assessing. His hair was too long, not the right color brown. There was too much facial hair and he didn’t move quite like a dancer. There was something in the way he moved though, something predatory. If Silas ever really bothered to pay attention to his wolf, he’d know what this man was. As it was, he pushed it down with practiced willpower; knew that next full moon would be a doozy.

Then there were his eyes. They weren’t exact, but they were close. Not quite bright enough.

But beggars couldn’t be choosers, and Silas felt a whole lot like a beggar right about now. And when the man called him attractive, Silas’ eyes narrowed, lip twisting slightly. He’d never believed that he was as gorgeous as Matthias always said he was. So having someone who wasn’t Matthias say it didn’t help him believe it. Still, if there was anything he’d learned over the years, it was that sometimes it was best to live the lie.

Running his thumb over the glass thoughtfully, he pulled his gaze away from the man, finally quirking a grin. “If that’s your only positive quality when it comes to attractiveness, I think you’ve come to the wrong guy.” He knew it wasn’t, but he just wasn’t used to someone complimenting the way he dressed. Maybe mocking it; making fun. Not many people wore absolutely nothing but suits. He didn’t say anything else to him on the matter, just quirked him that little half grin, taking another swig of his drink just in time to be called out on it. He nearly choked on the mouthful of alcohol, almost immediately growing defensive.

He relaxed though, pretty quickly, when he realized that he didn’t mean anything by it. He licked his lips, tilting his head to look at the hand offered to him. He didn’t take it though, only accepted the man’s name with a curt nod, lifting an eyebrow sky high when he mentioned his employer. Silas hadn’t quite gotten that far in his investigation, so the name meant little to him. “You can call me that if you want.” He offered, though inside, he was mentally recoiling from the idea. That’s what he called him. “But my name is Silas Vincent. I’m a doctor.” Offered up more casually than he would have normally.

Thanks to the alcohol.

It was one of the only things he still had that lightened him up at all, even if it was barely enough to see. Though, it did show when Silas tilted his head to look at Nathan curiously, one eyebrow lifted pretty high. “What’s a guy dressed like you are doing in a place like this? This isn’t exactly the most high end bar in Boston. If you don’t mind me saying, you’re a little out of place”

He was dressed pretty similarly, but at least he knew he didn’t stand out. In fact, he tried his hardest to remain as unobtrusive as possible in most things he did. It usually worked for him pretty well, except for the rare moments when guys decided he looked interesting. Which wasn’t often because he knew his dark and grumpy routine coupled with his crazy eyes and the perpetual glare on his face was pretty good at keeping people away.

This whole thing was probably an awful idea, not thanking him and sending him away like he probably would have done had he not been drunk…but it wasn’t like Silas had anything to lose anymore, and it wasn’t like there was anything wrong with a little flirting. The man was pretty gorgeous...even if there were so many things about him that weren’t quite right.

He wasn’t Matthias.

[♥ Nathan ♥]

A subtle frown, and Nathan swing his hand upward at the obvious rejection, running his fingers through his hair. The refill on his drink his welcome, and the man spends a few quiet moments staring into the dark liquid, turning the glass idly within his fingers. The other werewolf is playing along well enough, and that is encouraging, but that his blatant namedropping went unnoticed is a red flag. Nathan does not like rogue werewolves in his city; he may yet be a new addition himself, but there is a hierarchy. There are rules. Priorities and restrictions. They are all carefully set in place to keep Boston functioning, and to keep their secrets safe.

Nathan may be a touch paranoid, but the security of the pack is his responsibility – so maybe it’s within his job description to be endlessly suspicious. It would be much simpler if the other man had given any indication that he recognized their shared curse – the last thing Nate needs is to ruin his night reining in a fresh wolf. He hopes it won’t be the case. Drawing his glass to his lips, Nate takes a slow sip, rumbling a sigh as he drops the tumbler back to the glossy wood bartop. He glances towards Silas out of the corner of his eyes, and his smile makes a dark return.

”Silas will do fine. A good name.” Grumpy stranger would have been a bit of a mouthful, and not the sort Nate is interested in. Turning, Nathan rests his elbow on the bar with his head in his palm, and takes to leering at Silas from behind the smug veil of heavy-lidded eyes, simultaneously curious and confidently superior. He has no vested interest in this man, and where duty and attraction beg him coax Silas on, he has little issue in presenting himself for the honest rake he is. A drinking companion at best – and nothing like a friend.

He doubts that Silas would ever dream of confusing him for such.

”I’m never out of place,” comes the arrogant reply, spoken smoothly enough to read as matter-of-fact. It’s a believable statement, coming from Nathan; overdressed though he may be, the werewolf hardly seems to mind, and it is easy for him to project and air of casual belonging. Perhaps he, like Silas, is so used to the high-class wardrobe that location no longer bothers him; perhaps, more truthfully, Nathan just enjoys the eyes he attracts. ”—But I don’t mind you saying. It means you noticed.” And had continued talking to him on top of it all. Nathan draws his eyes slowly down Silas’ form, briefly contemplative – but if Nate is not Matthias, then Silas is not Jericho.

He should find it strange that the thought of the esquire gives him pause, but he passes it off as a combination of his wolf’s obsession and ongoing state of relaxation. There might be more there, something beyond mutual need, but Nathan has dedicated himself to resolutely secreting those feelings away.

”I only moved here recently,” he explains. ”Still feeling the city out. Can’t limit myself to just one bar – and this one came highly recommended.” The drinks are good, but the place is otherwise uninteresting; save for Silas, it would fall well short of Nathan’s expectations. ”…And I enjoy looking good.” He takes another drink from his glass for good measure, smoothing down the front of his starched white shirt with his free hand. The influence that could be earned just from a subtle display of wealth and power was enough motivation – Vegas had seen the man far more casual, but Boston demands he garner as much authority as possible. It is a telling manifestation of his lingering unease in the new city, but one that is not revealed otherwise.

Nathan rounds upon the taller man, canting his head to one side with a sudden hard glint in his eye. ”I get the feeling you’re new here, too.” It’s not much of a feeling – he’s almost certain, and uses the knowledge to his advantage. Sabra was a rarity, an anomaly, but Nathan cannot believe that he’d stumble upon two Boston wolves without a working knowledge of the pack in the same week; it’s far more likely that Silas has not been in the city long. That, or Nathan will have to take another look at the pack’s methods of tracking down strays.

”And it’s bad form,” he nearly growls, leaning close and dropping his voice to a brush above a whisper, his words still heated despite the aggressive motion. ”—to enter a pack’s territory unannounced.” The man’s gaze rakes slowly up Silas’ face, locking upon his eyes, and his smirk is crooked – duty may win out over flirtation, but Nathan makes an honest effort to combine the two. He leans back at the last moment, relinquishing the space between them to ease the rising tension, and his expression relaxes to a professional front. ”So let’s remedy that. What brings you to my city – doctor?”

[Zephyr]

If he had been nicer, and nice was never a term one could conceivably pair with Silas in the best of times, he’d apologize for not shaking the man’s hand. He’d offer a polite sorry, but I don’t like touching. One would have thought that the whole wolf thing would have helped that out…unfortunately, it doesn’t seem to have had much of an impact on the thing. It was just ingrained so deeply into his subconscious…even his wolf couldn’t reach it.

“Pleased to meet you then, Nathan.” Silas growls into his glass, draining it with practiced ease and eyeing the bartender for a refill. He was getting drunk now, he could tell by the way he was looking at Nathan. The man had never seemed unattractive to Silas. He’d always appreciated good looks, even before he’d noticed Matthias’, when he had been essentially celibate before. He just hadn’t felt the desire to date or anything.

“Hard not to notice someone like you.” He growled lowly, eyes growing hooded with the combination of too much drink and alluring attraction. It was a bad combination, and his wolf was straining at the seams, but he was practiced with suppressing it, even drunk.

If he had been sober, Silas would have dismissed Nathan’s words as unimportant. Hell. If he had been sober, they wouldn’t be sitting here at all, talking like this. He was usually just so uncomfortable around other people that he just tried to get out of any potential social situations as quickly as possible. The bourbon relaxed him somewhat, though, and he was getting into the flow of the conversation, actually listening to him and even quirking a grin at the other man, one of those grins, that while it didn’t quite reach his eyes, it dimpled his cheeks.

“Maybe you can recommend some good bars to me sometime. Drinking has become a hobby of mine as of late.” And he chuckled, even though it wasn’t really funny. His father had been an alcoholic, and Silas knew it was in him, but he had been able to keep it from overwhelming him, first with hunting, then with hunting and Matthias. Now that one of those was gone, the other didn’t seem quite as important anymore, save as a way to avenge the death of the other.

Sometimes, he didn’t get the idea of avenging Matthias’ death. He had killed the wolves who’d taken his partner…and he had killed other wolves simply because they existed. He didn’t know what Matthias would have thought of him just randomly killing wolves that weren’t dangerous…even if one could make the argument that all wolves had the potential to be dangerous.

Justification can be a dangerous thing.

“Nothing wrong with that.” Silas said, pleased at finding someone who didn’t think it was odd to dress in suits. He didn’t know Nathan well enough to know if he ever dressed casually, but he bet he did…at least sometimes. Not very many people held his beliefs on fashion. “Especially when you do look good.” He said lowly, his voice slightly heated, letting his eyes run unashamedly down Nathan’s form. He didn’t know what would come from this meeting, and with each mouthful of bourbon, he found himself caring less and less.

It was probably best for him to up and leave now, make some excuse to just leave.

That was when things changed. It was subtle at first, a change in Nathan’s demeanor that Silas caught because he was a doctor; it was his job to be observant. That and the wolf had made him even more observant.

And he doesn’t have time to confirm or deny Nathan’s suspicions, because the other man leans into him, and the words are low, raking over Silas’ nerves like low gravel. He tenses up, growing suspicious and wary and feeling very much like a wild animal trapped in a corner. And because he had spent so much time trying to retain his humanity and deny the wolf that was roiling inside him even now, it was a feeling that he wasn’t impressed with at all.

Then he let the p-word slip and Silas lost his carefully cultivated composure. He dropped his glass heavily to the counter, luckily, not spilling any of his drink. Eyes widened and then narrowed, eyebrows went a little spastic for a second. It took him half a second, but he got that composure back, licking his lips and taking another sip of his bourbon to burn away any remaining uneasiness…but it was there, eating away at him. It always made him uncomfortable being in the presence of any wolf, and having one this close…who was part of one of the most renowned packs in the country…

…it was a little bit disconcerting. And it didn’t help that his wolf was pleased, he could feel it investigating, curious and pleased at meeting one of its own kind. Silas however, was tense and defensive and since the man was in control, except for those hours once a month when he was decidedly not in control, the wariness won out.

And what could he say, really? I’m here to kill every single one of you monsters for murdering the love of my life? Yeah. There was no universe in which that would go over well. Instead, he decided to be a little vague. “Business.” He said simply, his voice only a little strained…but the words were still a growl. “I…lost someone incredibly important to me a couple months ago.” He decided to mix truth with omission. It was a dangerous game to be playing, but this wolf could obviously sense the one inside him, so he couldn’t very well blatantly lie. “ I’ve decided to try and find work in the city. You never know who might need a doctor.” And the word was rolled from his mouth like honeyed steel. Slick and sleek but hard, and his eyes were hooded.

That one word was loaded all to hell, too. It was obvious that Silas wasn’t exactly what he seemed to be.

[♥ Nathan ♥]

Nathan very nearly regrets having to move the conversation into less comfortable territory – particularly when it was just becoming interesting. Seeing Silas drop his cold façade for a startling display of emotion almost makes up for it alone, but business is business, and Nate takes his employment seriously; making sure the stranger knows where he stands in Boston takes precedent over pleasure. With a little luck – and a little liquor – Nathan might yet be able to salvage the evening, and it’s with a roll of his shoulders and a slow draw of his eyes upwards that he considers the man’s answer.

Subtle plays of dominance, of flaunted control, are a seductive game to Nate regardless of the wolf’s influence; though the creature shifts and stirs beneath his skin, roused to near wakefulness, the light in the man’s eyes is entirely human. Both animal and human are attuned to those subtle changes in the atmosphere, in Silas’ demeanor; the dropped glass is an obvious tell, but Nathan does not need his other half’s keen nose to pick up on the tension thickening the air. It is a state revealed in taut muscles and wild eyes, in the shock the man can’t quite contain before schooling his face into an unamused mask – and Nate just smirks.

There is more, here, lurking beneath the surface, though Nathan wouldn’t even come close to guessing the truth. All he understands is the uncomfortable response to his prying; and while there was a veiled threat to his words, he could have hardly expected such dramatics.

Silas is a wolf, that much is true, and he might not yet be committed to that fact. Nathan supposes it’s enough that the man knew at all – that he hadn’t stumbled upon some whelp still waiting out their first change. Sighing, the dark-haired man slips his fingers into his jacket’s breast pocket to withdraw a slim business card, and slides to towards Silas across the bar. He leaves his finger pointedly atop it, and fixes the doctor with a hawk-point stare.

”We can help you find work,” he offers – and perhaps not as gently as he’d meant to. Intimidation is second nature, even when inappropriate. ”So long as you keep your head down and don’t make trouble, everything’s copacetic. But call me.” It is not a suggestion. Nathan leans away, letting the air between them cool, letting the rise of invisible hackles on his neck and shoulders settle. It is frightening, sometimes, how easy it is to get wrapped up in the wolf’s world – and with business hopefully coming to a close, he lets the dominance struggle go. ”—I’ll have to find you, if you don’t.” Nathan takes a swig from his glass, downing the last sip of liquor, and places the tumbler back down loudly. ”And I will find you.”

Maybe he hadn’t let go of the struggle entirely.

The smile that plays along Nathan’s lips is predatory, but his words are laced with enough heat that it’s impossible to tell if he’s flirting or making a threat. He is willing enough to drop the subject for now, to let Silas have his miserable evening of bourbon and grudges, but he knows what the man looks like – knows his supposed profession – and will not let him slip away should he think calling is an option. He is simply allowing Silas enough ground to make it his own initiative; to pretend he has a say. Nate turns away and waves the bartender over once more.

”I’m sorry about your loss.” The moment has passed; the wolf sleeps, and the man left behind deflates. ”Let me buy you another round. As an apology for bothering you—“ because he clearly had, even when Silas had finally been warming up, though apology is far from Nate’s true intent. ”—And as thanks for saying I looked good.” He taps his glass with two fingers, and glances curiously at Silas out of the corner of his eye. For Nathan, it is easy to walk the line between these two worlds – wolf and man, business and pleasure. He steps from one to the next with the casual air of a man who assumes everyone else is like him, that Silas may forget the whole uncomfortable ordeal with an offered drink and a return to nonchalant conversation.

Nathan wets his lips, and cants his head to one side gently. ”You should relax. The aloof-stranger thing is hot, but you look better when you laugh.” He smiles – perhaps his first honest one of the evening, before the expression grows lopsided with dark humor. Shifting, the fingers of his free hand brush fleetingly along Silas’ arm as he moves. ”I promise I don’t bite.”

Not in public. Much.

[Zephyr]

He realizes that he’s been very lucky thus far, not having run into a wolf that preferred to speak rather than attack. He’s always known what Boston was like though, knew about the pack that lives there. Even when he’d been here with Matthias, he’s known that those wolves weren’t the wild, feral beasts that live in the forests. They’re more civilized, human like in their mannerisms.

Doesn’t mean they’re any less the monsters than their wild counterparts.

Silas watches Nathan carefully, his face calm. It’s usually easy for him to hide his emotions, a necessity in his line of work. It doesn’t do to let the ones you’re hunting know your intentions. He fixes his gaze on the business card for a second. His eyes were calm as he glances up to Nathan’s face again. His gaze is almost challenging, but not quite. This is one wolf who doesn’t roll belly-up. His hand twitches when he reaches up to take the card, glancing at the words curiously. The idea of the wolves helping him find work was repugnant enough.

Maybe he is a wolf once a month, but he’s never actually considered himself one. Werewolves were monsters who preyed on humans. It had always been and will always be his job to eliminate them from the face of the earth. It was easier when he had been a human. Easier to hide from the wolves, easier to slip right under their noses. Now, with this curse, it’s like he has a massive neon sign around his neck that screams wolf. Maybe it’ll help though, this curse. Maybe if he can get in good with the pack, he can dismantle it from the inside out.

If he takes Nathan up on his offer, maybe that’s a good first step.

“Understood.” Silas growls, his eyes flicking back up to Nathan’s face, searching. There’s no submission in his eyes, just calm acceptance…even if the thought of letting these…monsters help him find work is a disgusting one. It would be worth it though, if he could manage to destroy the Boston pack. Cut the head off the snake, so to speak. “Good luck though.” He forces a chuckle, taking another swig of bourbon to calm his frayed nerves. “Who wants to go to a werewolf doctor?” Another chuckle, but he was cringing inside. It’s the first time that he’s actually admitted to anyone what he is. Even himself. It gutted him.

The wolf wants to submit, wanted to belong with its own kind, and Silas has to push it down. He’s never had to work so hard to contain the goddamn thing. Part of this is ignoring the rest of what Nathan says. He plans on calling, if only to become a proverbial Trojan horse…so the not calling bit is completely moot. Silas doesn’t doubt that Nathan can find him if he really wants, but Silas isn’t afraid. He almost wishes that he can give Nathan a reason to confront him, take him out first, no matter how much he might like him. But the pack would be on him so fast, and Silas might be reckless without Matthias, but he isn’t suicidal…he thinks.

Then Nathan drops the dominance play, and Silas is grateful, even if he won’t admit it. It’s exhausting having to fight with his wolf, and he hadn’t bargained on how hard it would be when faced with another wolf. He licks his lips, draining the rest of his bourbon as his wolf settles down. Despite everything, he’s actually pretty pleased that Nathan’s buying him more drinks, and that really says a lot for his inebriation level at the moment. He lifts his eyebrows at the man, sliding his glass across the bar. “Is this usually how you thank people for telling you that you look good? Not that I can ever turn my nose up at alcohol, but I was hoping for something a little more...physical.”

And he knows it's just the alcohol talking, but the grin he flashes at the other man is positively wicked. His heart stutters stupidly when Nathan tells him he looks better when he laughs…because what is what Matthias always told him. He never actually believed that he looked good, but he started to…after Matthias told him. At that moment, he doesn’t want to sit here talking about drinks and calls…he wants a goddamn distraction. Killing something maybe. Eyes dart down to where his fingers brush along his arm and he locks eyes with Nathan again, his gaze retaining a hard edge to it. “That’s unfortunate.” He starts, smoothly. “I have a thing for biting.” And he really isn’t thinking too much about what he’s saying…he just wants to be distracted, no matter what.

[♥ Nathan ♥]

Silas is drunk, and Nathan should feel bad about that – but the man is attractive, and the werewolf is pleasantly buzzed, and it is a combination that he is not about to deny. The doctor’s response is not unusual, but not something Nate has time for; the other man seems willing enough to join him in dropping the subject, and he has no doubt that Silas will call. It is too much of a risk not to, unless he has plans to leave the city. Regardless of Silas’ opinions on his wolf – which slip through the cracks of his words in bitter snapshots – Boston can help him. Get him on his feet. Get him a job, find him a new life.

And Nate has no idea that his kindness is not wanted; that the truth lies so much deeper.

Nathan leans back with an air of amusement, fixing the other man with a suspicious, if pleased stare. It’s with a slow sniff and a display of nonchalance that he breaks eye contact and shifts to remove his wallet from his coat; the man leafs through the collection of bills inside, and pointedly rests a crisp hundred down on the bartop. Enough to cover their drinks – and a tempting tip to buy them five minutes of the bartender’s silence. Nathan’s attention does not drop from Silas; his eyes slide upwards, slowly, and he leans in close. The lack of contact between them is more telling than any ghost of a touch – the werewolf is deliberate and even teasing, and it’s only after a long moment that his hand comes to settle on Silas’ thigh.

”Just the ones I might have scared away,” he chuckles – and uses his body to block the slow slide of his hand along Silas’ knee from view. ”—but I guess I misjudged you.” It is an admission of error spoken more as a compliment than any true attempt to declare his blunder. Nathan’s face is close, now, his breath a heated whisper against Silas’ throat. This is an unknown bar and that is just enough to stay his hand and rein in his indecency, but the implication has already settled between them; the werewolf will take what he is allowed – will push for more – regardless of setting. He rumbles softly and breathes in deep, savoring the scent of Silas – of his wolf.

Something twists in Nathan’s gut.

The smell is wrong. This is wrong; Silas is wrong. His wolf, so content to slumber, is suddenly snarling and writhing in confusion – and it is a discomfort too reminiscent of Nathan’s encounter with Rebekah for him to ignore it. The man frowns pointedly, the expression just inches from Silas’ skin, and murmurs something indecipherable under his breath – and presses the wolf down. It is a frustrated, spiteful gesture. Suddenly close, Nate’s lips brush against the other werewolf’s neck, and his fingers twist in the fabric of Silas’ slacks; his words are little more than soft vibrations. ”Do you?” he questions, seemingly content to indulge in this barely-there contact. ”What else do you like?” There is a long moment where the werewolf simply holds himself there, thinking, listening – and then it breaks, washed away in a rush.

Nathan eases away with a start, shoulders rolling gently in laughter; in the quick movement, his hand sweeps high up the doctor’s thigh, and then falls away entirely. ”I like you, Silas.” He shifts his weight, tosses a glance at his watch and then over his shoulder almost impatiently. Wetting his lips, Nathan slides from his bar stool and lets his lips linger near Silas’ ear as he rises. ”It’s a shame you’re so miserable.” And drunk; there’s hardly any play left in this game. Nate pulls away, smoothes out the fabric of his shirt. ”Let me call you a cab.” The smile that plays along the werewolf’s lips is subtly roguish, but he manages to come across as strictly professional. Friendly, even.

Boston isn’t terrible – and Nathan hasn’t lost his touch.