White Wedding [Nathan]

[♔ Jericho ♔]

Women, Jericho has decided, are a force of nature to be avoided at all costs – especially under times of stress. He has watched with a muted, horrified fascination as his cousin, her mother, and their estrogen-laden entourage have bickered and, at the drop of a pin, burst into tears. He supposes he understands the passion and emotion behind the day, but that does not make his family’s antics any more bearable. The scenario is made worse given the fact the men have volunteered him as the go-between between the girls and the boys, like the most ridiculous form of the game telephone. It is not like he does not understand pressure. The courtroom is a undiluted shot of tension but dealing with a bride-to-be is apparently out of his realm of comfort and expertise. Placating his cousin has turned into a bumbling attempt at figuring out what a screaming toddler wants – and Jericho has never been particularly good with kids.

The morning wears on with a dual feed of energy. Some are nervous while others affect a nonchalant, if weary disposition. Jericho is caught in the middle of the spectrum, though his nervousness has very little to do with the impending wedding. In fact, when he considers the event, he begins entertaining ridiculous thoughts like staging his own death or paying someone to abduct him. If his cousin asks him if he knows where the groom is one more time, he is going to combust. Under the weight of a difficult case or a trying cross-examination, Jericho does not so much as break a sweat. But here, among his family, he thinks he can feel the ulcers forming in his gut. He needs a break, and potential ulcers aside, Jericho decides to take solace in the sweet embrace of cigarette smoke.

While his cousin is distracted with berating one of the bride’s maids for not being tan enough, Jericho steals away into main hall. The Bellagio has gone all out, which is to be expected – Renee’s mother has spared no expenses. There are tables full of overpriced hors d’oeuvres and a small orchestra setting up in the corner. Jericho surmises they were trying for classy – all he sees is something horribly dry. He fishes out his cigarette case and lights one up. As he takes a drag from the white stick, his eyes narrow and he is pretty sure he is looking at an ice sculpture of a swan. Dry and cliché. Renee really should have hired a better wedding planner.

Hotel staff bustle about to prepare and Jericho watches them with idle interest. His mind is elsewhere and if the way he periodically checks his watch is any indication, it appears the man is waiting for something. Logically the esquire would be anxious for the affair to finally get started – the sooner it begins, the sooner it is over – but that is only a small part of the sudden obsession with his watch. Jericho does not want to suffer alone and he is certainly in need of a distraction. The buffer of company would be an excellent excuse to avoid playing gofer and shoulder to cry on. There are a list of reasons why Nathaniel Hart’s presence would be a boon, and it is that list the esquire defers to in order to avoid acknowledging that he simply wants to see the other man.

Two late night trysts are nothing to base a relationship off of but in a different city, among the gaggle of his family, Nathan is Jericho’s best goddamned friend. Green eyes linger on his watch, he drops his arm, leans against the wall and stares at the hall’s gilded ceiling. If anyone were to see him in that moment, they might catch Jericho in something that could be mistaken for sulking.

At least Jericho would claim it was a mistake.

[♥ Nathan ♥]

Despite needing to travel less than a block from his apartments in the Elysium to the Bellagio, Nathan is late. An inordinate amont of time spent dressing is compounded by a petty need to keep Jericho waiting, though the werewolf's knack for punctuality still manages to leave him at the casino's lobby not ten minutes past their arranged meeting time. That Jericho is not there to greet him is no surprise, and Nathan does not miss a beat. A quick question at the desk directs him to the hotel's gaudy chapels, and a second inquiry - this time of a young woman who glares at him suspiciously upon learning the object of his search - sends him towards the nearby ballroom. Within, wedding preparations are in full swing, but Nathan spares them no more than a glance; Jericho is here - he can all but smell him - and the commotion fades to his periphery with his target so close at hand.

The animal beneath his skin shifts in its slumber, stretching and uncoiling. There is a subtle tremble that crawls down his spine, a flush of warmth at the back of his neck and a rush of saliva in his mouth; a set of conditioned responses triggered by the sight of a man he associates with one thing alone - as though he were little more than the slavering wolf that lurks behind his eyes. Outwardly, Nathan directs the emotion into a show of confidence that is reflected in his bold stride, in the predatory grace in his bearing; he affects an air of easy nonchalance, even pride, and approaches Jericho as though he belongs. There is no hesitance - and there certainly is no shame.

"Frowning doesn't suit you," he begins as he steps close, coy, and drawing his gaze up from Jericho's lips to those green eyes. It's pouting that doesn't suit the man, but Nate has enough of a handle on their game to wrap the taunt in a compliment; one obscured, but surely enough for Jericho's ego. "That bad?" He pauses to glance around the large hall, as if looking for confirmation - and finds it in the wet and rheumy gaze of a delicately carved ice swan. Nathan's lip curls in a subtle, appalled grimace. That bad. Following Jericho's example, he reaches for his breast pocket and pulls a bent cigarette from a half-crushed box of Marlboros; Nate extends his hand, waits for a light, before indulging himself with a slow drag. A nicotine-born relief courses through him, easing a tension he hadn't realized he was harboring.

They may play at camaraderie, but despite their set of brief and intimate encounters Nathan is well aware that he does not know this man; that Jericho is yet a stranger, an unknown variable. The werewolf thinks he'd like to remedy that - and this is perhaps his reason for showing in the first place - but it makes him guarded. Jericho inspires him to want more, and has left Nate with a lingering interest in the esquire that stems from both physical desire and honest curiosity. It is too early to make judgement calls that are not based solely on attraction or fleeting first impressions, but Nathan has a suspicion that he likes the arrogant Bostonian, and he is keen to put that notion to the test in an arena not immediately subject to dominance or power games.

For as long as that lasts.

Nathan settles back against the wall beside Jericho, sniffing as he stares down at the smoldering paper between his fingers. "Two dates, and I get to meet your family?" The term date is a generous one. Nathan ashes his cigarette with a flick of his thumb and glances back up; he cracks a lopsided, wry smirk, expression inquisitive and more than a little smug. "You move fast, Malik." A joke, particularly considering the pace and scope of their shallow relationship otherwise. He scratches at the side of his mouth and holds the other man's gaze - but the intent behind the gesture is playful, and does not read of a challenge.

"What am I in for?" Families are never normal, least of all to outsiders; families at weddings, even less so. A little insight into the expected drama wouldn't hurt, and neither would a cover story for the seedy truth of their sordid first meeting. Jests about dating aside, Nate doesn't expect he's here to make an appearance as Jericho's escort - though the way his eyes look and linger may say otherwise - and he doesn't like being unprepared.

Weddings have a high risk of being boring, but Jericho is more than interesting - enough so that Nathan has dragged himself into this just to play at friendship. He does not suspect the esquire will disappoint.

[♔ Jericho ♔]

The hall has been quiet – and not in the audible sense. Though Vegas has its population of wolves; the immediate area is inundated with the stench of humans and the near eye-watering embellishment of perfumes. Jericho’s wolf is listless; the proud beast is rendered into a state of pitiful complaint. There is nothing of interest here, nothing of importance—it is not worth his time. Jericho continues to stare plaintively at the ceiling until a familiar voice cuts through his self-pitying reverie. Green eyes fall and for a brief moment, there is a measure of surprise found within them. The look vanishes, as does his frown, and Jericho easily slips into a nonchalant, if clever mask.

”And here I thought you were going to be a smart man and avoid this damnable affair.” His drawl carries a playful bite but Jericho is relieved; his state of mind might yet be preserved with Nathan here to distract him. His eyes follow the line of Nathan’s gaze and he sighs. ” That bad.” It is a confirmation supported by the lavish decorations and the presence of that ridiculous frozen fowl. ”I’m afraid my cousin lacks imagination,” he explains as he extends his cigarette to offer Nathan a light. He replaces the stick in his mouth and takes a long drag. Smoke curls out of the corner of his mouth and dissipates within the air.

For a moment, Jericho simply regards the other werewolf with an assessing stare. Part of him is still surprised that the Vegas man even decided to show. An arrogant thought, that cannot be excused as wolf-born, has Jericho thinking of course Nathan came. He has yet to meet someone to deny him anything and after those two nights of performance, Jericho feels he has left his mark. Regardless of their status as acquaintances with benefits, Nathan holds the position of a godsend for the simple reason that he is not family. The old adage that familiarity breeds contempt rings true in the case of Jericho Malik, especially when everyone is riding high and delicate over emotions. He is young, he is insatiable, and the concept of marriage is too close to a jail sentence. He gives Renee, at most, two months before the divorce papers are drawn up.

”Life is short,” he delivers back with a smirk. ”And my stay here is limited. I thought I’d... capitalize on the moment.” His shoulder rolls in a lazy shrug and Jericho has no qualms concerning the truth of the proffered invitation. They are not here to hold hands and play the part of the awestruck lovers. His interest in Nathan is rooted in the man’s ability to feed his wolf, which ultimately allows Jericho to stay in control – a must in a city so far away from home. The seed for honest interest has been planted but the Bostonian does not know if there is worth in cultivating it. Long-distance booty calls are trying at best, but it could not hurt to have someone to spend time with should he be in the area. He is over thinking this, which means his interest in Nathan has already rooted.

Nathan asks a loaded question and Jericho’s lips curl into a smirk. He opens his mouth to speak but the voice that cuts in does not belong to him.

”There you are. I was beginning to think I’d have to put out a missing person’s report.” The clear and newscaster-perfect voice belongs to a man with blue eyes and brown hair. He wears a tailored black suit and matches Jericho’s stature of ease. There are similarities between his facial structure and Jericho’s – it appears that this man is family and close. He runs his eyes over Nathan and tilts his head to regard Jericho with a sharply clever look. ”Must have shelled out a lot for that escort service.” The look Jericho shoots the man is heated, if wilting. ”He’s not a whore,” he mutters in response as he snuffs out his cigarette in a nearby ashtray.

”Of course not, that’s you.” The blue-eyed man delivers back easily and Jericho rolls his eyes because he saw that coming. He regards Nathan with a handsome grin and extends his hand. ”Micah. Micah Malik.” Micah affords Jericho a brief glance. ”We’re brothers,” he offers in polite way of explanation, should Nathan be wondering.

”So,” Micah begins, ”If Jer isn’t paying you, how on earth did he convince you to come?” The look in his eyes suggests he already knows but games appear to run in the family – and Micah maintains a near-expert innocent disposition. If Nathan is looking for any help from the esquire, he will find none. Jericho watches him intently, himself curious as to what the man might say.

[♥ Nathan ♥]

There is a rising anticipation that builds in Nathan’s gut with the first hints of a promise – of a continuation of their ongoing dance, a game that he has yet to tire of. Loaded phrases and returned quips are enough to have his attention, and the lazy smirk he has grown used to Jericho sporting is vastly preferable to that pathetic frown. That their engagement is limited to bandied words and veiled suggestions makes the other man no less interesting; Nathan is rapt, already caught up in gleaning information from Jericho’s every assertion, in playing the part of the incorrigible flirt.

He is turning to face Jericho, leaning in with private interest, when another man sees fit to interrupt them. The daring smile that had been playing on the werewolf’s lips is gone in an instant, schooled into a cool – if disappointed – mask, and Nate turns his head to regard Micah with a measured stare. He does not flinch at the tasteless commentary, and does not bother waiting for Jericho to explain or provide support; the werewolf steps forward, fully capable – and even keen – to handle the situation himself.

”Nathaniel Hart,” is the smooth rejoinder, and Nathan shakes the other man’s hand firmly, eyes locked in stony appraisal. ”Head of security at the Elysium.” A careful and metered correction regarding his prior status as whore – and in Vegas, Elysium is nearly synonymous with pack. Nate’s expression is impassive and soundly unamused – as though the barb Micah had meant in jest had, in fact, been highly inappropriate. The hard stare and pretense of offense fade only once Nathan leans back and takes another slow pull from his cigarette, the first inkling of a smirk curling along the edge of his lip. He pauses, makes a show of dragging the moment out – and when he glances back up, there is mischief in those blue eyes.

”What can I say?” Nate replies with a shrug, running his hand through his hair – and matching that look of feigned innocence with his own. ”The man has a silver tongue. It’s… terribly persuasive.” Nathan’s voice holds true, but the crooked set to his smile and the subtle cant of his head tell another story. If Micah wants to make a point of Jericho’s bedroom habits, Nate would be happy to harp on the man’s finer qualities in exchange. Insulting Jericho in that regard is insulting the werewolf as well – and neither Nate nor the animal uncoiling in his chest can stand for that. He is nothing if not proud, and self-reproach is an alien concept; there is no regretting his actions with Jericho, though Nathan is rendered suspicious by Micah’s revealing statements.

And yet who is he to feel slighted? Who is his wolf to shift reflexively, possessively? Nathan, with a finesse and control born of practice, sets the unwanted response to the back of his mind and promptly forgets it. No good can ever come of getting attached, and regardless of his presence at the wedding, the werewolf has no illusions regarding his relationship with the other man. Micah’s attitude alone is proof enough of that.

He crushes the butt of his cigarette into the ashtray and affords the growing scene before them another assessing glance. ”Though I’m starting to think I should have asked a few more questions before agreeing. I’m not sure I made out on this deal.” A commentary on their trying surroundings, but weighted enough to drive home the point that Jericho owes him – and the extent of the favor is directly tied to the annoyance of the evening. Nathan turns a charming, easy smile back on Micah, but his attention is all for the werewolf at his side. ”I’m hoping the company will make up for it.” The remark is at the same time innocent and hopelessly shameless – and Nate doesn’t seem inclined to care either way. If Micah had expected him to balk, he would be happy to prove the man wrong.

[♔ Jericho ♔]

Micah wears a consistent smile and the mirth never leaves his eyes. The scent about him and perhaps the otherworldly assuredness in his demeanor all read of werewolf, but unlike Jericho, there is no challenge that emanates from Micah’s beast. There is only an understated curiosity and a certain, sharp keenness to his presence. ”A man in charge – it figures.” The look he delivers Jericho is knowing and the younger brother only supplies a smirk in response. Jericho is bold enough to look smug over his latest conquest and it is an arrogance only fed by the ease in which Nathan handles Micah’s particular brand of humor. Micah tears a sidelong glance away from his brother and delicately raises a brow at Nathan’s insinuations. ”That – I did not need to know.” To this Jericho chuckles – the man is shameless.

”Then maybe you should stop asking questions,” he drawls lazily at Micah and supplies Nathan with a tomcat’s smile. There is a relaxed way about Jericho that suggests his activities, at least where his brother is concerned, are well-known. It is to be expected, really, as Jericho has proven to be anything but subtle. ”Nathan is an associate – an important individual within the local pack that I’m courting for practical reasons.” The matter-of-fact tone he takes is practiced, as if he has considered the declaration beforehand – and he has.

The disbelief worn clearly on Micah’s face is a touch affectionate but mostly exasperated. ”That’s a comfortable lie,” he says.

”Mine always are,” Jericho chimes back with an airy sense of impish pride.

Assessing blue eyes run between Nathan and Jericho. Micah is thinking and there appears to be something at the tip of his tongue. His mouth opens, then closes, and he smiles away whatever he was about to say. ”I’m sure it will.” He deadpans; the innuendo is not lost on him. ”Just do try and be polite about it– I hear the coat closet is relatively soundproof.” It is both a jest and a barb delivered in his lofty politician’s voice. Jericho makes to counter the statement but is stopped short when the ominous sound of bickering hens draws close.

Both Malik brothers simultaneously look stricken. Jericho sidles closer to Nathan and gestures to a back entrance with a jerk of his head. Micah catches the exchange and narrows his eyes. ”Go, flee, you cowards. Enjoy your practical courting while you can.” It is a dramatic delivery, as if there is an impending apocalypse as opposed to a wedding. ”And don’t say I never did anything for you.” He turns and walks through the doorway, throwing himself to the lions. ”Renee, you’re looking lovely as always.” His chipper voice is followed by the viper’s tongue of a monster bride, who quickly demands that he change his suit tie because everything has to be perfect.

Jericho seizes the moment and grabs at the crook of Nathan’s elbow, guiding him out of the dining hall and through a set of large glass doors. They step out onto a balcony that hangs over water and near an outcropping of stone. Jericho leans against the railing and pulls Nathan towards him. What follows is a lingering and indulgent kiss, though the insatiable heat from the previous nights is muted. ”It’s been a trying day,” he murmurs against Nathan’s lips and pulls away to meet the man’s gaze. ”And I only imagine it’s going to get worse.” He looks down briefly, smiles a secretive sort of smile. ”I suppose I should apologize for dragging you into this.” Jericho’s tone is measured as he presses his hand flat against Nathan’s abdomen. ”But it was your choice to come.”

There is no secret as to why Nathan decided to make an appearance – but it still feels like a victory. ”You’re here for … what was it—“ His eyes drop to Nathan’s mouth and he is close – close enough for their body heat to mingle. ”My silver-tongue and…good company?” Jericho’s voice drops to smooth, liquid velvet and the smirk that lights his features is anything but innocent.

Despite his flirtatious demeanor, Jericho steps away. ”I don’t know –Micah was right. We should probably behave.” It is back to his games and it is a much needed reverie – a chance to unwind before his dragon of a cousin finds him.

[♥ Nathan ♥]

There is a sudden restlessness that manifests in Nathan’s stance; the tell is subtle, but apparent in the way he shifts his weight – the sway of a boxer primed for a fight, watered down into an inconspicuous motion. The werewolf opens his mouth with impish intent, ready to fire back just what he’d like to do with Micah’s call for courtesy – but his quip is routed by the deer-in-the-headlights looks of his companions and the shrill complaints that meet their ears. Understanding is quick to dawn on him. Nate catches Jericho’s gesture to escape, and fixes Micah with a devilish smirk as the younger man offers himself up as a willing sacrifice. His expression is newly appreciative, though the slow pull of his grin is little more than salacious, urged on by Micah’s good humor and knowing stare.

”I like him,” Nate chuckles as he falls into step beside Jericho, allowing himself to be lead away. ”Though I don’t think I’ve ever been courted before.” The tone of his voice – the smug curl to his lip – does not suggest that he particularly minds, no matter that it is only an excuse. It plays to his vanity and strokes his ego, and that is enough to string him along; Nate follows like a hound on a trail, eager and confident.

A sidelong glance, fraught with curiosity, falls upon Jericho as they exit to the balcony; there are words left unspoken in the weight of that gaze, but Nathan makes no move to air them. He yields to the pull of the other man, and is smirking as he claims the esquire’s mouth with his own; the kiss is enjoyable despite its lack of demanding hunger, all indolent and slow. Leaning forward, the werewolf braces his palms on the railing to either side of Jericho and works to resist the urge to touch. It is enough to lean into the man’s body, to feel the heat that radiates from him, and still maintain this aloof illusion; Nate rumbles with a satisfied contentment as Jericho’s hand coasts along the flat plane of his stomach, reveling in the contact. He is entertaining any number of ideas on exactly how Jericho can apologize, and the desire reflected on his features makes that clear.

Nathan draws his eyes upward from Jericho’s touch to his stare, inhaling deep when the man moves close to speak. His responding words are laced with a new heat, eyes narrowed in devious intent. ”One convinced me to come – the other has to convince me to stay.” The statement is teasing and not at all loaded with the usual heat of a challenge; despite the obvious warning regarding the future trials of the evening, Nathan has no desire to flee – yet. ”—but yes.” An admittance Jericho has won through patience and skill. He has opened the floodgates with his actions and words; having been granted the equivalent of permission, Nate is quick to accept the offer of a flirtatious encounter. As Jericho pulls from him he reaches out, snatching the man’s tie up in his quick and iron grip.

”He didn’t say anything about behaving,” Nate murmurs, pulling the other werewolf back towards him; his voice ghosts along the side the man’s neck in a hot breath of air, and his free hand snakes about his waist. ”—Just being polite. I can say please, you know.” He inclines his head back far enough to catch Jericho’s eye and shoot him a mischievous, daring look. If the esquire wants to play hard to get tonight, Nathan will indulge him; he will engage in this game and chase the other man down with dogged determination. ”I know my manners.” And in an entirely backwards demonstration, Nate falls upon Jericho’s neck with lips and teeth, gentle enough to avoid leaving any telling marks. He presses the man back up against the railing, smirking against his skin, and simply holds him there.

Nathan may be incorrigible, insatiable – he may be shameless and brazen – but Jericho seems to demand it of him, and the werewolf plays into his hands. He cants his head back to meet the man’s eye, but does not ease his body away. ”Though I’d hate to be confused for your escort. Or is this par for the course for your – what – associates?” There is the bold confrontation, though it is far from accusatory; curious, yes, but not a cause for denial. As if in an effort to define himself from any past important individuals, Nate’s mouth descends once more to Jericho’s throat, ravenous and greedy. Nathan cannot abide the idea that he may not stand out; he will make an impression.

The joke of practicality falls to the wayside, if it ever existed between them to begin with.

[♔ Jericho ♔]

He can only grin as Nathan tugs him forward. They have an established unspoken agreement, an understanding that their limited time together is nothing more than a game. In a few days time, Jericho will leave Vegas and all of its attractions behind. The ease by which Nathan slides into the role of able playmate is a source of selfish delight. ”I have reason to doubt that.” There is a weight to his words, one decipherable only by himself and Nathan. ”But perhaps you can prove me wrong.” It is a statement lost within a chuckle when the other werewolf descends upon his neck. ”Or not.” Humor blooms in his tone and Jericho decides that manners are overrated—though he wonders what it would take to convince Nathan to say please.

Trapped against the railing and within the cage of Nathan’s arms, Jericho only feels a sense of smug satisfaction. His wolf’s need for conquest has since been sated, and though the beast bleeds into the man’s interest and makes it all the more keener, it no longer needs to prove itself. Nathan knows the nature of Jericho’s animal. He has accepted it, catered to it-- and perhaps that is the core reason as to why the esquire extended the man an invitation to his cousin’s wedding. His beast is discomfited in environments where it is not king, where it is not understood, and already Nathan’s method of distractions have proven a balm to Jericho’s stress levels.

”Only when the pickings are slim and I am exceptionally hungry,” he admits freely and with a curling smirk. He inclines his head to grant Nathan better access and stares up into the darkening Vegas sky. ”They’re just… junk food. Something to keep the edge off.” Every werewolf has their means by which they control their animal half. Some fight it out in the boxing ring – Jericho prefers to lose himself in vice and sex happens to be his favorite of the lot. ”And I hardly, if ever, solicit them for a second rendezvous,” he drawls as he leans back to meet Nathan’s eyes. ”Much less a third.” There is a compliment layered within the declaration and Jericho lifts a hand to run his thumb over Nathan’s jaw.

A wondering thoughtfulness finds its way into his expression as Jericho’s gaze wanders over the other man’s features. It is a comfortable excuse to claim the only reason he requested Nathan’s presence here was for the distraction. But there is a wolf-born curiosity that is intensely compelling and therefore subject to being resolutely denied. Denial comes easily; after all, Jericho is a master practitioner of comfortable lies. ”And Micah didn’t honestly think you were an escort,” he dismisses the notion. ”You hardly have that way about you.” Compliments come freely, which might have Jericho questioning why, if he was not so determined to simply run with it.

He drops his eyes, suddenly coy, and peels away from Nathan. The esquire crosses the short distance to the opposite side of the balcony, turns around, and leans against the railing. ”How long have you been in Vegas?” The question is delivered in such a way that it is impossible to tell if Jericho is honestly curious or just playfully stymieing more physical possibilities. His eyes are sharp, keen, and the smile he wears, though delicate, speaks to the shark he is back home.

”I thought it might suit to learn a little bit about you,” he explains and draws his attention over Nathan’s body, ”That way, if people ask, we can pretend we’re not such… horrible degenerates.” His words suggest one thing, the nature of his demeanor another. Jericho’s intent is difficult to read, though that may be due to the fact his is a duel interest. Nathan is a bit of a mystery; and the physical draw of the man is entrancing.

Either avenue would suffice; though Jericho does so enjoy the sound of his own voice.

[♥ Nathan ♥]

”Yeah, well,” Nate murmurs, pulling his mouth from Jericho’s neck just long enough to speak, ”I’m a goddamn five star meal.” His hand roams up the other man’s back, holding him close, his touch exploratory. Though the attention he grants Jericho is inappropriate for their surroundings, it is almost tender in comparison to their previous rendezvous; without the weight of the animal behind his actions, Nate is free to investigate at his own leisure. His wolf is interested enough to let this temporary balance of power play out, and Nathan takes the opportunity to enjoy an easy and wholly human satisfaction in feeling the other man against him.

”You remember that, when you go back to your junk food in Boston.” The werewolf is clearly satisfied and encouraged by the compliment. He grins against Jericho’s skin, lets his teeth rake up against the man’s throat when he tilts away, and an impudent smirk tempers any amount of seriousness lacing his reply. Nate wants to make a lasting impact, certainly, but expects nothing further; the confidence in his voice is only a play on his usual ego, his tone mocking. The conversation flows simply, uninhibited – having given in to his need and admitted his fascination, there is no further attempt at denial.

”Good,” Nathan laughs, leaning in to rest his face in the crook of Jericho’s neck. It is a surprisingly affectionate gesture; a method of lingering, of indulging in continued contact simply for the sake of it. ”This suit cost too much to tolerate that sort of confusion.” The esquire shifts and this time, when Jericho pulls from him, Nathan lets him slide away – though his hand slips low, lingers a moment more than necessary. His eyes follow with an obvious fondness and smug approval. Jericho is a prize he has won and Nate is willing to bask in that fact, no matter how easy the other werewolf may claim to be.

Leaning forward, Nathan rests his elbow on the railing with his chin in his palm, and takes to simply watching Jericho with honest curiosity. It is easy to relax, to pretend, because there is no obligation; they can share these brief moments safe in the knowledge that Jericho will leave, and words like responsibility and commitment will remain foreign. It is, perhaps, why Nate’s comfort is not entirely an act, and why he has even considered allowing the other man so close; or at least he is able to convince himself of as much. It is certainly an easier admission than true attachment. In either case, concerns regarding vulnerability are assuaged by the knowledge that in a brief span of days, Jericho will return to Boston – and so there is no need to process his emotions further.

”You’ll have to stop undressing me with your eyes if you want anyone to believe that lie.” The smirk that grows on Nathan’s features is wicked – because he is only doing the same, and makes no effort to hide that fact. Still, the man takes the bait. He may have certain expectations regarding what he’s owed for his appearance here tonight – and he may prefer his reward sooner rather than later – but Nate can play at patience for an exchange of information. Jericho’s own excuse is a suitable mask to hide behind. ”Seven years. Came from Chicago, before that. Vegas… grew on me.” Blue eyes pin green beneath a heated stare; if the past few days are anything to go by, it’s easy to see why Nathan would grow comfortable in this city of vice and sin.

”Worked at the Elysium since I got here, and I’ve been running the place for two years.” He allows himself an arrogant and self-assured smile, canting his head to one side. ”I’m very good at what I do.” It is not a lie; at twenty-seven, the majority of Nathan’s contemporaries are nearing twice his age, and it is this natural ability that largely fuels his ego.

The power it grants doesn’t hurt, either.

”What about you?” The werewolf shifts his weight; he pushes off from the railing and steps towards the other man, settling in at his side. ”Should I know more than…” Nate waves a hand, encompassing Jericho in a gesture. ”—lawyer playboy?” Glancing upwards, the stare he fixes the esquire with is teasing, his brow raised and his smile crooked. ”Or are we pretending there’s practicality behind your courting?” Nathan suspects both are true – that Jericho’s habits are likely known, and there is also no harm in an invented basis for their relationship – but he is wants to know more.

It is an unreasonable desire considering the parameters of their arrangement, limitations Nathan is supposedly content with. He does not pause to consider the ramifications of his interest; Jericho is a novelty that has him intrigued, and knowledge is power.

Convenient excuses and comfortable lies.

[♔ Jericho ♔]

”I am doing no such thing,” he tries for scandalized but only manages to sound amused. Still, he looks down as if somehow abashed. The smile Jericho dons is nearly pensive and when he listens to Nathan reveal a small window into his life, he is attentive. There is honest interest here proven by this third encounter, and Jericho can easily play it off as a farcical demonstration of how real relationships are established. Their time is limited, his gesture of inquiry is likely pointless, but curiosity is a niggling force. He looks up to catch that heated stare and delivers a sharp smirk. Nathan is right; Jericho has come to understand the merits of Vegas through the other werewolf.

He supposes he should be grateful that Nathan has proven to be such an able guide. ”Always a city boy, then.” This is a minutia of information they have in common. City life, as far as Jericho is concerned, is the only life. He cannot imagine a world without the energy of a metropolis, without something to do or see around every corner. ”I’m sure you are,” he says without a shred of patronization. Slowed werewolf aging aside, Jericho has pegged Nathan for a man around his mid-twenties. It is either that or the werewolf is exceptionally good and playing the part of a modern, city-bred male. Power, though often awarded haphazardly, never stays with the undeserving.

Nathan moves in closer and Jericho watches him from the corner of his eyes. He is playing coy, committed to the role of hard-to-get. The heat of his interest in Nathan is not gone, simply tempered by curiosity and the contended state of his beast. ”Is there anything more worth knowing?” Jericho delivers back playfully as if the entirety of his person could be relegated to the terms lawyer and playboy. ”Would you believe that I was a prince?” Green eyes light with mirth and Jericho chuckles. ”No? Pity.” In his youth, Boston was a kingdom, and his father the King. It is a storybook fascination that has stuck with him, but one demonstrated only, if ever, in a tongue-in-cheek fashion.

”Born and raised in Boston.” He offers only as much as Nathan has given him. Jericho pivots until his hands rest on the railing at either side of Nathan’s hips. They are face to face; Jericho meets him in the eye. ”And I am also very good at what I do.” The purr in his voice suggests the claim has little to do with his professional occupation. Jericho’s attention drops to Nathan’s lips and he makes to capture them – but is stopped short by the sound of the balcony door opening.

”Sorry to interrupt,” comes Micah’s voice from the doorway. ”But I’ve been informed that this…procession is about to begin.” His face is a tad weary and he is missing his tie. Micah drains a sizeable amount of wine from the glass he is toting and offers a tight smile. ”You still might be able to escape if you throw yourself off the balcony,” he helpfully advises before turning back inside. It appears, given the shift in his demeanor, that their dear cousin has gotten the better of Micah.

Jericho almost feels bad. Almost.

The esquire sighs dejectedly and pulls away from Nathan. ”If you stay – I’ll make it worth your while.” The offer of a desperate man delivered in a smug, confident voice. Jericho looks out at the open water almost as if he is considering Micah’s advice, offers Nathan a half-shrug, then wanders into the Bellagio.

They make their way into the establishment’s chapel and to anyone who questions Nathan’s presence, Jericho explains him away as his ‘plus one.’ This explanation seemingly suffices as no more prying questions follow. The guests file into the pews and Jericho helpfully pats the area next to him. ”I promise to keep my hands to myself .” For now. The attendees settle, the groom waits near the podium. The music starts and Jericho stifles the urge to roll his eyes. ”Could this get any more cliché?” He mutters at Nathan as Renee strides down the aisle to the tune of Here Comes the Bride.

The priest speaks. Jericho does not bother to listen. The vows begin and Renee hashes out an ode to her husband to be, relating their uninspired romance to Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet. Throughout it all, Jericho has to fight a smirk and a chuckle. He nearly breaks, earns a heated look from one of the women sitting in a pew ahead, and decides to distract himself --

--by surreptitiously placing a hand on Nathan’s thigh. His thumb works slow, subtle strokes and he keeps his seemingly innocent attention on the bride and groom. By the time the priest asks for differing opinions, Jericho’s hand has drifted lower and closer to dangerous territory.

He smiles a secretive sort of smile and thinks that, just maybe, weddings aren’t so bad.

[♥ Nathan ♥]

A fist curls in the fabric of Jericho’s jacket, and Nathan’s free hand pauses in its quest to explore low on the man’s back when Micah makes his interruption. Though he tenses, Nate does not pull away; the reveal that their time is up is met only with a disappointed frown. He wets his lips and straightens, smoothing the crumpled front to his shirt into some semblance of order. ”That’s why I’m here,” he chuckles darkly as they exit – and the lie is so believed it reads as truth.

Nathan settles easily into his role as unnamed guest; he shakes hands and says little, charmingly polite and lit with a counterfeit warmth. The ease with which he handles public relations is both practiced and natural, and it is only when at last settled beside Jericho that the mask of his face fades into more honest disinterest. In a trite show of pomp and circumstance, the ceremony finally begins; the werewolf leans close without drawing his eyes from the marching bride-to-be, and the petulant growl in his voice does not match the hollow smile he maintains. ”Don’t tempt it. It’ll only get worse to spite you.”

Almost on queue, it does, and Nathan is forced to disguise a grimace with a rumbling sigh. It is only Jericho’s method of distraction that saves him from the nauseating display of devotion; the man exhales slow and relaxes visibly, and does not so much as grant Jericho the satisfaction of a glance. To the gathered assembly around them, Nathan is the image of a bored stranger, the jaded guest waiting tiredly for the ceremony to conclude and the reception to begin. Beneath Jericho’s hand a different story is told; there is a tension in the muscles that dance under his fingers, a reaction mirrored in the stiff line of Nathan’s jaw – and in the subtle tang of arousal on the air that only the esquire’s nose is privy to. For his part, Nathan simply inclines his head gently to one side and watches the service with vague indifference, but his thoughts are a stark contrast to the innocent promises of romance and fidelity.

The couple kisses, sickeningly saccharine, and Nathan shies from Jericho’s hand to rise with the crowd; he claps courteously when required, expression strained and smile dry. The processional files out for photographs – far too slow – and as the guests mingle and merge with conversation and laughter, Nathan grips firmly at Jericho’s elbow. A pointed look falls between them, one with a telling feral edge, and the werewolf’s hand slips to the small of the esquire’s back to guide him into the fray. Any questions or attempts at idle chatter are navigated through curtly, if appropriately, and when the chance arises, Nathan steals the man away to a deserted side exit.

They step into a small empty hall, one not yet in use for the evening; it is dark, the floor largely illuminated by the ambient light outdoors. The heavy door latches shut behind them, shutting out the celebration’s noise, and Nathan is quick to draw Jericho into his arms in a rough show of restrained force. His palm slides up along the man’s chest, suddenly gentle and very nearly coy, and his free hand holds tight at Jericho’s hip.

”That was mean,” Nate rumbles, though the heat in his voice is tempered by an almost plaintive lilt – a rare expression of just how much Jericho’s attention has effected him. ”You’re hopeless.” Spoken playfully, with the manner of a compliment. He affords the space around them a last wary – and only perfunctory – glance, and then his mouth is upon Jericho’s, hungry and claiming. The fire that had been missing from the afternoon has made a return, fueled by denial, interruptions, and obvious efforts made to tease. Nathan, given the opportunity, has no power to refuse it; his need for contact is a growing obsession, a loss of control he willfully ignores.

”How long until someone misses you,” he questions, words hot against the other man’s lips, and draws his eyes slowly upwards in overt implication. Nathan can certainly stand missing weak cocktails and cliché toasts if the esquire is game; and from the way his fingers toy with the buttons on Jericho’s shirt, he has another appetizer in mind entirely.

[♔ Jericho ♔]

Jericho is focused and though he stares directly at the bride and groom; his attention is devoted elsewhere. A subtle electricity comes to life but it exists only in the small space between himself and Nathan; the other attendees are none the wiser. He does not so much as glance in Nathan’s direction and instead allows his beast to gauge the man’s reactions. The quiet smile that finds its way to the esquire’s lips is telling – he no longer finds this wedding quite so boring. Renee kisses the groom – a man whom Jericho has yet to learn the name of—women sniffle and cry, the event moves on, and Jericho is content to play the part of attentive cousin.

Or he would be, if Nathan had not chosen to take charge. An innocent look is his childish retaliation to Nathan’s glare, and though he would love nothing more than to continue the game of chase, Jericho relents. Curiosity is too compelling a story, and where Nathan is concerned, Jericho is curious. It may very well be an addiction – his need to push and prod, and test—and that his current experiment wears the guise of a powerful and attractive man, makes for an impossible temptation.

”I don’t know what you’re talking about--” The smug denial is swallowed in a kiss, and the esquire’s damnable smirk finally fades when he slides his lips over Nathan’s. The driving desire to dominate and control has since been slaked, and it is with a calculated temperance that Jericho kisses Nathan. His disposition is lazy, smooth, and lacks the near-insane force of his wolf. This measure of clarity is rare and elusive, and Jericho might wonder over it, if he was not so wholly distracted.

Just beyond the door, he can hear the din of conversation. The sharp laugh of his aunt is as annoying and hyena-like as ever. Micah’s steady tenor delivers a tailored, humorous story meant to placate and awe. His family shares what is supposed to be a blessed and fantastic occasion together, while Jericho rendezvous with a man he hardly knows in a dark-lit hall. He counts himself fortunate and would have it no other way; all familial obligations should come with such a gilded footnote.

He draws his hands over Nathan’s chest and tucks his head forward. ”They already do.” His breath is hot against the werewolf’s neck and he draws his mouth over the skin there. It is not simply Jericho’s impressive ego that dictates his assumption. He holds the honored title of Renee’s ‘favorite cousin’; his vanished presence will not be overlooked – but Jericho cannot find it within himself to care. ”But, does it matter?” Teeth play delicately over Nathan’s jugular and Jericho can feel the thrum of the man’s pulse. The rhythm is relaxing; like some manner of blood-fueled intrinsic lullaby. ”If you want something,” he says in a whisper and draws away. Green eyes meet blue. ”You take it.”

It is a dangerous and impassioned statement. Jericho holds Nathan’s gaze for a deliberate moment before looking down and stepping deeper into the hall. He approaches one of the heavy wooden tables and runs his fingers over the smooth surface. Ahead, the windows afford a view of Vegas in her evening wear. Bright lights and colorful baubles; a mistress of vice. Jericho turns around and leans against the table. He is backlit by the glow of Vegas and he tilts his head to observe Nathan. ”Tell me, Nathaniel. Do you see anything you want?” A playful query delivered by a man who assumes he already knows the answer.

In the dimly lit hall, it is difficult to tell who is in the role of the rabbit and who is the fox – and that is exactly how Jericho likes it.