» Preparation Assessments [M], [closed to Ruthark]

[Archer Townsend]

Mature Warning - M/M Sexual Activity

Archer made his way through the school, having to stop once just to make certain he was going the right way. He had been to visit all of the classrooms, but still it was all new to him and it didn't feel the same as the castle had. In all honesty, it threw him off kilter and he got turned around far more often than he should have for that reason alone. This wasn't home, not yet it wasn't. He was hoping that over time it would grow to feel like home and he would feel as comfortable here as he ever had in the castle. It just seemed like such a distant possibility at this point.

He was going the correct way though, because those were the winding stairs he remembered from the first time he'd come up here, but he hadn't been since his initial visit. Not since Ruthark had decorated the rooms and created the environment that he wanted to teach in. He kept meaning to, but every time he had tried to something else had come up. Forms to sign, schedules and faculty assignments to look over, actual assessments to perform.

Today was the first time he'd managed, just a day before Ruthark would be leaving to meet the students in Crotone and god only knew when he would have a chance again after Ruthark got back along with all of the students.

Archer knocked on the door to the room just before opening it and stepping inside, looking immediately around for Ruthark. "Professor Cade, are you in here? It's Dean Townsend. I'm here for your Preparation Assessment."

[Ruthark Cade]

"Preparation Assessment?" mused a voice enveloped in the shadows of the far right bookcase, the question punctuated by a light thud and a puff of dust as a careful hand replaced one of the ancient tomes. "That sounds rather like something I would perform on you, Dean Townsend."

Ruthark turned and his tawny eyes cut through the dim interior of the room like a cat caught unawares in the headlights of a passing car. He met Archer's gaze and grinned, his expression feral and made doubly-so by the suggestion of fangs loitering around the curve of his lips.

"Preparation Assessment," he repeated, moving away from the bookcase and into the feeble shaft of light offered by a crack in the blinds. "Well, Mr. Townsend, as you may currently observe, my rooms exude the appropriate nefarious atmosphere and have indeed been well prepared. The dust on the books is a quarter of an inch thick, meeting regulations set down by my scholarly forebears. The chairs creak if swung upon in a certain manner, resulting in immediate embarrassment for any student who may be so unfortunate as to be occupying said furniture piece, as I assure you my classroom shall be into a minus scale of decibels at all times. The fixtures and fittings are as horrific as I could possibly make them - might I draw your attention to the candle holders, which are in fact open-mouthed dragons? I thought they were a nice touch. Lastly, the clock--" he made a sweeping bow in the direction of his desk, "--has had its batteries removed. I did consider not having one at all but thought this was perhaps a tad more demoralising. I trust you are satisfied?"

He straightened and folded his hands behind his back, fighting the twitch at the corner of his mouth.

[Archer Townsend]

Archer did not so much as bat an eye when the man smoothly appeared, seemingly from out of nowhere. After this many years he was used to it and he simply turned toward him, one eyebrow lifted in response to his comment. "I'm certain my head administrator would be quite irritated if you started doing his job for him," he said professionally, pretending he had no idea that it wasn't exactly what Ruthark had been implying.

The dean trailed along beside the professor, his shoulders squared and hands clasped behind his back as though he were truly taking mental notes he was prepared to use against the man later. In actuality even the often straight-laced dean was amused by Ruthark's sense of humor and curious to see how the students reacted to it, especially as many would not know vampires were real until they arrived and they would be chock full of urban legends and media portrayals. Speaking of....

"I am curious as to whether or not you intend to brush your skin with glitter," he said, only just managing not to crack a smile.

There was no doubt that the man who knew him better than any other would catch the mischievous glint in his eyes. If nothing else, Ruthark's students would certainly have something to talk about for awhile and Archer didn't mind that. He liked engaging them in any and every way they could, including the unorthodox.

"I am satisfied with this room, Professor. Now I would like to assess the other room."

His lips quirked up just slightly.

[Ruthark Cade]

"I suppose I just about have the right colour of eyes for it, don't I?" Ruthark said by way of answer, his tone thoughtful. "It is a great shame that I am neither quite beautiful nor handsome enough; I shall have to go the gaunt, thin and tortured look instead. Dark robes tend to look twice as intimidating on a wraith-like frame, after all."

His eyes flashed back at Archer, equally as mischievous, the rest of his expression just as controlled and professional as the Dean's. He enjoyed these moments... moments where he was able to delight in the knowledge that he cuddled up to this same man come the night time and made him breakfast in the morning because if anyone could burn a salad, it was Archer Scott Townsend. He adored him in all his many manifestations, but there was something a little bit sexy about the Dean in particular.

"Certainly," he said, turning on his heel and opening the adjoining classroom door, holding it for the brunette and watching him like a hawk as he passed, accutely aware of him in the small, close space of the doorframe. This room, much larger, was shrouded in darkness; Ruthark nodded at the candles lining the walls, silently asking Archer to do the honours if he would.

"It has four walls," he announced with a touch of affected pride, and his words were just about accurate - the room was bereft of anything much bar the pile of soft cushions in one corner. "A perfect enclosed space in the event something goes horribly wrong," he continued. "I would not fancy splattering all and sundry down below with blood and other such nonsense."

He paused, then added, "Damned waste, you understand."

[Archer Townsend]

Archer's lips quirked up in a tiny smile that he only just managed to contain with the sudden tightening of his lips into a thin, white line. His blue eyes sparkled and danced as they followed Ruthark around the room, however, and gave him away entirely. That could not be helped, though. He grew impossibly more in love with this man every day and there were times he questioned whether they'd ever actually come out of the 'honeymoon' phase of their relationship.

The Dean clasped his hands lightly behind his back and followed the professor through the main classroom into the antechamber Ruthark was using as a second classroom as opposed to a personal office or anything else he might have chosen to do with the space.

With only a wave of his fingers the candles in the room flared to life before tapering down to a flickering flame and he turned to the other man, a tiny smug smile playing at the corners of his eyes.

"Yes, the walls are quite impressive," He said, crossing his arms and fully affecting Dean Mode. "Of course, we're very conscientious about not being wasteful here at Atlantis, I'm sure you're aware. Tell me, what might you do if there was an accident? What safety measures do you have in place? I can't have students bleeding to death under your care, Mr. Cade."

[Ruthark Cade]

"It would be a very clean bleed-out," Ruthark replied earnestly. "No lingering gore, no trauma for the parents, nothing for the cleaners to have to concern themselves with... ah, no. I see by your expression this is not enough. Very well."

The tall vampire folded his hands behind his back and meandered past the Dean, walking a leisurely and unhurried line to the centre of the room where he stopped, his back to the brunette. He could feel his gaze, though, fixed somewhere around his shoulderblades, as hot and intense as the fire he wielded.

"I am my own safety measure," he answered. "I am between my students and a week in the sanatorium. I run a practical classroom where there are cuts, bruises, scraped knees and banged elbows at the end of the lesson as a rule; if you are coming away without any such injuries during your first few months in my care, you are not working hard enough. Students sign an agreement at the beginning of term acknowledging the risks involved in undertaking my class, and their parents - as you will know - sign a similar document stating they are aware that their child has chosen to study with me."

He looked over his shoulder, the candlight doing strange things to the molten gold depths of his eyes.

"My class size is ten or less - no exceptions - to allow me the appropriate one-on-one time with each student. You will work with myself initially and we will do the same damn spell, hex or charm over and over again until I am satisfied I may unleash you on your partner, and you may trust that I have vetted your partner's defense with exactly the same care and attention. In the event I am not satisfied that you are not a danger either to yourself or your fellow students, you will sit out the lesson and I will tutor you privately if you are still determined to learn. Only one pair of students may duel at a time to prevent distraction or confusion and enable me to keep a close eye on the parties involved."

He turned himself back towards Archer and raised his hand to his mouth, dragging the point of one fang from the skin between his thumb and forefinger to the bump of his wristbone, opening a sizeable gash that encircled his wrist with tendrils of blood.

"I know enough tricks that bleeding to death is unlikely before I can get a trained healer on the scene," he said as he pinched the skin together and seemed to knit it with the fingers of his opposite hand until the line was just an angry red welt. "Throughout my tenure at Atlantis Academy I have only had to do so twice. I take my job and the safety of my students very seriously."

He looked up and met Archer's gaze. "Is that answer enough, Dean Townsend?"

[Archer Townsend]

Archer had not quite been expecting the actual, thorough, and very detailed response that he got to his question. The entire assessment was mostly him teasing, playing with the fact that he knew that Ruthark enjoyed seeing him in this capacity and rarely got a chance to. His own strict guidelines regarding fraternization among staff meant that he couldn't have performed the assessment even had he been inclined to do so. Ruthark's response, playing along to this extent, was surprising, though not necessarily in a bad way. Just in a ... well, unexpected way.

He stepped forward until he was standing in front of the professor and lightly grabbed his arm, pushing away the fingers holding the now sealed wound and running his finger over the raised welt, not bothered by the blood trailing down his skin. "It does seem you are quite capable, professor."

Archer flicked his gaze up to meet Ruthark's, still holding his arm, and said, "It appears all is in order. Were I completing your actual assessment you would pass. Well, other than the fact that you're an unpredictable dangerous creature who might lose control of his baser instincts at any moment."

With that, he finally gave in to a grin.

[Ruthark Cade]

"Mmm," Ruthark agreed, glancing down at the hold Archer had on his arm. "In times gone by your staff and students might have thought you mad for employing such a deplorable creature as myself. After all, you never know when I might--"

And in a flurry of movement the vampire had Archer pressed up against the wall, one hand braced against the stone and the other tilting the brunette's head to the side enough that he could press his lips to his neck.

"-snap," he finished in a low and full-bodied growl, pricking the soft and vulnerable skin with the very tips of his fangs just firmly enough to induce the slightest of flinches - in anyone unused to having a vampire for a lover, that is. He worked his way up Archer's neck leaving hot kisses and the suggestion of his canines in his wake until he reached his jawline and was able to look him in the eye.

"What if the vampire has an accident?" he asked. "Who looks after him?"

[Archer Townsend]

It was the blink of an eye, perhaps less even than that, before Ruthark had him pressed against the wall. Such an action, this side of the man, was rare enough to see that it earned the sharp intake of breath it deserved, the pinch against his skin causing a brief flutter of his eyelids. It was far too late for Archer to be scared of the situation any more, but nevertheless his heart rate picked up noticeably.

His eyes closed and he breathed out slowly, tilting his head away to provide better access to his neck without even realizing that he was doing it. Each hot kiss left tingling excitement in its wake, no less intoxicating than they were the first time Ruthark had touched him, had held him like this. Strangely enough, the situation had been incredibly similar to the one they currently found themselves in. Back when Ruthark had just been Raziel Cade's hated brother and still Archer had been unable to stop himself from responding to him in every way.

"I do," he breathed, the barest hint of a whine to his voice. "I look after him."

[Ruthark Cade]

Ruthark rumbled his approval soft and low in his chest, the noise akin to the first breaking roll of thunder in what promised to be the calm before the storm. He believed him, quite possibly more than he believed anything else in the world, and it meant as much to him now as it did one or two or three or four years ago, if not more. Without hesitation, though not with haste, his lips drew a soft line across Archer's cheek and to the corner of his mouth.

"Kiss me," he said, a murmured command, and whether by his own impatience or Archer's compliance they were doing exactly that before his heartbeat could count the seconds for itself. In the silence of his classroom, in the last day before he would leave Atlantis and return with scores of students in tow, Dean Archer Townsend was his and his alone to do with what he liked. Ruthark's fingers began the slow process of stripping the brunette of his professionalism by running themselves through his hair as they kissed, tousling it beyond decency and giving the young man the wild sort of look Ruthark absolutely adored on him.

"And who looks after you?" he said against his lips, his words carried on the back of the faintest of growls, as though there could be anyone else.

[Archer Townsend]

Even Archer was unsure which of them turned into the kiss first - it didn't matter. Their lips met like they had countless times before and Ruthark stole his breath away just like he always would. His kiss was all-encompassing, familiar and exciting, wrapping him up inside of it and whisking him away to some forbidden paradise where there existed nothing and no one outside of the two of them and the wall at his back.

In some vague recess of his mind Archer recognized what Ruthark was doing as his fingers slipped into his hair, carding through the strands and tugging them into disarray. As much as Ruthark loved seeing him in full professional attire, Dean Mode firmly in place, he loved destroying the image even more. Piece by piece would be stripped away until there was nothing left but just Archer. His Archer.

Archer's eyes fluttered open at the question, his lips stilling their play against Ruthark's, his fingers twisting into the fabric of the man's shirt. Blue lost itself in gold and the moment stretched on into infinity before he spoke, though the question had been answered long before in everything from the way his body responded to the way he looked at the man. "You."

There was no other answer.

[Ruthark Cade]

"Me," Ruthark echoed, but there was no growl to punctuate it this time; the word was soft, a verbal acknowledgement of the one-hundred-and-one interminable promises Ruthark had made to Archer the very first night he'd held his heart in his hands. The vampire's fingers drifted from the brunette's hair and touched his cheek as they kissed again, chaste this time but for the brief, possessive tug Ruthark bestowed upon Archer's lower lip as he drew away. His fingertips replaced his lips, tracing the outline of Archer's mouth before ghosting over his chin and down his throat, pausing in the hollow.

"Mine," he murmured, his voice as warm and full of secrets as the little hours of a hazy summer's night. His fingers undid Archer's tie and removed it with as much care as if the young man was a prince of princes; he unthreaded it neatly from his collar and wrapped it around his own wrist like a knight showing his colours. He then proceeded to undo the top buttons of Archer's shirt just enough that he could expose his neck and throat and a hint of collarbone. With a soft, possessive purr, the vampire buried his face back into his lover's neck and inhaled, spoiling him with kisses thereafter, both open-mouthed and not. Gods did he love him and damnit was he sexy - he was going to enjoy a little time torturing the professional image of the Dean, feeling him writhe and listening to him beg for more and maybe, just maybe, acquiescing once in a while to the brunette's demands.

[Archer Townsend]

Archer nodded when Ruthark repeated the sentiment, weighted and full of meaning as it was. He was agreeing to everything, all of it, every promise and every secret that the word contained he accepted, needed, breathed like life.

His mouth chased after Ruth as he pulled away, searching for more contact like a starving man reaching for the last morsel of food only to gasp lightly at the touch of Ruth's cool fingertips to his skin.

"Yours." The word was barely a breath on his lips, itself an acknowledgement as timeless and certain as the sunrise.

With a very quiet, barely audible moan, Archer dropped his head back against the wall, ignoring the brief flash of pain that accompanied it in favor of allowing all of his attention to drift to every point on his body touched by Ruthark's lips, tongue, teeth... "Ruth," a murmured purr, impossible to contain.

He melted at his touch, soft noises pulled from him time and time again even as he tried to regain enough coherence to take his lover by the hand and lead him back to their shared chambers where this would be appropriate and not something he'd write anyone else up for. It seemed that his body did not care what his mind had to say, especially as his hands drifted up the man's back, one sinking easily into the long, untamed strands and the other snaking over Ruth's shoulder to clutch him more firmly.