d6 // osgarus baeuvallet [fin.]

He slide to the edge of the bed, drawing the blanket off. His body held that familiar ache, that disappearing sense of pleasure that came the following morning after intercourse. Stretching, he craned his neck backwards, glancing at the beautiful figure behind him. She was still laying down, but he knew she wasn't asleep. He knew her too well, just as she knew him, just as the two of them sought the same things from one another. He wore no shirt, instead his lean, hard body was displayed to the new morning. His short stature and misleading appearance generally had people thinking he was soft, but in reality he had spent years building up his muscles, toning his body so that it was pleasing to the eye.

He was sure there was another reason as to why he had sculpted his body, but he couldn't remember what it was. So for now he lived in the simplistic thought that it was simply to attract the attention of those he lusted over. Drawing his legs back up and onto the bed he turned himself around so that he sat cross-legged facing her.

"Did you know, Amity, in order for a woman to have an orgasm during sex, her amygdala, the center for fear and anxiety must be turned off." His face twisted into a thoughtful expression, lips quirking into a cheeky grin. "That's how I know you trust me." He said, tone teasing.

It always went this way, after every night they spent together he would turn to her the following morning and he would spout some random fact. Sometimes they'd get a disgusted response, and other times she'd smile, just like she was now. It was those smiles he liked, Os liked knowing there was someone who appreciated the randoms bits of knowledge he had gained. And Amity was one of the few people that had the patience to listen to all of them and she was the only one who ever formulated some kind of reaction to what he said.

"What about the male orgasm?" She said and his grin broadened as she smiled back. "Do you trust me?" He reached forwards and poked her in the belly, chuckling at her question. She didn't need to pose the question, somehow he knew that Amity was fully aware that Os trusted her. Not only was she one of the most frequent visitors to his bed, but she was the only one who was awoken to some form of his rambling. The only one who appreciated it.

"Oh my dear Amity, you shouldn't ask questions you already know the answer to." For a moment his face morphed into a look of aged wisdom, eyebrows arching, dark brown eyes staring unseeingly forwards. Then the facade snapped and he broke out laughing. You'd never have thought that Osgarus Baeuvallet was the leader of one of the biggest drug cartel's in district six. It wasn't just the misleading appearance that often stumped those, but it was his weird personality. For a man as ruthless as he was he seemed absolutely carefree, for someone capable of ordering the death of any individual he wanted he looked rather oblivious. When, in fact, he was the smartest man in the entire cartel. You had to be smart to gain the position he held, you had to be smart to hold it and keep it. He was a very smart man, perhaps a little air headed, but exceedingly talented in all things strategy was.

The laughter didn't last long as Amity moved and his attention was drawn to the curve of her body as she slowly sat up. He liked her a lot, one of his Lieutenants and his second in command overall, he placed a lot of faith in her skills. He'd noticed her right from the beginning, she was a hard worker, strong and capable of surviving. However, that had not meant she was offered the easy way up the ranks, you earned your position and she had earned hers and Os doubted anyone would ever be good enough to claim it from her. He glanced at her face in time to see her lean forwards, her lips brushed his cheek, stirring a mixture of feelings within him, her words a whisper when she spoke, "as you wish." She was tantalising and exotic and Os was always pleased with the arrangement they had made.

Swallowing he fought down the urge to kiss her, and experience last night all over again. He wanted to go down on her, but he couldn't. The sun had begun it's climb into the sky, and already his business called for his attention. The few minutes he remained staring at her was the time he had spared for breakfast. No time to cook this morning. He had work to do today, a drug cartel to run. So with a sigh of longing he moved backwards, regretting the decision to not continue on with the proposed activity. Perhaps she'd come visit again tonight. He'd have to be satisfied with the through for now.

Swinging his legs around he moved off the bed. for a moment he was standing there naked, toned legs clearly visible, muscles flexing as he ducked down to grab the pair of pants he had discarded by the side of his bed last night. Tugging them on he moved around, gathering a white shirt, he slid it on, buttoning it up, before finding a tie. He wound it around, knotting it in lace, so that it hung loosely around his neck. It was his normal approach to clothing, as unthreatening as his figure, school boy casual look, it blended in, he didn't stand out and that was important.

"Can't make you breakfast this morning, I'm running behind, I need to speak to Mantis and Taser about a job that needs doing. I was going to get Cross to take care of it, but a problem arose last night." Normally he would hand almost everything down to Cross and Amity, but he hadn't liked the complications that had come with the job. Os' father had left the cartel up to him three years ago and ever since he had taken the reigns it had run smoother, there had been less complications, there had been less unnecessary deaths. His men did not die when plans went askew because he was too clever for that. It was how he had been nicknamed 'the owl', he was the hunter in the night. You didn't dare cross him, for all his jokes and carelessness he was dangerous and he never let his men forget that.

Shrugging he offered her a quick smile, an apology of sorts for his absence. Normally he cooked breakfast whenever she came over, he loved to cook and she always complimented him on his skills. It was one of the few traits he had taken from his mother, whom he knew little about -- that and his tendency to daydream when the situation demanded his full attention.

Slipping on his shoes, he straightened, "come over tonight and I'll make you dinner." Os gave her a sly grin before heading out of the bedroom. He moved out of his house, shoving his hands into his pockets, he blended into the district, perhaps a bit better fed, a bit better looking, but he fitted in.

You never saw the Owl strike before it was too late and then you were dead.

This was his land and he was the king.