Genre: Drama, Violence, Deathfic, (Dark) romance
Fandom: World of Warcraft, L90ETC
Pairings: Bergrisst/Mai'Kyl, Mai'Kyl/OC
Warnings: MALE/MALE, Bad language, death and blood and other stuff related to death, mild cannibalism (so far just mentioned), violence, odd fetishes and... stuff. I will warn if something incredibly disturbing/disgusting happens.

... Okay. I'll warn this: this fanfic is overall strange.

Summary: Michael Schweitzer, the respective manager of the Elite Tauren Chieftains decides to interfere in Bergrisst and Mai'Kyl's cold behavior towards each other. Little does he know what is the truth behind their practiced masks and hidden messages.

A/N: I'm not dead!
... Hurray! I mean... ahem. Some people asked me to continue with this pairing, so I will do that. Mostly because I love writing about these guys.
I recommend you to read Narcissistic Cannibal first, because the happenings in that two-shot happens to be why these things happen.

- Zukajin

Mai'Kyl had troubles concentrating in the songs they played. Thankfully the next tour was beginning in next month, so he had plenty of time to get his shit together.

… If it's possible.
His… incident between him and Bergrisst happened a month ago. The next day, he had dragged himself to practice two hours late, because he had to get rid of the unfortunate female orc's body without being seen. When he opened the door to their studio, everyone stared at him. Sig Nicious was the first to ask about his fading marks on his neck – hell, he only imagined what they would have said if they saw his skin beneath the armor – but the shaman gave him a wink and ended the conversation quickly by saying something about a wild night. The Blood Elf didn't ask any more questions because he simply didn't want to hear it. He was a honorable man, and had made his opinion about changing partners every night pretty much clear.

He didn't even glance at Bergrisst in a few days, as his mere presence bothered him in a way he couldn't explain, but slowly started to interact with him again. They still threw sarcastic and insulting words at each other, but never mentioned their night… spent together... when there were others around. Actually, they never spoke about it afterwards. The mage was nowhere to be seen during free time, and the shaman was not eager to find him - even though a mere memory of the night still sent chills down his spine. He thought about it quite often – mostly when he was alone, because the memory of blood and cold tongue gathering every droplet still excited him in a way that left him both irritated and embarrassed.

Did he get hooked to that goddamn walking corpse?

Now, a month later, during a practice, the question filled Mai'Kyl's head again. Bergrisst had appeared to the practice room early as usual, but hell, he carried that damned dagger with him again, reason unknown to him. He never brought weapons to the practice room, but today he made an exception which irritated the shaman greatly.

He knew the rhythm guitarist did it for purpose. But the question is: why now? What for?
"Wha's da dagga' for? Did'ja have a nightmare aboot someone slaughterin' ya an' decided ta keep it along because o' dat paranoid head o' yahs?" He had asked as he was tuning his bass, attempting to appear as nonchalant as he could.

"No, I decided to take it here in case you needed a dagger in your throat." the rhythm guitarist's answer made him freeze in his place, his hand stopping to hover over the instrument.
A rush of memories – teeth, blood, disturbing pleasure, the kiss – filled his mind, leaving him to stare at the floor with widening eyes.
"I might as well do that if you keep practicing as badly as you have done past four weeks." He heard the forsaken purr, causing chills to run down the troll's spine.

Mai'Kyl heard footsteps approach him. He could sense Bergrisst was not either calm or angry. It felt like the Forsaken was actually playful with a sharp, biting edge of devilishness covering it.
Even though negative feelings were far in the distance in Bergrisst, the shaman found himself clueless whether to be relieved or not.

He finally moved his eyes to look at the hem of his robes. His gaze lingered upwards, his eyes locking on the dagger on Bergrisst's hand, which he raised to tap his own jaw. Dirty images of Bergrisst and him surged Mai'Kyl's head, and he turned to glare at his smirking face warningly.

"So, get your shit together and play properly, or face the consequences. Your pick." Bergrisst stated slowly, his smirk only widening.

Mai'Kyl knew well enough what these consequences were. But did he like it, he wasn't really sure about that. The same questions from earlier appeared in his mind; What? Why now?

"Enough of that!" Another hoarse voice called, causing the bassist to snap out of his confused thoughts, and turn to look at their manager standing behind the other Forsaken. The rhythm guitarist turned to look at the fellow walking corpse with an arched eyebrow.

"Hand over that dagger, please." Michael said, looking at Bergrisst with a stern look. The rhythm guitarist huffed and offered its hilt to the manager. The shorter Forsaken accepted it and pushed it under his belt. "Now. I don't know what the fuck has gotten into you, but you just stepped over the line, Bergrisst. I would like to speak with you both after the practice."

Mai'Kyl groaned, shaking his head. "Ain't no need ta. Ya shoul' kno' ol' Bergrisst's sense o' humor by now." He tried, but their manager didn't look convinced.
"I've been watching over this circus so long that I know when two men are about to snap and kill each other." the Forsaken grunted, giving both of them an unwavering look. "You'll both be in my office after the practice, or I'll drag you there."

With that, the manager retreated into his office, not acknowledging any voices of protest. Mai'Kyl shot an angry look at Bergrisst, hissing quietly at him so others wouldn't hear him that clearly. "Look wha' ya did!"
"Relax", Bergrisst waved it off, but he did look concerned as well. "I'm sure he tries to have an heart-to-heart-conversation with us, or something like that." As he spoke, he turned around to face the Troll completely, suddenly tugging at one of his tusks to bring his head down to his level. He whispered into his ear: "Just play along and let me do the speaking," Mai'Kyl swore the Forsaken was bringing his lips so close on purpose, "otherwise nothing good will happen." With that, the rhythm guitarist's grip on his tusk lessened, and he turned away to pick up his guitar.

Mai'Kyl gulped at the sound of threat in the other's tone.

'Fucking Bergrisst!' - That was the motto of the day for Mai'Kyl. Their practice wasn't good, as the Troll was unfocused enough to let his fingers slip into the wrong strings more than ten times. But he was not the only one: For once, he heard one of the guitar's tune shatter and suddenly stop because of it, followed by cursing in that deep, hollow voice.
Bergrisst had been surprisingly quiet, too. He hadn't had any word of insult from him for playing wrong. Hell, he'd made so many mistakes that he'd expected the Forsaken to jump at him and whack his skull in half with his Arcanite Ripper.
"I don't know what the hell is wrong with you two, but get over it!" Sig had groaned in frustration once he was done packing his stuff.

And now, he was all alone in the practice room, as the others had left already. Bergrisst had gone to Michael's office without waiting for him, which was just fine.

Being in no rush, he strutted down the hallway towards the office. He almost stopped a few times to arrive later on purpose, but decided to get it over with as soon as possible.

The Manager's office door was slightly open, and he could hear heated discussion from behind it. Cocking an eyebrow in curiosity, he stopped to watch from the hallway.
The two Forsaken were standing up from their seats, and he saw Michael's face twisted into a sneer. They were speaking in a hushed voice, in a language he was unfamiliar of. He'd heard Gutterspeak maybe thrice in his lifetime, and prefers to keep it that way. It wasn't pleasant to his ears at all.

As the two men fell quiet, too busy to say anything as they were glaring holes at each other, Mai'Kyl decided to make his presence known by knocking on the door and stepping inside.

"Good, you're here." Michael grunted, waving a hand towards a chair next to Bergrisst. "Sit down."
The Troll stepped further into the room, sitting down onto the chair. He gave the rhythm guitarist a questioning glance, trying to ask him what the fuck he did again, but Bergrisst ignored him with an unsatisfied sneer.
"Okay, me and Bergrisst had talked about this already", Michael started with a displeased tone, sitting down and crossing his fingers neatly against the table. "but Mai'Kyl, I am very concerned about you two."
"No need ta." Mai'Kyl answered bluntly, reminding himself to not to talk too much.
"But you do realize what you two look like in the eyes of others?" The Manager asked, cocking an eyebrow.
"Ah see nothin' different between us, compared ta others." The Shaman huffed, scratching the base of his left tusk. "We foolin' around, tha's all..." he gave a wary look at the Forsaken sitting beside him before continuing, "our... sense o' humor is jus' different. But ah see no difference in da way we fool an' da way, le's say... Samuro an' Chief Thunda-Skins fool."

"How about those times in the past? The ones you challenged each other in a duel - "to fool around" - and found yourselves causing heart attacks to poor healers trying to stitch you both up?" Michael asked, leaning against the back of his chair with a concerned look. "I can sense this... thing between you two is volatile - once again, and you two need something to unleash your frustrations on." He glanced at both of them, his brows frowning in an attempt to look deadly serious. "Together. Not against each other, but with each other."

Mai'Kyl cocked an eyebrow. He didn't like where this is going...

"That's what I think you both need. Even if you've been working in a same team for years, I feel like you two hadn't spent enough time together to actually learn more than basic information about them." The manager said, pulling out a flyer from his pocket. He spread it in front of the musicians, showing them a picture of two Horde fighters and two Alliance fighters fighting for their honor. Some information about the ongoing arena season were printed in big, crimson letters below the fighters.

"So, I have decided to enlist you to a two versus two arena matches until the tour begins." Michael stopped speaking, looking at both of the musicians with an expecting look.
"We told ya already, dere be no reason ta be concerned about!" Mai'Kyl whined, "this ain't necessary!"
"Bergrisst, I'm sure you can handle both of you to practices and back. These arena matches you are attending are held in Dalaran Sewers. I suggest you two to have a little vacation from this city while at it, so come back to Silvermoon only for practices." The shorter forsaken ignored the Troll, staring directly at the rhythm guitarist, who glared daggers at him.

Mai'Kyl's stomach sank in horror. So, there aren't any options to save his ass from this? Except from running away, but he knew that would cause nothing but trouble.
He glanced at Bergrisst from the corner of his eye. The taller forsaken seemed to have a silent battle with their manager, but it was just fine for him. He looked as angry as he was, which promised nothing but bad.
Did he really have to cooperate with that walking corpse-cannibalist-thing for four whole weeks in Dalaran?
Shit has gone serious, it seems. He had said everything he could think of, so it was up to the rhythm guitarist if he gets to speak them out of this.

"Fine", the Forsaken finally spat, much to Mai'Kyl's surprise. Michael quirked a small smile on his pale lips, nodding in approval. Bergrisst rose from his seat, walking to the door.

"No, wait", the shaman growled at the manager, who stood up as well. The shorter forsaken stopped on his tracks, looking at him questioningly.
"Ah still see no reason ta do dis", he tried, "everythin' be jus' fine, so ah will not agree wit' any of ya an' go ta Dalaran." With that, he crossed his arms against his chest, staring at his manager cockily.
If Bergrisst didn't have enough balls to talk them out of this, then he will.

"You may not see it yourself, but you both need to learn how to be civil towards each other." Michael sighed, lifting his hand to rub his wrinkled forehead in frustration. "And the best way to do that is what I just said: strengthen your bonds and force you to learn more of each other."
"Ya don' understand!" the shaman hissed angrily, standing up as well. He towered over his manager, who didn't seem to be threatened by his size or the glare he was sending him.

"Well, do tell me what I missed. What it is I don't understand?" He asked calmly, crossing his bony arms. His posture looked as unwavering as a rock, the look in his eyes demanding good answers.

Mai'Kyl fell silent. He couldn't just utter the truth out. Telling the manager the truth - "well, our rhythm guitarist likes to kill my one night stands and eat them, and hey, he almost caused me severe blood loss and choked me to death while giving me a fucking good blowjob! That's why I don't wish to team up with him, even less want to have a fucking vacation in the same city as him" - would end up badly. Even if they could keep their positions in the band, Bergrisst would most likely kill him.
No, he would first rape him and this time literally eat him alive. And if either him or Bergrisst gets kicked out of the band, he would get killed anyways.

His ears twitched as he heard soft shuffling from the doorway. He glanced at the rhythm guitarist, who had stopped to lean against the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest while looking at him expectantly.
"Ah…" Mai'Kyl started, his brain suddenly blank. Fucking hell, the shaman thought, realizing there wasn't any way out of this.
"… Nothin'."

"That's what I thought." Michael stated, "Go pack your things. You'll leave at dawn."
"Wha'eva", Mai'Kyl grumbled, starting to walk out of the room. But as he was about to pass the rhythm guitarist, those cold, glowing eyes caught his.
"Good dog", Bergrisst murmured, quietly enough so their manager won't hear him. The bassist sneered at him angrily, speeding up his pace.

Mai'Kyl is deep in shit once again.

A/N 10.6.2015:

Hello, it's been a while.
I decided to read Bloodlust again, and noticed how_awkward_and gawky some wordings were, so I decided to rewrite it a bit. There's no major changes to the story, just some polishing and fixing typos.

I'll continue this story when my writer's block lets me.

- Zukajin