Touch woke her. Pleased, heavy with silver dreams, she lulled to it, pressed back into it. The moment of her dominance, of her certainty, had tied her before he tied her. It had pressed upon her before he pressed upon her.
The world shifted, as it always did, tumbling her until her limbs went dull and numb and she was left sorting through the silken possibilities; they slid through her fingers, caressing her. She moved her arms, shifted her weight, feeling along the rough edges of the control he'd won for himself. She did not believe he had taken from her the precious pinch of soot that she had rubbed into him, claimed him with, nor the salty syrup he'd spilled down her throat. He was playing, as all serpentine, delicate creatures did. Had she not freed his pathways, set him to dripping life?
Of course he wanted to play, to touch, to cut and learn what azure tasted like, to breathe in the silver of her dreams.
Of course.
She looked up at him, met the serpentine sparks that were near to bursting into serpentine flames.
Her lips parted in anticipation.
To Let Weeds Thrive
Re: To Let Weeds Thrive
Lips stretched, breaking open scabs, an angry snarl slipping it's bounds into a rictus grin as blood started to drip down from his lips and following the line of his chin, cuts gleaming wetly in the dim light as his hand pulled harder on the snare that held her hands, pulling them over her head. One hand held her by sinew, the dead string holding strong against the living flesh, and he felt it cut into the skin of his hand as he pulled it tight. The sky looked back at him as he stared into her eyes, and he didn't like what he seen inside of it. His own eyes sparked green fire at her as he settled himself, pressing his hips down over her to hold her down.
He couldn't see what she had seen in him, he knew that. He couldn't see lines that followed her face, that followed her lines to bring them out to beauty. He couldn't mark her like she had marked him, because he couldn't see it yet. As much as he wanted to see it he wasn't able to. He knew that he wanted to taste her, but not in the way that lovers were supposed to taste each other. He had never heard of a lover wanting to taste the copper tang of red from another flesh, to taste the warmth salt of someones blood as it slicked their teeth. But that was what he wanted from her. He wanted to taste that warmth, to replace what she had taken from him, to take her own sound of pain from her lips and draw it into him and let it feel the emptiness she had created.
He had no knives, not now, and he couldn't leave her enough to go get one. He didn't want to leave her to get one, which frightened him more than the thought of fighting her again and losing. He wanted to stay this way, pressing himself over her, proving to himself that her claim of dominance was false and that he was his own creature. His free hand stroked down the edge of her ear, the line of her jaw, the column of her throat. He felt her pulse under his fingers, and they moved to curl more around the precious part of her body, the part that carried breath and blood to her. His thumb felt that part of her, the part that carried dark red rich blood through her body, blood that he knew from his hunting was hot and salty and would make her blue eyes go grey with death.
That thought, the feel of her pulse beneath his fingers, the smooth column that moved with every breath she took and the red richness and salty copper tang that he could almost see could almost already taste on his tongue made his own breathing quicken, his own pulse rate. His body reacted, the tight leather of his pants making him aware that he was starting to grow hard, knowing that he was in some form of control over her that he could do whatever he wanted to her. That he could hurt her like him, that he could carve through her flesh and taste her and create that emptiness inside of her.
He felt sickness rising in his gullet, but he swallowed it down with a promise of what was to come. He leaned down to her his hand started to apply pressure to her throat, wanting to see what his fingerprints would look like marring the skin. Wanting to touch, wanting to taste, wanting to feel something that replaced the emptiness she had created.
He couldn't see what she had seen in him, he knew that. He couldn't see lines that followed her face, that followed her lines to bring them out to beauty. He couldn't mark her like she had marked him, because he couldn't see it yet. As much as he wanted to see it he wasn't able to. He knew that he wanted to taste her, but not in the way that lovers were supposed to taste each other. He had never heard of a lover wanting to taste the copper tang of red from another flesh, to taste the warmth salt of someones blood as it slicked their teeth. But that was what he wanted from her. He wanted to taste that warmth, to replace what she had taken from him, to take her own sound of pain from her lips and draw it into him and let it feel the emptiness she had created.
He had no knives, not now, and he couldn't leave her enough to go get one. He didn't want to leave her to get one, which frightened him more than the thought of fighting her again and losing. He wanted to stay this way, pressing himself over her, proving to himself that her claim of dominance was false and that he was his own creature. His free hand stroked down the edge of her ear, the line of her jaw, the column of her throat. He felt her pulse under his fingers, and they moved to curl more around the precious part of her body, the part that carried breath and blood to her. His thumb felt that part of her, the part that carried dark red rich blood through her body, blood that he knew from his hunting was hot and salty and would make her blue eyes go grey with death.
That thought, the feel of her pulse beneath his fingers, the smooth column that moved with every breath she took and the red richness and salty copper tang that he could almost see could almost already taste on his tongue made his own breathing quicken, his own pulse rate. His body reacted, the tight leather of his pants making him aware that he was starting to grow hard, knowing that he was in some form of control over her that he could do whatever he wanted to her. That he could hurt her like him, that he could carve through her flesh and taste her and create that emptiness inside of her.
He felt sickness rising in his gullet, but he swallowed it down with a promise of what was to come. He leaned down to her his hand started to apply pressure to her throat, wanting to see what his fingerprints would look like marring the skin. Wanting to touch, wanting to taste, wanting to feel something that replaced the emptiness she had created.
Re: To Let Weeds Thrive
Texture bit into her, stretching framework and the pulsing, needy ash with it until it smeared. At last, her skin breathed, gulping in exposure as he stared down at her. For a moment he was strange, strange to her, alien, his eyes two gaping portals into a place foreign to her. Pigment by pigment she fingered through it, ruffling through him as if he was composed of dry, cracking pages left scattered over a filthy street.
Oh.
There he was.
Muscle by muscle, she relaxed, dipping her body into the stream he sought to divert. His trickle of fire, his first taste of her knowing, her oneness with the world. His hand closed around her throat, bringing with it a brief whiff of vanilla, of honey, of heady musk. She tipped her chin up, watching him, waiting for the grey flashes to flare up beneath his skin, breathe through his hair and into his skin.
His hand closed.
Scarlet fish darted in and out of her throat, pierced upon bone and the keen edges of her breath. They flickered against her throat: the first promise of pain. Breath rasped against her teeth, made the corners of her lips numb. He had not fully cut her from the cool, flaccid air (calm at last, replete with the watching), but she suspected he might. Her fingers curled loosely into her palms, and she lay there, limp, accepting. She knew how she would flop and twitch like a mummer's doll should he take her throat from her, but it did not bother her. She was alive at last. He was alive with her.
What Ameus didn't know wouldn't hurt him.
Oh.
There he was.
Muscle by muscle, she relaxed, dipping her body into the stream he sought to divert. His trickle of fire, his first taste of her knowing, her oneness with the world. His hand closed around her throat, bringing with it a brief whiff of vanilla, of honey, of heady musk. She tipped her chin up, watching him, waiting for the grey flashes to flare up beneath his skin, breathe through his hair and into his skin.
His hand closed.
Scarlet fish darted in and out of her throat, pierced upon bone and the keen edges of her breath. They flickered against her throat: the first promise of pain. Breath rasped against her teeth, made the corners of her lips numb. He had not fully cut her from the cool, flaccid air (calm at last, replete with the watching), but she suspected he might. Her fingers curled loosely into her palms, and she lay there, limp, accepting. She knew how she would flop and twitch like a mummer's doll should he take her throat from her, but it did not bother her. She was alive at last. He was alive with her.
What Ameus didn't know wouldn't hurt him.
Re: To Let Weeds Thrive
His hand was on her throat and his fingers touched a promise to her skin. Warmth from his fingers flushed through shared contact of skin, but he needed to figure out how to restrain her more. He needed to be able to use both hands, to touch and carve with his fingers. He needed to take from her, and he couldn't do that this way. His eyes cast around for something, anything to use to keep her in place. She was laying on a cloak on the bed, and he could see the drawstring, could see her thin ropes coiled close by. His hand moved, the promise of his fingers around her throat still there, his skin still burning with the weight of it.
Fingers tugged at the drawstring of the cloak, wrapping it tightly around where his hand had been a moment before, but not so tight that it cut off what he wanted from that hallowed place. He leaned towards the rope that was coiled so close, disturbing her space, moving her things, something he felt was invasive. He didn't know why, but it was her space, and he wanted more than just to hurt her. He wanted to violate her space as well. The smooth thin rope slipped through his fingers and he admired the work that went into it. Another knot to the sinew trap he had fitted over her hands, and he ran the line to the drawstring choker he had made for her. It wasn't perfect, but it was something.
He wished for a knife, for something other than teeth and fingers and the strength of his muscles because of the paralyzing potion that still fatigued his muscles. But the tools he had were enough for what he wanted and needed. His fingers briefly chased the drawstring line he had created wanting more of the feeling of her pulse beneath them but there was something else he wanted from her. Something special she had taken from him, something that he had given no one else before she had stolen it.
The way she looked naked on the cloak reminded him more of what he had thought before, an forest spirit, and animal spirit, coming out of the darkness with a cloak of night about her shoulders and naked before the hunter lucky or unlucky enough to stumble upon her. He hated that he say beauty in her. It was the same way that he say beauty in a sharpened knife, in an arrow that went through the ribs and straight through the heart, but it was some type of beauty. The revulsion he felt at what he wanted was at war with the desire he felt throbbing hot pressed against his thigh by his leather pants, and with a snarl of hatred and desire he tugged at the laces that held them loosely at his hips.
Fingers tugged at the drawstring of the cloak, wrapping it tightly around where his hand had been a moment before, but not so tight that it cut off what he wanted from that hallowed place. He leaned towards the rope that was coiled so close, disturbing her space, moving her things, something he felt was invasive. He didn't know why, but it was her space, and he wanted more than just to hurt her. He wanted to violate her space as well. The smooth thin rope slipped through his fingers and he admired the work that went into it. Another knot to the sinew trap he had fitted over her hands, and he ran the line to the drawstring choker he had made for her. It wasn't perfect, but it was something.
He wished for a knife, for something other than teeth and fingers and the strength of his muscles because of the paralyzing potion that still fatigued his muscles. But the tools he had were enough for what he wanted and needed. His fingers briefly chased the drawstring line he had created wanting more of the feeling of her pulse beneath them but there was something else he wanted from her. Something special she had taken from him, something that he had given no one else before she had stolen it.
The way she looked naked on the cloak reminded him more of what he had thought before, an forest spirit, and animal spirit, coming out of the darkness with a cloak of night about her shoulders and naked before the hunter lucky or unlucky enough to stumble upon her. He hated that he say beauty in her. It was the same way that he say beauty in a sharpened knife, in an arrow that went through the ribs and straight through the heart, but it was some type of beauty. The revulsion he felt at what he wanted was at war with the desire he felt throbbing hot pressed against his thigh by his leather pants, and with a snarl of hatred and desire he tugged at the laces that held them loosely at his hips.
Re: To Let Weeds Thrive
What did it mean when one possession strove to use another? Had he been a stranger invading her nest, a thieving bird come to peck at her treasures, she would have counted every strain of flowing air until it became time to mark the tales of her property into the souls of the one who had demeaned it.
Her serpentine creature was no stranger. He was her belonging, and for the moment it was nearly fitting that he sought to wrap her in things that, like him, belonged to her. Would he wrap himself around her, dapple her in his shady warmth? She watched him, silent, still, expression unchanging but for the wink and glimmer of her eyes as they moved. She was a lazy thing, soothed by his chamomile touch, content for the moment with the way his blood moved against and within her space.
Something lurked behind her eyes, behind her teeth, a fey wisp of instinct. She let it toy with her tongue, with her labored breath, and pondered on its meaning.
He was hers. Of course he would want to play with her. There was nothing more to it than that.
Her serpentine creature was no stranger. He was her belonging, and for the moment it was nearly fitting that he sought to wrap her in things that, like him, belonged to her. Would he wrap himself around her, dapple her in his shady warmth? She watched him, silent, still, expression unchanging but for the wink and glimmer of her eyes as they moved. She was a lazy thing, soothed by his chamomile touch, content for the moment with the way his blood moved against and within her space.
Something lurked behind her eyes, behind her teeth, a fey wisp of instinct. She let it toy with her tongue, with her labored breath, and pondered on its meaning.
He was hers. Of course he would want to play with her. There was nothing more to it than that.
Re: To Let Weeds Thrive
Hatred, red hot, pulsing through his eyes with the beat of the hollow of her throat, skin jumping at the point, poured through him. He leaned down, green and savage as his fingers locked through hair and yanked, mouth and teeth closing down on her throat. He felt the life point, skin fluttering at the touch of his lips, then his teeth nipped at the spot. If a wish could be made and granted, he wished for teeth at that moment capable of tearing, silver and flashing. Wolf fangs that tasted her iron and scarlet until his black pain was brightened with it. But all he had were blunt teeth, but they still savaged at that point where he felt her life fool under his power, the fragile power he held right now.
He had seen the knife, and as he moved back he felt his hand close on the hilt, bringing it to them. She had wanted to share pain with him, share pleasure, and she had. Now it was his turn. He wished there was sun. They were her cave, and he wasn't the type to live there. He lived for the sun and the trees, the vibrant green same as what was even now glinting from under furrowed black brows. He was warmth in the sunlight, bright golds and reds. She was black, obsidian. Shining, glass, sharp, cutting. Silver moon was her world, and that's what he had last known outside before this darkness. Dawn might have been coming, painting worlds in warmth and gold, but he didn't know it here. He just knew cold silver and black glass with her. And now he was going to share it with her, show her what it mean to him.
Would she understand? Of course she would if it came from someone like her. But he wasn't. He was newblooded, stumbling through the language that she was fluent in. But that didn't matter. He didn't know how to speak anymore in any tongue, but he made himself understood. Over her, his taller frame looming, the knife point dipped into his skin, bright blood drops appearing on the smooth skin of his fingers as one by one his other hand was marked. Carefully, his fingers touched her skin, some clear spaces found between her own twisted scars and inkings. The knife point dipped again, the bright silver connecting them both, heat from her body and blood misting the blade, cold fingers gripped the hilt, chill soaking into the leather wrapping. Blood wealed from her skin, lips touching it after the knife was moved away. Pain from him to her this time, maybe not paid, but a promise. A drop in the debt that they was owed between.
But now for the pleasure. Blooded fingers trailed scarlet down her skin, tracing his own patterns and markings onto her. Sunlight would have made them glitter and shine before drying to brown flakes, temporary ownership and dominance. They moved unsure of what he was doing at this joint, never having even been this close to a naked woman before now, and it was apparent in the slowing of his movements. But Wulf had come this far. And it was owed, and he paid back his debts. He pressed his hips against where his hand and her flesh met, indecision at a crucial moment. While thoughts and feelings warred within him, what to do, the thought to run and escape the silver flashes and azure cold that drained his warmth, hate within himself for even feeling the attraction that he did and the reaction his body had to her own. But even still, his fingers were exploring, touching her, discovering the newness that was exciting him further as his hips moved against her, wanting to complete the act that he knew he was going to lead them both to.
He had seen the knife, and as he moved back he felt his hand close on the hilt, bringing it to them. She had wanted to share pain with him, share pleasure, and she had. Now it was his turn. He wished there was sun. They were her cave, and he wasn't the type to live there. He lived for the sun and the trees, the vibrant green same as what was even now glinting from under furrowed black brows. He was warmth in the sunlight, bright golds and reds. She was black, obsidian. Shining, glass, sharp, cutting. Silver moon was her world, and that's what he had last known outside before this darkness. Dawn might have been coming, painting worlds in warmth and gold, but he didn't know it here. He just knew cold silver and black glass with her. And now he was going to share it with her, show her what it mean to him.
Would she understand? Of course she would if it came from someone like her. But he wasn't. He was newblooded, stumbling through the language that she was fluent in. But that didn't matter. He didn't know how to speak anymore in any tongue, but he made himself understood. Over her, his taller frame looming, the knife point dipped into his skin, bright blood drops appearing on the smooth skin of his fingers as one by one his other hand was marked. Carefully, his fingers touched her skin, some clear spaces found between her own twisted scars and inkings. The knife point dipped again, the bright silver connecting them both, heat from her body and blood misting the blade, cold fingers gripped the hilt, chill soaking into the leather wrapping. Blood wealed from her skin, lips touching it after the knife was moved away. Pain from him to her this time, maybe not paid, but a promise. A drop in the debt that they was owed between.
But now for the pleasure. Blooded fingers trailed scarlet down her skin, tracing his own patterns and markings onto her. Sunlight would have made them glitter and shine before drying to brown flakes, temporary ownership and dominance. They moved unsure of what he was doing at this joint, never having even been this close to a naked woman before now, and it was apparent in the slowing of his movements. But Wulf had come this far. And it was owed, and he paid back his debts. He pressed his hips against where his hand and her flesh met, indecision at a crucial moment. While thoughts and feelings warred within him, what to do, the thought to run and escape the silver flashes and azure cold that drained his warmth, hate within himself for even feeling the attraction that he did and the reaction his body had to her own. But even still, his fingers were exploring, touching her, discovering the newness that was exciting him further as his hips moved against her, wanting to complete the act that he knew he was going to lead them both to.
Re: To Let Weeds Thrive
She was pulled taut by him, by the serpentine he sought to seed her with. He'd found the edge, and fondled it, pressing grains of possibilities into her that flickered and winked starbright behind her eyes. The blue of them was cut off as they fluttered shut, and back open, blue to green, mixing syrup slow in the space between.
Her blood came to his brutal beckoning, hooking her in the sweet spots and stretching her out until she no longer saw anything but the lines that parted understanding and made whole. It rushed into her mouth and caught there, tangled up in her breath and the pinprickle of promises made.
Promises, the air told her, that would be fulfilled.
She moved for him, a snaketwist that pressed closer to him and then away. She was his pause, his intentions: a shivering leaf captured by the wind's attentions. She stared at him, unmoved but for the stray silver glitter in her eye, hard and sharp, that reflected the edge he took to her skin.
The edge, and the heat, and the hard length between them.
She angled her hips, accepting what he sought to ply her with the same way she accepted every skinmetal contact.
Lost then, as possibilities winked out and new ones spread in a dizzying array before her. She stared.
Hunger.
Waiting.
Mine.
Her blood came to his brutal beckoning, hooking her in the sweet spots and stretching her out until she no longer saw anything but the lines that parted understanding and made whole. It rushed into her mouth and caught there, tangled up in her breath and the pinprickle of promises made.
Promises, the air told her, that would be fulfilled.
She moved for him, a snaketwist that pressed closer to him and then away. She was his pause, his intentions: a shivering leaf captured by the wind's attentions. She stared at him, unmoved but for the stray silver glitter in her eye, hard and sharp, that reflected the edge he took to her skin.
The edge, and the heat, and the hard length between them.
She angled her hips, accepting what he sought to ply her with the same way she accepted every skinmetal contact.
Lost then, as possibilities winked out and new ones spread in a dizzying array before her. She stared.
Hunger.
Waiting.
Mine.
Re: To Let Weeds Thrive
He felt her accept, felt his hips press, the shiver that did not take him away but set him to ancient purpose. Iron tang rose in his throat, on his tongue as blood pumped, thundering loud through his veins.
Blood welled from scars cut into her flesh, clumsy attempts at artwork by an amateurs hand. Even still, he felt his lips drawn to them, tongue tasting, touching, flavours from salt sea to iron tang dancing across. He felt himself surrounded, drawn in, feelings he had never experienced making his body shiver and heart thunder.
Serpentine eyes darkened as his lips broke away from her skin. He could feel his scabs tearing, blood running down his smooth skin, body pressing against the blood he had drawn from her and smearing it across them both. He didn't care.
All he cared for was the electricity that ran through his body as his hips moved, the serpent woman underneath of him. Even as scarred a she was, he could feel the softness that lay over lean muscles. A soft growl rumbled in his chest, and the knife was briefly forgotten as calloused fingers curled around her throat.
He hungered.
He hated.
He desired.
Blood welled from scars cut into her flesh, clumsy attempts at artwork by an amateurs hand. Even still, he felt his lips drawn to them, tongue tasting, touching, flavours from salt sea to iron tang dancing across. He felt himself surrounded, drawn in, feelings he had never experienced making his body shiver and heart thunder.
Serpentine eyes darkened as his lips broke away from her skin. He could feel his scabs tearing, blood running down his smooth skin, body pressing against the blood he had drawn from her and smearing it across them both. He didn't care.
All he cared for was the electricity that ran through his body as his hips moved, the serpent woman underneath of him. Even as scarred a she was, he could feel the softness that lay over lean muscles. A soft growl rumbled in his chest, and the knife was briefly forgotten as calloused fingers curled around her throat.
He hungered.
He hated.
He desired.
Re: To Let Weeds Thrive
The air was thick with blood, spattered and slick, curled about them both until they were mixed together. He had connected with the air, with its edge and succor, drawn it across her skin and sought to keep it there together with his fingers wrapping like snakes around her throat.
Velveteen sparks of darkness danced at the corners of her eyes while she stared up at him, feeling the corners and borders of her body's instinctive needs, letting them fill the room together with their tangled breath.
She lay still. She lay still, as he moved outside and inside of her, she his clay to mold, channeling new places that might be sown fresh with life.
Blood, and air, and sex.
She couldn't breathe.
Velveteen sparks of darkness danced at the corners of her eyes while she stared up at him, feeling the corners and borders of her body's instinctive needs, letting them fill the room together with their tangled breath.
She lay still. She lay still, as he moved outside and inside of her, she his clay to mold, channeling new places that might be sown fresh with life.
Blood, and air, and sex.
She couldn't breathe.
Re: To Let Weeds Thrive
All things come to an end, desired or not.
Wulf, new to these feelings, the mixture of hatred and physical pleasure pooling together in his stomach, ignored the compulsion at first. But eventually the rhythm of his hips stuttered, fingers fluttering their pressure against her throat as his eyes started to lose focus. He could take her life if he could maintain his rage. He knew that. He could dig his fingers in deeper into her throat, crush the curve between his thumb and forefinger against her windpipe and steal her breath. Spill the seed for life inside of her as he took away her existence.
Instead, his fingers relaxed their pressure. There was still a bite there, but it wasn't a steel trap anymore. If anything, the bite wouldn't break skin if it had teeth, but it showed something. He wasn't sure what. He didn't care at this point. Once again, his lips crashed against hers, blood smearing across his chin and her lips as his teeth nipped, the kiss fierce and claiming. His hips thrust forward and he froze, warmth radiating from the center of his body as pleasure and anger rolled through him in waves. His back bent like a bow leashed to the string, a growling moan passed through his kiss to her as he came. When he was finally finished, his body started to relax, as much as it had relaxed at all around her.
Panting raggedly, he broke the kiss, weight laying on her as he caught his breath and tried to get his heartbeat under control. Soon enough, he'd gain his hatred again. But right now, he was going to lay here and pretend that the first time he had been inside of a woman hadn't been surrounded by the pain of being cut upon and the muddled iron scent of blood.
Wulf, new to these feelings, the mixture of hatred and physical pleasure pooling together in his stomach, ignored the compulsion at first. But eventually the rhythm of his hips stuttered, fingers fluttering their pressure against her throat as his eyes started to lose focus. He could take her life if he could maintain his rage. He knew that. He could dig his fingers in deeper into her throat, crush the curve between his thumb and forefinger against her windpipe and steal her breath. Spill the seed for life inside of her as he took away her existence.
Instead, his fingers relaxed their pressure. There was still a bite there, but it wasn't a steel trap anymore. If anything, the bite wouldn't break skin if it had teeth, but it showed something. He wasn't sure what. He didn't care at this point. Once again, his lips crashed against hers, blood smearing across his chin and her lips as his teeth nipped, the kiss fierce and claiming. His hips thrust forward and he froze, warmth radiating from the center of his body as pleasure and anger rolled through him in waves. His back bent like a bow leashed to the string, a growling moan passed through his kiss to her as he came. When he was finally finished, his body started to relax, as much as it had relaxed at all around her.
Panting raggedly, he broke the kiss, weight laying on her as he caught his breath and tried to get his heartbeat under control. Soon enough, he'd gain his hatred again. But right now, he was going to lay here and pretend that the first time he had been inside of a woman hadn't been surrounded by the pain of being cut upon and the muddled iron scent of blood.
Re: To Let Weeds Thrive
Languid, right. Soft, wet, smearing candid whispers against her skin as the surge and quiet of steady movement quelled rippled through and around them. Pressed tight, together, was a solid certainty: knowledge made final of universal truth between them, one that no longer needed to be thought or affirmed. It was known. It was enough.
She inhaled in sharp relief, her body's insistent communication through the pain she savored pressing instinctual response to her, and her breath was ragged as the air greeted her return to it with elation. Elation met with his collapse, and between them began a new tug-o-war wrapped in and around shiny, metallic inquiries. Reassurance, there, all sultry slow and satiated.
She put her fingertips to him then in rhythmic repeated strokes. Enjoyable, those strokes, with a sparkling myriad of sensations from fluid and skin, tangled here and there with the cords of hair that grew from his head. The corners of her lips deepened, then, in some vestigial smile, her eyes wandering over and around him, half-lidded.
She cradled him to her as if he was a favorite stuffed toy well loved.
She inhaled in sharp relief, her body's insistent communication through the pain she savored pressing instinctual response to her, and her breath was ragged as the air greeted her return to it with elation. Elation met with his collapse, and between them began a new tug-o-war wrapped in and around shiny, metallic inquiries. Reassurance, there, all sultry slow and satiated.
She put her fingertips to him then in rhythmic repeated strokes. Enjoyable, those strokes, with a sparkling myriad of sensations from fluid and skin, tangled here and there with the cords of hair that grew from his head. The corners of her lips deepened, then, in some vestigial smile, her eyes wandering over and around him, half-lidded.
She cradled him to her as if he was a favorite stuffed toy well loved.
Re: To Let Weeds Thrive
She touched him, and his skin crawled. Cold ice spread from her fingertips, numbing the muscles that twitched underneath them, chilling the blood beating in his veins. Even still he felt his body stir, and it made his stomach tighten into a ball of green bile and self loathing.
"Kill me." His lips rubbed against her skin as he murmured the words, too low for anyone to hear. But then again, she was an Animal Woman, and that meant she could probably hear things that no other creature could. She could probably see what his heart said, what the blood pulsing through him really wanted, even if his mind skittered away from the baser desires that burned inside. He pressed his lips to the salt taste of her skin, sharp bones pressing against hard teeth as he spoke again.
"Kill me."
Even the words brought a fierce feeling to his chest, anger and hatred and the desire for freedom clinging to every fiber of his throat as he said them. He buried his face into her skin again, the scent of her body swirling into his nose, the taste of her salt sweat still on his lips and tongue, the dull copper from early a heady undercurrent from where his teeth had drawn her blood.
"I hate you," He whispered against her skin, fingers threading into her hair, "I hate me."
"Kill me." His lips rubbed against her skin as he murmured the words, too low for anyone to hear. But then again, she was an Animal Woman, and that meant she could probably hear things that no other creature could. She could probably see what his heart said, what the blood pulsing through him really wanted, even if his mind skittered away from the baser desires that burned inside. He pressed his lips to the salt taste of her skin, sharp bones pressing against hard teeth as he spoke again.
"Kill me."
Even the words brought a fierce feeling to his chest, anger and hatred and the desire for freedom clinging to every fiber of his throat as he said them. He buried his face into her skin again, the scent of her body swirling into his nose, the taste of her salt sweat still on his lips and tongue, the dull copper from early a heady undercurrent from where his teeth had drawn her blood.
"I hate you," He whispered against her skin, fingers threading into her hair, "I hate me."