08-30-2017, 01:58 PM
Don't be afraid when the night wolves cry,
feast on their bones, suck the marrow dry.
feast on their bones, suck the marrow dry.
Terrible, cruel thing. That she should react in this way; exactly the way he had wanted. The wisp should’ve run when she had the chance, disappeared into herself and the forest once more where she might never be found again. If the fanged girl had been (at the least) listening to him, they wouldn’t have even gotten this far. But here they are - pressed quietly to each other in the bruised places of the world, one offering and the other contemplating. Longclaw’s eyes trail slowly, passionately over buttercream skin that throbs with life. Up the supple curve of her neck to the apex of skull and spine, where shadows linger just there beneath her throat.
His own lips cannot resist; see how eagerly they jump to feel her quivering strength! Beneath his mouth she’s a warmth he’s never known, a promise he’s never made or been given before. “They call me Longclaw.” He murmurs against her, aching in his gut for something only his heady tone can relate. Blind with desire, his jaw swings open. Teeth grown sharp scrape gently across the dome of her throat to encapsulate her entire jugular, he grips her there; kneads gently as if at any moment it could turn to a shake, a clamp, and then releases. “Stronger than you thought.” He thinks wildly. “Strong enough to resist.”
For how long, though? Shaking, panting almost, he blinks and withdraws his head. That he could’ve hurt her - that she would’ve allowed it! Without any provocation or means to an end, his Ghost-girl has silently laughed into the face of death. “You terrible, beautiful creature.” Longclaw ponders in awe, eyes traveling once more to the flat of her neck near her crest, where sharp pinpricks of her lifesblood have risen in defiance of his touch. Tenderly he kisses her there, wipes the slate clean to smear it instead over his lips where he’ll taste her once more as he’s wanted to all along.
“Come with me.” The shifter asks, even as the words spill out fashioned like a demand. “Leave this place and hide away with me, instead.” He tempts, though why he should fear a denial he’ll never know, or acknowledge. That she should refuse him? Impossible. He could no more rid himself of her as he could rid himself of an appendage. He had found her, this bright little treasure. He had come to know her, as she’d soon discovered him. Just the idea of someone else coming along, taking her elsewhere, keeping her for themselves … it … well it just -
Behind them, an oak bursts spontaneously into flame. Ravenous for destruction and fueled by his momentary rage it devours the poor tree, whole. In the span of seconds there’s nothing left but ash and glassy, hardened earth - Just a taste of the havoc he could wreak when properly provoked. Heaving, his chest draws deep lungfuls of clear air before the smoke can cover them in a hazy fog and he finds that he’s nearly crushing her to himself; his neck is draped across her own, every muscle twitching with the urge to shift. “I want you.”
Another admission. Another regret. He’s too far gone to care anymore. There is nothing outside of them and everything between them, and Longclaw wants her as he’s never wanted anything else before.
His own lips cannot resist; see how eagerly they jump to feel her quivering strength! Beneath his mouth she’s a warmth he’s never known, a promise he’s never made or been given before. “They call me Longclaw.” He murmurs against her, aching in his gut for something only his heady tone can relate. Blind with desire, his jaw swings open. Teeth grown sharp scrape gently across the dome of her throat to encapsulate her entire jugular, he grips her there; kneads gently as if at any moment it could turn to a shake, a clamp, and then releases. “Stronger than you thought.” He thinks wildly. “Strong enough to resist.”
For how long, though? Shaking, panting almost, he blinks and withdraws his head. That he could’ve hurt her - that she would’ve allowed it! Without any provocation or means to an end, his Ghost-girl has silently laughed into the face of death. “You terrible, beautiful creature.” Longclaw ponders in awe, eyes traveling once more to the flat of her neck near her crest, where sharp pinpricks of her lifesblood have risen in defiance of his touch. Tenderly he kisses her there, wipes the slate clean to smear it instead over his lips where he’ll taste her once more as he’s wanted to all along.
“Come with me.” The shifter asks, even as the words spill out fashioned like a demand. “Leave this place and hide away with me, instead.” He tempts, though why he should fear a denial he’ll never know, or acknowledge. That she should refuse him? Impossible. He could no more rid himself of her as he could rid himself of an appendage. He had found her, this bright little treasure. He had come to know her, as she’d soon discovered him. Just the idea of someone else coming along, taking her elsewhere, keeping her for themselves … it … well it just -
Behind them, an oak bursts spontaneously into flame. Ravenous for destruction and fueled by his momentary rage it devours the poor tree, whole. In the span of seconds there’s nothing left but ash and glassy, hardened earth - Just a taste of the havoc he could wreak when properly provoked. Heaving, his chest draws deep lungfuls of clear air before the smoke can cover them in a hazy fog and he finds that he’s nearly crushing her to himself; his neck is draped across her own, every muscle twitching with the urge to shift. “I want you.”
Another admission. Another regret. He’s too far gone to care anymore. There is nothing outside of them and everything between them, and Longclaw wants her as he’s never wanted anything else before.
Longclaw
![[Image: sScEgld.png]](http://i.imgur.com/sScEgld.png)