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    COTY

    Assailant -- Year 226

    QOTY

    "But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura


    stillwater;
    #11
    She spun the stars on her fingernails
    This is her challenge, her demon. How has she lasted more than a decade without the touch – or even the desire – to touch a man only to find herself needing it now? She knows not of how gratifying – how satisfying – it could be. There are hundreds others who curl into a lover daily, wanting the closeness, and nothing happens to them, and yet she hesitates when the opportunity is standing at her side with his hot breath hovering above her flesh. Lust poisons her and burns her veins like liquid fire, but still she doesn’t move. Their eyes lock on each other, but she doesn’t succumb to their sinful desires. It would be worth it, they tell themselves, but it’s a stalemate as they idly wait for the opposite to make a move.

    He wants her to reach for him and to cradle his skin in the curve of her lips. This is the mountain that she has been working to scale for months, and so he leaves it to her to complete it and to grapple her hesitations and fears. It’s honorable of him, really, to make this so easy. He is only inches away and her skin tingles with anticipation, but he mirrors her and doesn’t lean in. There isn’t even a ripple between them. Silence, stagnant. She can hear their breathing as it synchronizes; she can almost hear the drumming of his heart if it were not for her own pulse roaring in her ears.

    Touch him, she tells herself. This has gone on for far too long; a touch means nothing (or has the potential to).
    But she would be weak to submit and she would never be able to take it back.
    And he would be so smug to know that he was the first to ever kiss her virgin skin.

    The voice in her mind is screaming now to reach over and press her cheek into the curve of his shoulder or the arch of his neck. They could be powerful together; they would be a raging inferno, unstoppable.

    Nayl smiles up at him with an unfamiliar compassion that has never before subdued the fire in her soul. This time, she doesn’t even try to mask it. A lopsided smile and a tilt of her head brings them almost closer. The nearness is enthralling and she begins leaning toward him, their groins frustrated with lust and need for one another. A breath is sighed across his neck and her eyes slowly blink to savor and enjoy this eternal moment. ”I want to,” she confides with a meager hint of desperation in her voice. Everything has been leading up to this and he is so close, and they both hunger for the same thing. Slowly, tantalizingly, she glides her lips just barely above his damp skin and reaches up to his jaw, then his ears. She breathes him in, noting the hints of forest and women and pond water. Never did she think she would find him so addictive, but here she is, unable to step away from him in the heat of their intimacy.

    Do it, he urges eagerly, and with her mouth nearly pressed to his ear, she whispers, ”If only you were wholly mine.” She can’t share – won’t share – and she sighs as her chin drops away from his rigid face to look away toward the direction from whence she came. ”And there is no one like you, Stillwater,” she admits painfully without even looking at him as she takes a sluggish step away, peeling apart reluctantly. The chill that reaches her side from where he was reminds her of how lonely she has made herself to be.



    Nayl
    covet and myrina's creation
    Reply
    #12
    Stillwater
    This was not still water. This was turbulent and wild, roaring and demanding. Crashing and dragging under. They would both fall together, he would let them, he would guide them, with just a brief touch. Just a simple little touch. She could see it for herself.

    And still, she was unaffected.

    She smiled warmly and already he knew her choice. His shoulders sank, his eyes closed with a low sigh. He remained frozen in place, frozen in time, as her breath swept across him but he remained stoic in suppressed annoyance. "I want to," is all she said. He sensed her approach his face -his jaw, his ears- and he turned his head away in disappointment. "If only you were wholly mine."

    He could've taken her. He could've reached out and done it himself. Something between them held him back. There was still the underlying hint of fear for her. Because she was a Queen, of course. Not fear for her, fear of the consequences.

    I belong to no one, he snapped, though he was instantly more aware of the weight at his ankle. He didn't belong to Djinni either, only used and trapped by her. Wicked brat.

    He was wild, solitary. He socialized when he wanted to, he kept his peace where and when he wished. It had always been that way until the genie found him, held him to a promise he didn't feel he even owed anymore. It didn't matter, though, not really. This place had its advantages, its prey and dark places. He would not be trapped here forever.

    And he remained still as she pulled away. He wouldn't stop her. She was not worth the trouble it would bring down on him. She would never fall to him. And he'd never have to feel regret.

    It was best that she leave, anyway.
    Best that she stay away from him.

    He struggled to control it with her near. She was too tempting.
    come down to the black sea swimming with me
    go down with me, fall with me, lets make it worth it
    Reply
    #13
    She spun the stars on her fingernails
    They are fire and gasoline. They are so wrong for each other and yet Nayl thrives on moments like this. Her eyelids drift shut as a lungful of air is drawn through her body. She can nearly taste him (and the other women who have pressed their bodies against him) and that, too, enthralls her. Just as he wants to tame her and take her beneath him, Nayl wants to seize him and make him want no other. The hunger burns in his eyes, luring her and still keeping her fairly near. Despite the rejection and her reluctant step away from his side, she can’t tempt herself further. Nerine is through those woods and across the wasteland of Pangea. It’s only a few hours’ walk. Certainly she can find an excuse to leave now and protect her crumbling walls – fortify them with space and time – but when she turns her head and sees him still watching her, Nayl freezes.

    Air hisses through her clenched teeth, frustrated, afraid, vulnerable. She regards him in confusion as her thoughts tumble back and forth, roiling like the tumultuous tides from home.

    I belong to no one, he growls. In response, Nayl forces an amused smile to crawl across her lips to conceal the pang of regret that is slowly besting her. She isn’t one to grovel or beg or demand attention. She has a kingdom, if not a consort; she has responsibilities even if it doesn’t include courting or conceiving children (foul creatures they are).

    Even if he doesn’t want her, she at least has Nerine to distract her.

    The coast slithers to the forefront of her mind and tries desperately to smother his words, but they are already etched in her memory, engraved and burned. Nayl weighs them and considers them before she hears herself speaking with a voice of stone. ”Nor do I.” Because no one can truly own her or control her. No one knows her for what she is or what she can do. No one can subdue her fiery soul.

    The torrent of her frustration coils behind her mask of granite as she now turns to face him, drinking in the sight of his resolution. ”We’re dangerous,” she admits as her tongue sweeps idly across her lips. She has seen his rage and frustration, but not to its full power, and he has yet to truly witness her in full. Nayl is more than a shielded mind and a falsified image of youth.

    Alone, they are perilous.
    Together, they are volatile.

    ”We are wrong for each other,” because they both want to be on top with whips and chains, never wanting to be submissive, ”and yet we can’t get enough of each other.” Nayl edges closer and searches his steely gaze, feeding off his reactions. ”Why is that, Stillwater?” Her muzzle creeps along the curve of his jaw and takes pause as she closes her eyes, shuddering at being so near again. ”Tell me…” she whispers.


    Nayl
    covet and myrina's creation
    Reply
    #14
    Stillwater
    He was growing more irritated the longer she remained. The back and forth, the tug-of-war was grating. One moment, she would be open to him, and the next instant she would be cold and distant, completely shut down from the world. He didn’t care to know her thoughts, they probably didn’t even concern him. But the sudden, solid wall she dropped so sharply between them at the slightest imagined threat was maddening.

    He tried to understand, tried to make things easy for her, and still she shut him out. She refused to trust him, even when he went against his nature to allow her safe passage -of a sort. He was done with it. No more freebies.

    ”We’re dangerous. We are wrong for each other and yet we can’t get enough of each other.”
    She inched closer, her eyes of fire unable to ignite his lake-blue; he was too deep and out of reach now.
    ”Why is that, Stillwater? Tell me...”
    Her muzzle edged toward him, and again he pulled away with a turn of his head and a step to the side. He was feeling like a toy, an amusement that she dragged about behind her whenever she wished, or locked him away in unending darkness when she was bored of him. Or afraid of him.

    Enough. Just leave, Nayl.
    They were getting no where, and he was growing increasingly agitated.

    You got what you came for, he pointed out blandly, What more do you want.



    :|
    come down to the black sea swimming with me
    go down with me, fall with me, lets make it worth it
    Reply
    #15
    She spun the stars on her fingernails
    The want in his eyes has dimmed and the hunger has been suppressed. There is nothing now when she searches his eyes except for a stagnant pool of water. What inferno had been dancing between them is suffocated by her inability to overcome her largest obstacle. Corded muscles flinch when he turns his cheek. Her jaw clenches, her eyes lit by a sudden, inner animosity.

    Enough. The sting of his voice soaks through her skin and cuts deeply into the crumbling fortifications around her mind and heart. Unable to deny him, and realizing how precarious they are, she takes a step to her left and away from him. With each breath, they spread farther apart. When she glances over her shoulder, she sees him still standing there, a statue that has endured her rollercoaster of emotions. There isn’t much more that can be said or done. Their walls, even as their eyes meet, are rebuilding. Nayl’s expression hardens and her head inclines as she latches desperately to her pride and dignity. ”I certainly have,” the alliance, she reminds herself with a roll of her shoulders. The diplomacy has been properly forged, a relationship between kingdoms devised stealthily.

    But they, Nayl and Stillwater, are far worse than the state of their homes.

    ”You’re stupider than I thought by asking that,” although her voice is level, poison saturates every word. She had come here for their homes, but more for him (but she could never admit that). Her dismay is concealed, her regret choking her for one last moment before she shakes her head. A longing glance peers through the trees in the direction of Nerine. Her home is calling for its Queen back. This time, without hesitation, Nayl glides from from Stillwater’s reach. Somehow, she can still feel his hot breath caressing her even as she drifts farther and farther away.; but she does eventually pause.

    Nayl pivots and looks back at him with a dismal face to mirror the ice freezing across her.

    ”There’s no need to rush back to Nerine,” not that he has expressed any interest to return, ”You have no need for that cave anymore.” Malicious, angry, and spiteful, Nayl grins and turns away, finally - for once – taking Stillwater’s advice and leaving.


    Nayl
    covet and myrina's creation
    Reply




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