• Logout
  • Beqanna

    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


    drunk and driven by the devil's hunger; wallace
    #11

    the wolves will chase you by the pale moonlight
    [ drunk and driven by a devil's hunger ]


    It was intriguing to watch her, to observe her mind as it danced through all of these thoughts, all of these emotions. He found himself frowning in concentration, his mind reaching out for her and then sinking in to her thoughts, her memories, letting it wash over him. There was agony here, something that slipped over his tongue and down his throat, filling his belly with it until it was all he could taste, feel.

    He hadn’t expected her vision to be so all-encompassing; he hadn’t anticipated the way that it would pull him under too, reach and drag him into the undercurrent. For a moment, he fought against it, fought against the tangles of it—the strength of her emotion smothering—but he eventually relented to it. Let this be a learning moment. Let this be a chance for him to experience it, study it, grow from it.

    But still—

    Even then.

    It was stronger than he could have known, the tide of it pulling him under and then sweeping him along, hijacking his normally detached behavior for the same heat that raged through her breast. That same flame exploded within him, an alien feeling within his body that he was incapable of handling, a forced empathy that raced along his veins until he felt his flesh burn with her confusion, her desire, her pain.

    He reacted to the vision, something elemental and foreign rising in him. Another flash of magic and they disappeared from that spot and moved to another part of the island. He pressed against her and his mouth found her jaw, pushing her back as an angry growl started in his throat, rising to her challenge. For a moment, his lips ravaged her, his shoulder now bleeding openly, his teeth at her jaw, pulling at the velvet of her mouth. He was not gentle, but neither was he forceful; instead he simply took, the action primal.

    Before he knew it though, it was over, the vision dissipating like morning mist around them, leaving just the two of them in the belly of the island, standing there, too close, his lips hovering above her, the touch branding into him. He pulled back just slightly, enough for him to look at her. His green eye were molten beneath the mulberry of his forelock as he stared down at her, hard as diamond and unmovable.

    “Perhaps we won’t.”

    Reply




    Users browsing this thread: 1 Guest(s)