[mature] my disease, my infection || ivar

[Ivar]

I V A R i'll use you as a makeshift gauge of how much to give and how much to take The difference between this meeting and their first are striking, and Ivar remains quietly pensive as the roan mare slips closer. She speaks of a pleasant surprise and he almost smiles, but she won’t see it with the way she is sliding past his, her soft lips on his cheek. There is more to the world than prey and not prey, Ivar is finding, though the categories always seem to broaden in the autumn. Ivar is tired, the dull haze of exhaustion blurring most of his senses. Her voice is a pleasant croons that slides easily against his ears, and the rake of her teeth across his scaled neck elicits a satisfied groan. Already sated and weary, the need to seduce her is far from the kelpie’s mind. He’d have been content to pass her by, but the soft give of her neck beneath his roving muscle is just as pleasant. With a quiet sigh, he answers her question truthfully: “No.” His technique is the penultimate bait-and-switch, exquisite pleasure in exchange for every drop of blood in their body. They never knew what was coming; that is how he likes it. But that is in the water, not here in the woods with solid earth beneath his hooves. The desire to see her jump – startled, but not afraid – is rather novel. The light of pain in Karaugh’s eyes had been intoxicating; perhaps he is too tired to want the theatrics in Thana. Taking her to the water would require too much effort, he reasons. There is no harm in seeing where this accidental encounter will lead. “Don’t you have something to do at your little festival?” He asks, his breath ghosting back and forth across her ribs. “Everyone knows you all probably have something terrible planned.” The word Evil has been more frequent in Beqanna of late, and the uptick is almost certainly to do with Sylva. Ivar doesn’t know how forward the kingdom is with the rest of the rulers – had they threatened to kill them as well? – but he doesn’t particularly mind. There are few others that Ivar would bother to keep safe, and Heda is at the top of the list. She’s probably already asleep, the scaled stallion reasons as he slides his muzzle down the length of Thana’s back leg. He could bite it, he knows, grab her in an instant and hobble her with tattered muscle. It would probably be the wiser choice, but it would take longer, and the satisfaction might not be exactly what he’s looking for. Better to take what he does now. “Or do you get to celebrate as well?” kelpie mimicry | dragon scales | tactile hypnosis