12-06-2017, 04:49 PM
god make me pay
like the devil i am
like the devil i am
A well-placed kiss - one of reunion and harbored feelings, dusty and long forgotten on the shelf from when they were just children - seems to strike a chord in her. He is pleased with himself, for surprising her with his forward approach that is so unlike the water-logged yearling she once knew - it must be a shock, to see the pearl and evergreen stallion so confident, so comfortable, it could be almost charming if it wasn’t for the way his eyes remain hungry for something else, something beyond their rousing game of cat and mouse. (Maugrim would never be the mouse. However, he knows that Deathwish isn’t the mouse either, so he’s not sure exactly what game they are trying to play, or what the ending will be.)
When she glides away from him, her gaze tearing away from him as her eyes fall downward, he attempts to close the space with a single, fluid step - he was not finished with tasting her, sampling her. Something low and sinister, much like a growl or a grumble, reverberates in his chest, reminding her of who exactly she is toying with as she moves from him, ears falling backwards into his kelp-tangled mane. But in the same swift movement, she reminds him who exactly she is.
Her voice is venom and poison, crackling with electricity as she hints at her anger with him. For a quick moment he nearly reaches forward to snap his dulled teeth against the crest of her neck, to hold her there beneath his clamped jaws so that her insolence would be felt, but he of course, is a moment too late.
A hiss leaves her lips, and the familiar feeling of death crawls across his body, leaving him cold.
She does it again, (just like she did so many years ago), and tightens her grip around his throat (and heart, or perhaps any other organ she’d fancy) and begins to lace him with death, her silver eyes sparkling with anger and resentment.
“If I say that I am lonely...”
She spits through clenched teeth, prowling towards him like the predator that she is, pressing her pearlescent lavender chest against his own, which has begun to deteriorate and rot, the stench stinging his flaring nostrils. He shudders, though he knows not if it’s from the pain of his muscles wasting away into nothingness or if it is from the devil-laced kisses she plants on the curve of his neck. His heart pounds wildly, much like it does when he awaits beneath the water as his prey swims unsuspectingly above him, and he is surprised at the familiar exhilaration that is within him at her warm, delightful touches.
He wonders if she can see his beating heart as the skin sloughs off his bones.
“...you can be assured it is as I say.”
Maugrim groans in response, lips curling as the pain of slowly dying overwhelms him, and much like the expert she is, she brings him to the brink and just before he would collapse, begins to return him to his former stature.
Without much change in her own expression, he feels himself coming together again, piece by piece, under her tender care. She traces the edges of his jawline, brushing the pearl of her lips against the darkness of his cheek, her voice suddenly light and sweet in his ears. It infuriates him, the power she wields and how she uses it to keep him from her, to control him and train him to only touch her when she wishes it, and the stallion’s muscles jump in his jaw as he clenches his teeth.
He is not near water, and if that makes her think she is safe, she is entirely incorrect.
The stallion stretches forward in a quick motion, snapping at the crest of her neck like he had planned before she had reminded him of her power (and reminding him of his desire). His breath is hot with rage and from lack of satisfaction, overflowing with the necessity and the need to taste blood on his tongue. It didn’t matter that he may miss or that she might suck the life from his ribs once again - he knew that he could fall to pieces before her and she would sew him back together.
Maugrim brings his head back to chest and he doesn’t move from her - he does not care how she retaliates to the possibility he may have marred her perfect skin. He wants to ask her if she’s jealous in asking about his whereabouts. He doesn’t though, because Maugrim didn’t care about anything in the current moment except for the bloodlust that boils inside him (and the lust that she has now triggered).
She should know there is no one, save for the stillness of the bottom of the sea and the bloated corpses that haunt the deep. Except now - now, there is her.
“There is nothing in this world but death, and you.”
He wants to ravage her, but he’s conflicted on how he wants to do so - is he to shred her to pieces with his teeth and hooves, drag her into the depths of his deep and dark ocean to float beside him forever, or is he to let the predator loose and overpower her, turning their bodies a tangled mess of sweat and sex and lust beneath the summer’s evening? The thought of her body beneath him, writhing and powerless (whether in pleasure or in pain), causes him to glance elsewhere than her eyes and to hungrily digest the supple curves of her haunches and rump, wetting his dry lips with a quick flash of his tongue over them.
When she glides away from him, her gaze tearing away from him as her eyes fall downward, he attempts to close the space with a single, fluid step - he was not finished with tasting her, sampling her. Something low and sinister, much like a growl or a grumble, reverberates in his chest, reminding her of who exactly she is toying with as she moves from him, ears falling backwards into his kelp-tangled mane. But in the same swift movement, she reminds him who exactly she is.
Her voice is venom and poison, crackling with electricity as she hints at her anger with him. For a quick moment he nearly reaches forward to snap his dulled teeth against the crest of her neck, to hold her there beneath his clamped jaws so that her insolence would be felt, but he of course, is a moment too late.
A hiss leaves her lips, and the familiar feeling of death crawls across his body, leaving him cold.
She does it again, (just like she did so many years ago), and tightens her grip around his throat (and heart, or perhaps any other organ she’d fancy) and begins to lace him with death, her silver eyes sparkling with anger and resentment.
“If I say that I am lonely...”
She spits through clenched teeth, prowling towards him like the predator that she is, pressing her pearlescent lavender chest against his own, which has begun to deteriorate and rot, the stench stinging his flaring nostrils. He shudders, though he knows not if it’s from the pain of his muscles wasting away into nothingness or if it is from the devil-laced kisses she plants on the curve of his neck. His heart pounds wildly, much like it does when he awaits beneath the water as his prey swims unsuspectingly above him, and he is surprised at the familiar exhilaration that is within him at her warm, delightful touches.
He wonders if she can see his beating heart as the skin sloughs off his bones.
“...you can be assured it is as I say.”
Maugrim groans in response, lips curling as the pain of slowly dying overwhelms him, and much like the expert she is, she brings him to the brink and just before he would collapse, begins to return him to his former stature.
Without much change in her own expression, he feels himself coming together again, piece by piece, under her tender care. She traces the edges of his jawline, brushing the pearl of her lips against the darkness of his cheek, her voice suddenly light and sweet in his ears. It infuriates him, the power she wields and how she uses it to keep him from her, to control him and train him to only touch her when she wishes it, and the stallion’s muscles jump in his jaw as he clenches his teeth.
He is not near water, and if that makes her think she is safe, she is entirely incorrect.
The stallion stretches forward in a quick motion, snapping at the crest of her neck like he had planned before she had reminded him of her power (and reminding him of his desire). His breath is hot with rage and from lack of satisfaction, overflowing with the necessity and the need to taste blood on his tongue. It didn’t matter that he may miss or that she might suck the life from his ribs once again - he knew that he could fall to pieces before her and she would sew him back together.
Maugrim brings his head back to chest and he doesn’t move from her - he does not care how she retaliates to the possibility he may have marred her perfect skin. He wants to ask her if she’s jealous in asking about his whereabouts. He doesn’t though, because Maugrim didn’t care about anything in the current moment except for the bloodlust that boils inside him (and the lust that she has now triggered).
She should know there is no one, save for the stillness of the bottom of the sea and the bloated corpses that haunt the deep. Except now - now, there is her.
“There is nothing in this world but death, and you.”
He wants to ravage her, but he’s conflicted on how he wants to do so - is he to shred her to pieces with his teeth and hooves, drag her into the depths of his deep and dark ocean to float beside him forever, or is he to let the predator loose and overpower her, turning their bodies a tangled mess of sweat and sex and lust beneath the summer’s evening? The thought of her body beneath him, writhing and powerless (whether in pleasure or in pain), causes him to glance elsewhere than her eyes and to hungrily digest the supple curves of her haunches and rump, wetting his dry lips with a quick flash of his tongue over them.
m a u g r i m.
@[Deathwish]