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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


    [mature]  Hold me now; Offspring.
    #1
    Reagan
    Say something, I'm giving up on you.
        
     
    After her conversation, standing here in this exact place, she had left. Or, more appropriately, had been left. Sobbing, staring at the waves as they rolled and crashed angrily against the seaside cliffs. Their exposed rock was slowly wearing away, giving into the sea's demands, sinking into the undertoe and becoming one with the abyss beneath. There was a constant breeze here, unshielded as she was. The unrelenting breeze did not stop as the wind currents blew back her mane, and she remembers staring out into the nothingness of the horizon, those tears being carried away from her face.  
     
    There were no trees in this part of Tephra, and it was almost as if it were its own entity, with the way the rugged terrain chose not to conform to the warm climate and the rich foliage. This land was untouched by the Volcano's reach, and Reagan found that its eccentricity gave her peace. It was real. It was honest. It did not fit in, and yet it was part of everything around her.  
     
    Just like she was.  
     
    She had been the missing piece of Tephra that had neatly inserted, and yet she had never exactly fit. Her life here was a quiet one, but after her time in the Taiga, it was safe to say that she was grateful for the quiet. She mostly lived on her own, cloaked in the shadow of the warmth provided by the Volcano, and proceeded to live her life as best she could.  
     
    She remembered the first time she had seen this land. She had commented to Magnus that the air smelled putrid, and asked him how it was possible that he could chose to live in such a rabble. The mottled buckskin—then king--had laughed off her rather rude comment as a mere quirk, and they had parted ways. The name Offspring had simply been a name back then. Of course she had known who he was—who wouldn't?--But she had her own life to live, her own kingdom to tend to. He had been someone else, and so had she. She had been caught in the blindness of her own making, assuming herself happy, assuming herself in love...  
     
    She had built a family on the premise of a lie. And when it came crashing down around her, and she was cast out of the home she had known--the home she herself had built, given life, given a name—it was Offspring who had saved her. Her title had never meant a thing—she had none then. Her powers meant nothing to him—she couldn't even control herself, let alone her magic. He had saved her—for no other reason than it was what he had to do.  
     
    And then, Reagan had known real life for the first time in nearly two hundred years.  
     
    Plug had been her first love. They had aided their king in the Forbidden Dale. Together, they created a legacy of kings, and queens, until she was able to stand on her own right. When Plug had died, she was sure she would never love again. And for many years, she did not.  
     
    She certainly had not truly lived since his death.  
     
    It's easy to pretend to be happy. It's easy to linger on, especially when your days stretch before you endlessly. Reagan had the ease of knowing that her days stretched on before her. No matter what she chose to do, she had the peace of mind in knowing that she had the time to do it. But it was for the first time in her entire life, that she was truly happy simply being her. And she had the time, she found, to contemplate her existence. She didn't need much. She found, after having visited the forest—for closure, and to say goodbye--that she didn't even need her trees anymore.  
     
    She found, that she was content.  
     
    She sighs, her mind turning back to the waves, unceasing in their pelting of the coastline. Her green eyes rolled with the waves, entranced. Sher then turns her thoughts to the last time she stood here, with Offspring, going over their conversation. When he told her to give him up. To be happy. To fall in love again. When he became angry at her, and she had gotten angry right back.  
     
    He had chosen to walk away from her, and she has not seen him in months. Away, she assumed. A gentle prick of his mind says that he is making the rounds, feeling his age, saying his goodbyes. Reagan smiles, blinking--another wave has crashed and a single tear is carried away into the wind. She has always been afraid to call him hers. Her Offspring.  
     
    She knows that he has known love before. So has she. 200 years would be very lonely without the feel of someone inside your heart—inside your body. The warmth that only coupling together can bring. But it is a meeting of minds and hearts that is a rare once in a lifetime opportunity. And, near the end of her life, she knows unequivocably, that she has met her equal in the black stallion that possessed her heart, and her mind.  
     
    She is not afraid of him. She has never had a reason to be.  
     
    They both knew they could end the other, and yet had chosen instead a friendship that had been unmatched in, at least in her estimation--either of their lives. Bedmates, co-parents, and lovers, surely. But, for her, the unrequited slow burn of Offspring's friendship—and his love—would be enough to sustain her for whatever measure she had left.  
     
    She loved him. Unmatched, unbroken, unyielding. And, in this moment, she would not be afraid to call him hers ever again. He could push her away, he could do whatever he felt was best for her happiness, her sense of self--she would let him. She would follow his lead, whatever it meant, but it did not have to mean the end of her happiness, or the end of her love of him. Offspring has known too much pain in his life--too much disloyalty (though she would be lying to say if he had not had some dark says, she has known those herself)--for her to blindly walk away from him. He needed steadfastness, and has never been shown the courtesy of a faithful love that would stand through both the Ice of the Tundra, and the Fires of Tephra—and beyond.  
     
    Her mind is heavy with all these thoughts and more, but it is simply rolled up into a statement that her thoughts were consumed by the one Object of her affection that she longed to see more than any other. He had left her in this place. and she knew that if he wanted to see her—and she hoped he did—that he would know where to find her.  
     
    Right where he left her... 
     
    Because she wasn't going anywhere.  
     
    #2
       He had not thought much about that day.
       In part because it was too difficult.

       It was a challenge to push her away – it was too painful to spurn her, when she yearned for such little, yet gave so much. He would rather have her believe that her soft pleas fell on deaf ears, but he could not cut away from her as cleanly as he desired to. It was impossible. She had felt the heat of his fire when it had threatened to consume him; she had felt the ferocity of the flame seared into the supple curve of her skin when he had taken her so long ago. It never felt if it truly was – he could still feel her beneath him whenever she breathed into his skin; he could still hear her breathless and wanting whenever she leaned against him.  

       The memory clutches still to his mind, refusing to be tucked away into the darkest recesses of his memory as so much else of his life had been – and as the flicker of his crimson gaze is settled upon her, a dark beacon on the edge of a jagged precipice, shrouded in the low-lying mist of the waning dawn. The air current is entangled in her tousled tresses, wrapping them around the left side of her neck, exposing the right side to the pale sunlight. His legs carry him to her, despite knowing it would be best to keep away – that it would protect his own heart; that it would protect hers, though she damned him for trying.

       She claimed to be impervious to the anguish and pain that could come with loving a living, breathing flame (fierce, burning, relentless – but easily extinguished). He is not dying but he is no longer clinging to youth as he once had, and time would eventually take him – one day; someday. He was tired. Deeply tired, of the ache, of the pain, of the heartache. Of being loved, and left, over and over. Of never being enough. Of being too much. It is all too much, and perhaps, there is a part of him – however small – that yearns for time to take him! A part of him that aches for Death; for the promise of serenity and tranquility that he had never known.

       But when his dark eyes are settled upon the subtle slope of her spine, and up along the muscled curve of her neck and the feminine line of her cheek, he is reminded of his youth, with a stirring in his loin and the pitter-patter of his heart. Try as he might, he could not stifle how he felt for her. A friend, through and through, and the keeper of his secrets – a lover, only once, though he had been tempted more times than he could possibly count to press his lips and teeth into her skin, to take her and bring her to completion as he once had. To let her into his mind, to see how and why he is the way he is – but he would never need to do the latter.

       She knew him better than he knew himself.

       Gently, the heat of his lips press against the curve of her jaw, where her pulse thrums over the rhythmic pull of the tide crashing against the volcanic rock below. He is silent for a long moment, with the girth of his broad body aligned with her own, staring out into the distant sea just as she has – for how long, he does not know. Yet she is rooted to the very spot where he had turned his cheek; where he had left her in tears (while stifling and burying his own).

       He is still angry with himself, but even more so when his whiskered mouth presses another kiss to her jaw, unable to keep himself apart from her any longer.

       He is broken – fragmented, never whole – but if she wanted whatever shard was left of his shattered self, who was he to say no (and how could he, when deep down, he longed for it too?)
    #3
    Reagan
    Say something, I'm giving up on you.

    Reagan knew many things. She has seen the past, the present, and many figments of what the future could hold.

    She could never have predicted this.

    She is not a woman to make promises lightly, and yet to this man, she has made two. She promised him she would never change him, and that she would never enter his mind. And so, while she knows that he would return to her - This is Tephra, and there are so many places where the coastline holds this much majesty - She could not have imagined what the future would have held the next time her green eyes beheld the beauty of his jagged obsidian body pressed against hers like a mould. She could not see his mind, clouded from her by his request and by her love for him, but she need not ask his thoughts when he says nothing. Indeed, what he does is far more than anything he could have said to her. The flame of his heat set against her, burning her from the inside out (no, bringing her to life, igniting her soul), the way his lips pressed against the curve of her cheek, and then to her jaw, she closed her eyes as she turned into him, curling into his embrace.

    She sighed audibly, her eyes opening to the thundering crash of the waves against the cliffs, sounding off in time to the thrumming of her heart as it entered the back of her throat. It nearly threatened to escape her entirely, so great was her joy. It was more than she had ever hoped for. Offspring had asked to be set free - reluctantly, she had done so. They were old, ancient by Beqanna standards. They had lived their lives and found loves and had children - buried them. What else was there for them in this world?

    What else besides the beginning of new life?

    Reagan finds that she is made whole in the presence of the man before her - her need for her trees has been assuaged, and no longer needs her as its keeper. The Grey Lady has passed into shadow, and diminished, she is a woman in a man's embrace, letting herself finally be loved whole, as she was meant to be. She places a kiss to the bottom of his jaw, as he did her - at his height, in her unchanged form, it is all she can reach. But she is hungry for him - oh, so hungry.

    "Offspring, I..." her voice stops, carried off by the wind as she suddenly pulls her head back into herself. The heat he is giving off is blinding - he is more alive than she has seen him in years, and it makes her more aware of herself, her magic. His strength, and power. His angles and muscles. Her pliable body and curves. She is aware of the senses of the wind and seafoam off of his body, and of hers. The taste of the salt on his skin. Her senses are awake - but she stops short, unsure of what to say.

    She just stands there, looking at him, her heart in her eyes. Feeling everything at once. A single tear slides down her cheek, and she looks down, following it to the ground, where it lands between them. Slowly, she looks back up to meet his face, her voice quiet and sure.

    "I love you."
    #4
       He does not say a word.

      Not even the heaviness of her confession is enough to stir sentiment from his vocal cords. He is silent, but unwavering, unafraid of the revelation falling away from her parted lips. The air is still and rife with emotion, but there is no amazement nor disbelief hidden in the darkness of his gaze, boring into her own. He already knew. Her carefully spoken words are merely a verbal confirmation of what he had known and felt from her for what felt like an eternity. Since the first moment her breath had been stolen by the fervent heat of his kiss, he felt her become bound to him, tied to the fragmented and broken remnants of his feebly beating heart.

      His dreadlocked mane drapes over the burning, searing heat of his gaze, as the blistering inferno crackling inside of him causes his flesh to burn – desire stirring in his loin as his teeth press flush against her skin, dampened by the soft splay of mist from the raucous sea, crashing against the uneven overhang of volcanic rock and sediment. His whiskered lips taste the salty brine of the ocean, the warmth of the unforgiving sun, the goldenrod and amaranth that clutches tightly to the tousled tresses that lay at the root of her neck.

      He cannot feel his age, not when he is pressed so close to her, and not when she is pressing into him – supple and soft, yearning for him to lay claim to the length of her spine with his waiting kiss. Longing for him to take her, as he had so long ago – he does not mistake her need; it envelopes him and brings him nearer to her, as an array of feather light kisses and hardened nips are rained across the shadow of her shoulder and up along the tender curve of her throat. Her confession is one of love - unconditional, and he cannot bring himself to say it in return.

      It is not because he does not feel it – quite the contrary. His heart is heavy and thumping with ferocity against his chest at the softly uttered admission, but words meant so little when he could show her the depth of his ardor for her. His lips part from her skin, hovering just so as his hitched breath covers her shoulder, while his teeth gently part and press into the supple flesh of her spine, trailing down to her croup. The broad plane of his cheek caresses the roundness of her backside, where his lips find the feminine curve of her buttocks.

      A low and guttural groan is pressed against the bend of her rump as her long and tousled tail brings him closer with the heady scent of her desire, and he is only barely able to resist the temptation of taking her with wild abandon. Instead, his shoulder collides with her thigh, pressing purposely past her with the implication of his positioning (he could take her, he could rise and clutch her closer and bring her to completion over and over, but not yet), while his lips move along her spine and across the soft curve of her barrel, and he is beside her once more.

      Beneath the blistering heat of his caress is gentle affection. Between each urging bite, nip and kiss, he is tender with her, nuzzling the crook of her neck and the ridge of her shoulder. He caresses her gently, before sinking his teeth into her feminine curves, laying claim to the darkness of her skin over and over. He does not leave her vulnerable, though, and eventually his touch brushes along her jaw and maw once more, with a soft kiss pressed where the saltiness of a fallen tear has darkened the gray overlay of her pelt.

      ”I know,” he says finally, his voice rough and gravelly, murmured to her and only to her.

      I love you too, he doesn’t say.
      He is all too aware she can feel it.
    #5
    Reagan
    Say something, I'm giving up on you.

    The tear falls, and she looks at him. And in that moment, she slows down time for them both. Everything is on overdrive, and with every kiss and breath he breathes over her - every kiss and nip, every time he claimed her - she feels loved. Protected. She feels home. Her very nerve endings are set ablaze by the careful, attentive ministrations that he produces upon her body. Slow, muttering kisses as she leans into the strength of him. He examines her entire body, caressing down her spine, before reaching the apex of her rump.

    The soft, pronounced curve of her bottom, and her long tattered silver tail flicks slowly, stilling to nothing when Offspring rounds her body possessively - like a hungry lion casing out his latest meal. She stands for him, shuddering slightly. Reagan is no stranger to the warmth of a lover's touch. She is no stranger to Offspring. The wetness that gathers between her thighs is nothing new. And yet, the smell of her sex, the readiness and the tenderness Offspring exhibits as he teases and torments her body with nips and bites, meant to turn her on, intimate kisses that he knew would drive her wild. There was something so... new and wild about it that there was an unfamiliar heat - an impatient urgency - that she just barely shakes her tail out at him, slowly trailing her hair over his back, touching him, needing him, aching for him to be as crazed as he was making her.

    His cheek caresses her skin, and her eyes roll back in her head, matching the gutteral sounds he's making as he pushes her into position. His intentions are clear. The heat of his body that moves through his blood is making hers boil, and as he raises her up to the Sun, he beckons her to follow him through the heat, taking her to the greatest depths of feeling, colliding into Offspring as she feels the beating of her heart against his.

    And when he finally comes around, laying those precious kisses up her shoulder, her neck, her cheek, and then her jaw, she caresses him with her body, sliding against him like water against oil - he is slick, and black, and perfect. His dark lips kiss away the trail of her one errant tear - and his voice rattles her brain, waking her from her reverie.

    I know.

    And in that moment, Reagan could not help but laugh. It is an airy sound of pure contentment as she leans into him, kissing his shoulder possessively, nipping his shoulder and laying her own claim to his body. Now is not the time for florid speeches. The last thing she wants to do is speak. She does not want to control.

    Reagan is hungry. She drinks him in like liquid metal, heated, feverish nips to his withers and shoulders, wrapping her neck around he crook of his back, slowly following the groove of his spine with her lips. His broad, muscular back. Full of many scars - so much memory, so much beauty. Her eyes go black with molten desire as she moves along his body, feeling his mouth against her skin. She groans lightly, going across him like grey satin against jagged obsidian.

    She has never felt so beautiful. She has never felt so wanted.

    She sighs again, the heady scent of her sex coming up to meet her nostrils, wetting her thighs and staining her tail. Her hips rotate, and buck instinctively. Offspring has brought her to life. And he could command her demise, if he so chose.

    It would be the sweetest sensation she could imagine.
    #6
      It is not long before she is devouring him as he had only just begun to do to her. Each ridge of coiled muscle, and every rigid bone is graced by her lips and teeth, tasting the remnants of sulfur and the sea that clutches tightly to his marred flesh. Her mouth caresses the subtle rise and fall of each deep, puckered scar, and a low and guttural groan passes through clenched teeth, as his desire becomes heavy. Whatever uncertainty he held at the thought of pulling her closer still is quieted (foolish! – she would hurt for it, when his time inevitably came, but he is selfish and wanting, and he cannot deny the intensity of the fire that is burning inside of his chest).

      The feminine curve of her silhouette presses along the length of his body, and he can feel his flesh becoming hot and blistering to the touch, but he does not stifle it. The flame is lit – just as it is in the pit of his stomach, burning as he is filled with longing, aching to fill her and to sheathe himself into the molten fire that is her beauty. The fire breathes, alight across the ridge of his shoulder and crawling down the length of his spine, burning brightly – deep scarlet, like the darkness of his eyes, tracing the deeply attractive curves of her body.

      His teeth part and grip the supple curve of her hip, nipping gently before stroking the broad plane of his cheek along her barrel, enveloped by the scent of her desire – stoking the fervent fire inside of his chest, and loin. His breath is warm across her dark skin, waiting to feel her shiver and arch against his caress, drinking in the erotic way her curves dance beneath his touch until he is intoxicated. Soft, lingering kisses are tucked into the crevice of her hip, down the length of her thigh, where the heat of his mouth closes over the most intimate part of her, waiting only until she is trembling and gasping and writhing against his touch before pulling away.

      Her name is barely a whisper on his lips as he rises to take her, drawing her closer with his forelegs while his weight is shifted, and all at once, she is his, and he is hers – pressed deeply within and filling her, while his lips and teeth press urgent kisses across the darkness of her skin while her name is uttered with deep, throaty desire. He is gentle with her as he becomes one with her, filling her as only he could with the fullness of his need for her and her alone, but only for a moment, as his desire for her is too much and she is wanting so much of him. He does not hesitate to give himself to her; with ardent, fervent, passionate thrusts and wicked kisses rained across the shadow of her dark and flesh, so much like the firestorm raging inside of him.

      When at last he can feel her unravel beneath him and around him, he, too, falls beneath the undertow of desire with a deep groan of her name as he spills into her. Breathless and trembling when brought to completion – altogether unaware that with the seed filling her waiting womb, a son he would never know would bear the mark of the same blistering fire as he.
    #7
    Reagan
    Wanna hear your beating heart tonight
    Before the bleeding sun comes alive
    I want to make the best of what is left hold tight
    And hear my beating heart one last time.

    Offspring was everything to her in that moment. His dark body was over her, and under her, and around her. Reagan was bathing in his scent, and she closed her eyes and devoured him just as hungrily as he was devouring her. Her mind knew that her end was near. That there would be no more for her. But in the end, all she wanted to do was be in the moment, and to feel now. Feel what he was doing to her. Feel him covering her. Those violent kisses that would bruise her body and mark her as taken. Mark her as used. Wanted. Loved.

    She swore she could feel him shudder from her lover's kiss. She heard him groan. She felt the strength of his ardor growing for her. That strength that she knew would fill her in ways she has only known from the one she was currently spending her nights with. That slipping sheath that would tip her over and bring her to completion. And as he moves behind her, taking control once more, he places her into position, gripping her hair, kissing and nipping her skin. Reagan arched her back and spread her legs, rocking her hips into his. She was slick, and ready to meet his angry thrusts.

    He loved on her body, and when he finally claims her as his once more, it is with a quiet intensity. He is saying her name into her ears, over and over. Inside his body is liquid fire, and he gives it to her entirely. And from within her, she turns herself inside out, as she realises she has set them both on fire. As she takes everything that he has to give her, she screams his name, and images flash before her eyes - images that were of her worst nightmare. And of a small boy who would get caught in the middle. Her son.

    Her last child.

    Her heart continues to beat in unison with Offspring's, hearing his name in her ears one last time, singed upon her heart, branding her with his stamp upon her breast. A mark that would be passed down. And when, in those final moments, she feels his apex come to fruition, at the critical point of chaos, she throws her head downwards and arches once again, groaning outloud, and her fire is smothered in the wake of her climax. Slick sweat akin to oil covers them both, and she takes what is left of him.

    A finality.

    And when they are uncoupled, she gazes at him, gasping for air, her heart thundering in her head. The heat threatened to overtake her, but she still manages to press into him, playfully slapping him with her tail, settling into his embrace.

    "I missed you too."




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