06-10-2018, 05:22 PM
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He is nervous.
She senses it in the way his muscles grow startlingly still under the touch of her mouth. It reminds her of the fact that he is still Prey, even with the desire to kill she sees swarming in his dark eyes. It only further encourages that drive inside her (to reach with her teeth into the cavity of his chest and pull out the pulsating muscle of his heart and press it firmly between her jaws) and she turns away from him perhaps quicker than she would have before.
Despite the savagery of her soul, she doesn’t wish to hurt him.
Not yet.
He follows her, despite the tension she’d seen across his shoulders, and it only further encourages her wish to leave his skin unmarred. So too does the expression in his dark eyes as his gaze scans across the skeletons (wistful and jealous, laced with a look that proves he is both impressed and longing that the collection had been his doing) cause her to shift closer to him in the shade of her home.
She is grateful for his silence. While he snorts and paws, his mouth does not open to speak those slippery words. He understands, in ways that the other Prey do not. He is willing to walk into the forest and then straight into the darkness with the devil’s monster despite the apprehension of the situation. And she knows he cannot understand her either (though in time perhaps they will be able to communicate together) and thus when he prances and cranes his head, she does not twitter back.
Instead, she moves closer.
There is a different atmosphere in the close-contact shade of her home. It provides a bit of something that electrifies along her spine, tingling down to include her flanks and the tender curves of her neck. She can’t quite identify it — both with the unfamiliarity she has with this something and the youth of her mind — but she runs toward it without much regard.
So, when she steps closer, she touches his shoulder again. Will he still under her touch, like he had done before? Or will he turn toward her? She wonders what his soft mouth would feel like on her armored ink. A low noise drags from the back of her throat, soft and nearly purring, when her mouths touch his supple skin (there is no desire to tear into his flesh now, as strong as it had been only moments before) and then she is winding away, circling around to the other side of him and sliding her dark sides against the opposite side of his.
She’s confused with her own actions (the purr in her throat and the desire to touch him again) and the vibe in the air (the something that seems to fall over her body even heavier than before and the way the shade casts handsome darkness against the angles of his face) and it shines in the depths of her oil-slick eyes.
She senses it in the way his muscles grow startlingly still under the touch of her mouth. It reminds her of the fact that he is still Prey, even with the desire to kill she sees swarming in his dark eyes. It only further encourages that drive inside her (to reach with her teeth into the cavity of his chest and pull out the pulsating muscle of his heart and press it firmly between her jaws) and she turns away from him perhaps quicker than she would have before.
Despite the savagery of her soul, she doesn’t wish to hurt him.
Not yet.
He follows her, despite the tension she’d seen across his shoulders, and it only further encourages her wish to leave his skin unmarred. So too does the expression in his dark eyes as his gaze scans across the skeletons (wistful and jealous, laced with a look that proves he is both impressed and longing that the collection had been his doing) cause her to shift closer to him in the shade of her home.
She is grateful for his silence. While he snorts and paws, his mouth does not open to speak those slippery words. He understands, in ways that the other Prey do not. He is willing to walk into the forest and then straight into the darkness with the devil’s monster despite the apprehension of the situation. And she knows he cannot understand her either (though in time perhaps they will be able to communicate together) and thus when he prances and cranes his head, she does not twitter back.
Instead, she moves closer.
There is a different atmosphere in the close-contact shade of her home. It provides a bit of something that electrifies along her spine, tingling down to include her flanks and the tender curves of her neck. She can’t quite identify it — both with the unfamiliarity she has with this something and the youth of her mind — but she runs toward it without much regard.
So, when she steps closer, she touches his shoulder again. Will he still under her touch, like he had done before? Or will he turn toward her? She wonders what his soft mouth would feel like on her armored ink. A low noise drags from the back of her throat, soft and nearly purring, when her mouths touch his supple skin (there is no desire to tear into his flesh now, as strong as it had been only moments before) and then she is winding away, circling around to the other side of him and sliding her dark sides against the opposite side of his.
She’s confused with her own actions (the purr in her throat and the desire to touch him again) and the vibe in the air (the something that seems to fall over her body even heavier than before and the way the shade casts handsome darkness against the angles of his face) and it shines in the depths of her oil-slick eyes.
@[Maugrim] / ope, nexu's gettin' frisky even though she doesn't know what that word means <3 :/