• 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


    [mature]  could i use you as a makeshift gauge - wishbone
    #11
    I V A R
    promising everything i do not mean
    The kelpie prefers to watch their blood seep into the sea, crimson eddies that drift into the dark currents without a trace. The water wipes away the evidence, fills their empty veins with the same briny water that slips between their parted lips. The sea beckons, cool against his pale legs, but Ivar feels no need to lure her deeper. It is not often that his needs clash with those of his instinct, but as she falls still beside him it is far less difficult to change his mind than he’d expected.

    Perhaps it is because the outcome will be the same, with both kelpie and stallion satisfied in the end.

    She moans as his teeth pierce her flesh, and despite himself he bites down harder than he’d intended. She does not react like she should, and while this frustrates the kelpie it is exhilarating for the stallion, who nips harder at her jaw. The bitter copper tang of her blood is not dilute by the salt water, and as he presses fervid touches to the curve of her crest he spreads a crimson smear as he goes.

    Her tug at his mane brings a grin and a brightness to his dark eyes. When she asks how he can know her so well despite the freshness of their acquaintance, Ivar feels no need to spare her feelings. With the others he might have; monogamy seems engrained into the hearts of most of his conquests.

    “You queens are all the same,” he replies, stepping forward to trail a surprisingly gentle touch along the curve of her spine. She said she knew his reputation and Ivar does’nt hesitate to reminds her of it. “You wield so much control, have so many choices, decisions.” Boring things, Ivar knows, but they seem to enjoy them, savor the responsibility while struggling beneath the weight of it.

    “What you want though, what you need at the end of the day…”His mouth glides lower as his shoulder presses against the curve of her rump, and his breath ghosts across the soft skin of her thigh. “Is someone else to be in charge.” His teeth pick at the dark curve of her inner thigh, pinpricks between kisses and deep slow breaths.

    (wait.)

    And he does, though it would be easier to guide her beneath him and take what they both know she’ll give. Instead Ivar lavishes attention scant inches from where she truly wants it, toying with her as amusement and anticipation dances behind his dark eyes. Another step brings him behind her, but he only stretches out his long neck, drawing his pointed canines down the curve of her spine with almost enough pressure to pierce the skin. Ahead of him, her unmarked withers glow temptingly in the scant moonlight, and he feels his own need rising to a crescendo.

    Ivar means to enjoy every drawn out moment with this wanton mahogany queen, so as he sinks his teeth into the thick muscle of her left thigh, it is with another command that is not so different from his own inner monologue

    (need. want. mine.)

    Beg.

    I know my lies could not make you believe
    in my dark times, baby this is all I could be
    . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .


    @[Wishbone]
    :|
    #12

    she’s got jumper cable lips
    she’s got sunset on her breath. now i inhaled just a little bit, now i’ve got no fear of death

    She doesn’t mind the immediate sting or the lingering ache that his mouth leaves. In fact, she finds that the oddity of it — of pain and pleasure mingling like two unforeseen lovers — thrills her perhaps more than any adventure might. She’s streaked with her own blood (trickling down her jaw to drip into the waves, smeared across her neck and along her cheek, soaking into the mahogany of her skin while the moon illuminates the sheen of the liquid) and yet Wishbone feels completely alive beneath the weight of this fact.

    The kelpie spills truth from his mouth; the extent of his studies and his careful knowledge clinging to each word. At the same time, he is twining around her — trailing his mouth down the sensitive, heated curves of her body and causing pants of breathless delight to fall from her lungs. Wishbone cannot deny that the weight of the crown feels nice on her head, or that the stressful responsibilities that come along with it bring her both pride and a sense of purpose.

    Yet her mind is swimming, unstructured beneath the pressure of his lips and teeth, and she doesn’t have much time to respond to his words. The heat of his mouth isn’t far from that dangerously-electrified piece of herself she has only just discovered and Wishbone rocks her weight backward in an effort to drive herself closer into him. Pressure is building within, thrilling and bloodied and heavy, and instinct tells her that Ivar will provide the release.

    “It’s no wonder I was warned about you.” Her words are throaty and heavy, the telltale signs of arousal and desire swarming in their tune. “The other queens wanted to keep you to themselves, with” — she exhales a shaky groan as his teeth hit her thigh — “that mouth of yours.” Wishbone wonders if this is what it’s like to be Tephra’s volcano, burning forever until you finally explode with everything that has been simmering beneath the surface.

    Beg.

    Another strong thought, forced into her mind as strongly as if she’d been knocked down by a fierce Nerine wave, and she rolls with the motion. Her hips roll back, pressing against the strength of his chest. “Please” — it’s almost a whisper in her throat, husky and colored in shades much darker than the moonglow that surrounds them — “show me what kept bringing the others back for more.” Wishbone tosses her head in the air, blood shaking from her face and into the waves once more. Those droplets are lost among the tides, but Ivar has the capability to provide much more for the depths of the sea. Her tangled mane settles across her crimson-streaked crest as her head turns and there is heat, blazing and fierce, in the amber of her eyes.

    “Don’t hold back now, Ivar.” A temptation slicing straight into the smoke of his lust.

    wishbone



    @[Ivar]
    #13
    I V A R
    promising everything i do not mean
    Wishbone's words bring a faint smile to the kelpie's mouth, though her physical reaction to his touch is far more enticing. She quivers, and Ivar inches farther in, ever-so-gentle with his serrated teeth. He might have tried something new, something just for her, but the way she presses back against him is too much even for the kelpie to resist. He wants her, and he wants her now.

    His pale legs brush against her hindquarters as he rises above her, then tighten around her shoulders in a grip he has no intention of loosening for a good long while. Even with their teasing, with the unshielded lust in her demands, Ivar knows she is new to this particular game. The stallion knows to take his time, to ease her into ecstasy, but the kelpie has already tasted blood.

    Ivar is not gentle, and enters her with a single heavy thrust. The bay mare is perfection around him and Ivar exhales with a quiet expletive as he finds his place. "I won't," he tells her before grasping a mouthful of her salt-heavy hair. She wanted what he gave to the other queens, but as he thrusts again - towards her and the sea - he has no intention of giving at all. Ivar means to take, and take he does, careless of the mare beneath him as he seeks his own release. Holding her tightly, he is aware in the back of his mind that his hooves might mar her flawless coat, and that the scales of his body might scrape against her back. His teeth are certainly not gentle, not as he nips and bites a half-dozen shallow wounds along her neck and crest - marks of possession.

    The splash of water against his legs is unexpected, and Ivar is pulled from his single-minded focus by the sudden awareness that he has forced them into the water with his momentum. The kelpie is rather impressed with himself, and pauses for a moment to better taste the saltwater and coppery blood that slip between his teeth. He does not release Wishbone, but he does think of her for a moment as he traces the line of her neck with his bloodstained muzzle.

    "Are you sure you only want what the rest of them get?" He asks, the gentleness in his voice a stark contrast to the roughness of their embrace. "You don't want something different, something just for you?" He doesn't wait for an answer, accentuating the final word with a thrust and the hypnotic demand to come. The kelpie has not tried this before, but he suspects there might be something enjoyable in a well-timed mutual orgasm.

    I know my lies could not make you believe
    in my dark times, baby this is all I could be
    . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .


    ooc: um this is the smuttiest thing i have ever written you're welcome and i'm sorry.
    @[Wishbone]
    #14

    she’s got jumper cable lips
    she’s got sunset on her breath. now i inhaled just a little bit, now i’ve got no fear of death

    She is young and supple beneath his experienced weight, a young doe who has been swooned by the battle-scarred buck. He leaves her breathless with the force of his initial presence and a weak sob falls from her mouth at his entrance. Not even the height of her arousal could have prepared her for the violent way he drags her virginity away from her. Pain collides brutally with her lust for a few rough moments; Wishbone knows the ache he provides between her thighs will be one she will feel hours after he has left her.

    And then he is promising, snatching her knotted mane into his mouth, and her lungs are able to choke down air before rising out into a noise that should sound like a siren’s lusty song to both stallion and kelpie. It isn’t long before she is pushing back, her hips rolling with the motion of his thrusts and increasing the tension that slathers itself between them. She will not ever be a ragdoll beneath the weight of a man — she will change beneath him, pushing into the strength of him and perhaps even manipulating their tempo, sweaty and arching her back into the slope of his underbelly.

    It isn’t long before the ache from his entrance fades into sheer pleasure and Wishbone wonders why the fuck no one had told her about this sooner. Bruises will blossom on her ribs from the pressure of his hooves, bittersweet cuts will bead maroon blood on her spine from his scales, and her neck will be a constellation of teeth-markings — but the mahogany knows in an instant that she would (and will) never regret anything.

    The water is up to her damp, heaving chest by the time he pauses in his movement. Her entire body is on fire, dangling on the edge of a cliff she had almost careened off of before he had stopped. A moan of frustration slips from her mouth at this thought — at how close she had been — and his warm voice encourages her supple hips to twist and grind up into him. “Ivar.” It’s a smoky, wanton word on her dark mouth and it sounds like a throaty prayer among the rush of the waves on the shore and the heaving of their panting lungs.

    He had just finessed her release away from her grasp and now he forces it back against her with a heated kiss to her full lips and a demand. Wishbone is willing under his order, but she hadn’t been expecting his thrust and it sends her deeper into the ocean. The water soaks her throat as they both lose themselves in the same breath. She’s falling off the cliff now and the air around her is hotter than the worst of Tephra’s summer days.

    Her mahogany body shudders beneath him, blood dripping heavily from her body and spilling into the moonglow ocean around them. When she resurfaces from that new, thriving, bewildering place there’s a warm glow within her. Wishbone is nearly swimming, being so deep in the water from their movement, and though her body aches from the exhaustion of their evening, she finds herself dipping below the waters and twisting deeper into the ocean. She’s surprisingly elegant in the water (even without the fanciful tails or water-wings his other endeavors might have) and when her head breaches from beneath the surface, she feels refreshed.

    wishbone



    @[Ivar] / *hoses down this thread with an entire ocean of water*
    #15
    The sky in the east has been growing lighter for hours now, and Ivar has not missed a single shifting shade. The kelpie lingers in the mouth of the cave, his shoulder pressed against the bay mare that sleeps beside him.

    He’d taken her twice more in the dim moonlight that first night. The first time was in the water, where she’d reminded him why she was a queen, and the last time was just before dawn the next morning, moments before he’d slipped beneath the slowly lapping waters, the ones that had matched the tempo of their lovemaking.

    There have been other times since then, in the shadows of the Forest or the damp caves of Nerine, wherever they might not be seen. It’s a habit Ivar presses, though he has been less concerned as the months wore on. His lavender consort is round with child; she no longer leaves the shore of their island. Ivar rarely does either, finding himself more than occupied with his tropical home and the daring side of a buckskin mare that he’d never thought to see again.

    Last night’s venture to Nerine had been spur of the moment, and the first in some time. Their arrangement - whatever it is - is characterized only by mutual satisfaction; this is the first time that Ivar has stayed long enough to see the sun rise. This might be the last time, at least for a while, and that awareness is what has him lingering. Soon enough he will have a child to care for, and the likelihood that he will be able to slip away unnoticed would not be worth the risk.

    ”Let’s do something today” He says when Wishbone has started to stir. ”Let’s go somewhere”

    @[Wishbone]




    Users browsing this thread: 2 Guest(s)