10-23-2018, 09:14 PM
Sunlight dances along the translucent scales of @[Kyveli]'s fins and Ivar is momentarily distracted. Much like her mother's, the violet girl's aquatic fins are a warning to the kelpie: not prey.
Still, there are ways to satisfy the animal hunger without sinking below the waves.
Kyveli doesn't make the movement he had anticipated, but Ivar adapts. The jewel-toned kelpie reaches out to adjust a stray lock of her amethyst hair with his teeth. It is platonic, a friendly gesture, but the way he brushes his mouth against her neck for a moment afterwards is decidedly not.
Rather than address this aloud - his strengths are in less verbal methods anyhow - he instead simply says: "Kyveli." His gaze flits back to her fins even as he speaks, though when he has finished the kelpie's golden eyes meander long the glittering shape of her shoulder, neck, and only then find her impossibly violet eyes.
Ivar is starving, but he has never been anything less than appreciative of every meal.
There's appreciation in his expression now: the kind that a monster gives an easy meal. Kyveli will likely read it as lust (and truly, that is abundant as well), and the kelpie has pressed that same command into her as well, an unconscious response to being so near a meal.
"I think Best is probably more appropriate," he tells her, recalling their first meeting as he always does. It had been one of their few conversations; Ivar having done his best to avoid the girl as much as possible. He hadn't wanted her getting attached.
"But did you need something?" Asks the kelpie suddenly, as though he has other matters to attend to. They both know she hadn't interrupted anything, but Ivar is curious how far Kyveli would willingly wade into danger. There is no doubt, even in ever-summer Ischia, that Kyveli is a finally a woman grown.
He steps to the side, moving past her without waiting for an answer. The edges of his scaled left shoulder likely brush against her as he moves, and he leans down to grab a piece of purple kelp, which he tosses out into the water. Turning back to look at her over his left shoulder, the kelpie is afforded a view of soft curves.
Rather than bite down on the easily available flesh, the kelpie tightens his slavering jaws.
There is too much at risk here for him to make the first move, and so he waits, a incredibly rare display of the kelpie's capacity for long-term goals.
Still, there are ways to satisfy the animal hunger without sinking below the waves.
Kyveli doesn't make the movement he had anticipated, but Ivar adapts. The jewel-toned kelpie reaches out to adjust a stray lock of her amethyst hair with his teeth. It is platonic, a friendly gesture, but the way he brushes his mouth against her neck for a moment afterwards is decidedly not.
Rather than address this aloud - his strengths are in less verbal methods anyhow - he instead simply says: "Kyveli." His gaze flits back to her fins even as he speaks, though when he has finished the kelpie's golden eyes meander long the glittering shape of her shoulder, neck, and only then find her impossibly violet eyes.
Ivar is starving, but he has never been anything less than appreciative of every meal.
There's appreciation in his expression now: the kind that a monster gives an easy meal. Kyveli will likely read it as lust (and truly, that is abundant as well), and the kelpie has pressed that same command into her as well, an unconscious response to being so near a meal.
"I think Best is probably more appropriate," he tells her, recalling their first meeting as he always does. It had been one of their few conversations; Ivar having done his best to avoid the girl as much as possible. He hadn't wanted her getting attached.
"But did you need something?" Asks the kelpie suddenly, as though he has other matters to attend to. They both know she hadn't interrupted anything, but Ivar is curious how far Kyveli would willingly wade into danger. There is no doubt, even in ever-summer Ischia, that Kyveli is a finally a woman grown.
He steps to the side, moving past her without waiting for an answer. The edges of his scaled left shoulder likely brush against her as he moves, and he leans down to grab a piece of purple kelp, which he tosses out into the water. Turning back to look at her over his left shoulder, the kelpie is afforded a view of soft curves.
Rather than bite down on the easily available flesh, the kelpie tightens his slavering jaws.
There is too much at risk here for him to make the first move, and so he waits, a incredibly rare display of the kelpie's capacity for long-term goals.