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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


    bottom of the deep blue sea; ivar
    #11
    It’s been some time since she’d called him that, and Ivar’s grin widens. He’d given up his throne to follow her as she soon as she’d said the word, and there’s a good chance that he’d do it again. He shouldn’t have to though, not with the sea around them and their children as tied to the water as he is. Ivar hadn’t planned it, but the timing couldn’t have been better if he had. With any luck, a fourth little kelpie will keep her content with Ischia, and after that perhaps a couple more, just to be safe.

    She flits beneath him, agile in a way that Ivar cannot replicate, and can only watch with naked fascination.

    Every bit of her is designed to draw in a mortal man. It is a transformation he would not have imagined possible before he witnessed it for himself. From a filly, dragon-born and pretty, she’d become something of the sea, something that holds Ivar’s gaze in a base and instinctive way that nothing else ever has.

    Ivar suddenly remembers the first year, when Isobell had chosen Nerine over him. The thought is as unbidden as it is unpleasant, and the kelpie shoves it away for the far more intoxicating kelpie woman that wraps herself around him. He’d almost settled his score with the granite kingdom for that offense. The last of the three pins has proved the most difficult to topple, but Ivar has every faith in himself.

    The grudge is less important than Isobell herself, of course, and the kelpie takes in each breathtaking bit of her, from the scarred rise of her withers to the way her illuminated scales blended seamlessly with the frill of her fins. They drift past a high bank of coral. The water is deeper here, and soon it will be cooler as well. Isobells darts ahead of him, her eyes reflecting the same hunger that shines in Ivar’s golden gaze.  

    The earlier urge, the one to remind her to never leave him again, has not dimmed. The allure of seeing her final breath has him keeping pace with the tobiano woman, his own movements less graceful than hers but no less fluid. A cove filled with ruby water is not an uncommon sight in Ischia, but none of them had been quite perfect. Isobell might be the key to perfection, he thinks, just as the water around them turns suddenly cold – they’d reached the drop off.

    She could leave, he realizes. She is not trapped here like the rest of them, bound to the land or to him. Isobell might dart out into the dark of the broad ocean and he’d never see her again. The thought is enough to silence the hunger instantaneously. It is an odd sensation, and Ivar grows still in the water. She had said she would stay, but perhaps he’d best make certain. He realizes that he is not certain how to do that, and so falls back on what he does know.

    Ivar traces the scars along her withers with a gentle touch, reminders of the time he’d turned her – and the many times they’d had since. The allure of his own immediate satisfaction fades in the possibility of a larger future reward, and the bites that curve along her neck are gentle. He forgets himself, just for a moment, and presses his pale mouth to where he’d drawn blood, the copper taste bright on his tongue even surrounded with salt.

    @[Isobell]
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    #12
    bottom of the deep blue sea
    There had been no other man in Isobell's life that had conquered her. Ivar had known her nearly from birth as her brother's best friend. They had frolicked between sea and great grass plains. Her smaller form racing after the boys as she called for them to 'wait up' for her. They boys always agreed before pulling away to keep the chase of interest.

    Bust Ivar and Isobell had grown in many ways.

    Friends.
    Playmates.
    Murderer and Victim.
    Lovers.

    How many more phases of the silver moon must pass?

    The mare watches closely with the curl of her dark head over a single shoulder as the gold and sapphire man nears her like a dangerous, bloodthirsty shark. He hovers enticingly close and the pied mare grins playfully. She tilts her head to the side to expose her body to him with unabashed lure just as he latches to her skin.

    Iso can feel the prick of his teeth as they slip beneath her skin, causing her to gasp, tiny bubbles sputtering. The silver eyes widen as she should feel pain but there is pleasure instead. The woman draws herself down with the flick of her body, pulling from his mouth as pink water swirls delicately in the water. Iso eyes him, a smirk still on her lips, as she pulls herself away so she may gaze upon the king kelpie with an scrutinizing expression, studying him, feigning boredom before smirking and drifting near him.

    Once again, Iso wraps around him but this time she tightens the length of her body around his till she has her upper body over his, her tail twined tightly as her forelegs catch his body in them. Silver eyes drift near his own as they rove his handsome features, inspecting the flawlessness of his skin, the eye moving up and over his face. Isobell gives no warning as she strikes to sink her dulled teeth into the flesh of his throat, knowing she would not kill him but breaking the skin to taste blood for the first of her life.

    Isobell does not release him, knowing he will balk, possibly attempt to kill her again but she is strong, lithe, and willful. The mare loosens her grip she has around his form enough to slide beneath him, his flesh in her throat and blood on her tongue, she finds the length of his hardened manhood rubbing against her body and slips him between the slit of her finned body. Isobell does not yet release the mouthful of his skin just yet and proceeds to push him deeper and deeper into her body before she finally climaxes...releasing his flesh as she moans in her primal state in the sea waters...

    Isobell slips away from his grasp in case he should decides to punish her, grinning playfully, heading to the surface. She feels renewed, her body filled with his warmth and her accession as his Khaleesi. "Let's go to bed, Ivar." She calls to him with a smirk, halting her motions, drifting in the slow current of the water with her hair and fins fanned against the golden setting sunlight.
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