there's a wildfire with your name on it, sochi

[sochi]

sochi

She expects him to fight back—how could she not when he is practically built for war—and she still feels a sick pleasure when he does exactly that. She feels the snap of his wings but it does nothing to slow her, does nothing to stop that sick hunger that finally reaches a boil within her. It has been so long since she has felt that need to hunt the way that she does—something that grows larger and more aggressive than just the need for food. It is a vicious hunger that bites at the back of her throat now, a dark need.

It brings a purr of pleasure to her lips when she feels his talons close around her leg, when he bites down.

The skin splits easily and she laughs as the blood pours down the leg and releases her.

She rolls easily, rising to her feet and holding the front foot gingerly in front of her for a moment. Her feline eyes snap to him and her lips spread into a wicked smile as she studies him. “You poor child,” she spits, feeling the flesh of her leg already begin to knit back together, the wound closing up. She places her paw back down, testing her weight and then glances back up, ears flicking. “Do I look like I bend?”

It is far too past any point of reason now that she has felt his scaled flesh beneath her claws and he has spilled her blood. There is no reasoning with her—not stopping what is it come. Instead her powerful body, large and heavy but powerful with that feline grace, launches forward. Her heavy paws come up to swipe at his chest and then at his face, avoiding the horns and going instead for the delicate skin around his nose, his mouth. She growls lightly as they collide once more, her jaws reaching for his throat.

Let him bleed, she thinks. Let him learn.

well, I can try to get you closer but I know you’d break your neck just to see the stars
and if we don’t dare to hold it then this reckless wandering love was never ours