[mature] the altar is my hips, ashhal - Printable Version +- Beqanna (https://beqanna.com/forum) +-- Forum: Explore (https://beqanna.com/forum/forumdisplay.php?fid=1) +--- Forum: The Common Lands (https://beqanna.com/forum/forumdisplay.php?fid=72) +---- Forum: Forest (https://beqanna.com/forum/forumdisplay.php?fid=73) +---- Thread: [mature] the altar is my hips, ashhal (/showthread.php?tid=29840) |
the altar is my hips, ashhal - Desire - 06-28-2021 Desire She is bored, and that is a dangerous thing. Perhaps if she put more effort into running Pangea she would have other things to occupy her time, but it was far too easy to shirk responsibility and simply disappear. Tomorrow, she often thinks to herself, tomorrow would be the day she would work on getting something done. Several tomorrows have already come and gone, though, and on this particular tomorrow, she has ventured across the meadows and fields and found herself at the river. The lushness of the greenery was a refreshing change from the dry canyons of Pangea, and she does not try to stifle the sigh of relief she exhales into the autumn air. She has come to a portion of the river that is shallow, the cool water pouring swiftly over rocks and boulders that jut from the surface. The weather is mild today, though far cooler than what she has grown accustomed to in Pangea, and she welcomes what little warmth the sunlight provides against her galaxy-colored back. Carefully, she steps into the river, breaking past the glittering surface of it, letting the water rush against her vibrantly white legs. Water makes her think of Thomas, and she feels a pang in her chest at the thought of him. He did not mind that she was often restless and prone to disappearing for hours at a time; he never resented her for anything that she did, even if she did not deserve such forgiveness. The twinge is almost enough to make her turn to go back, until — She sees him, just across the river, near the edge of the treeline. Her movements still, her dark eyes scanning over the familiar face, and thoughts of Thomas and Pangea fade away. In their wake stirs a malicious kind of mischief, but she keeps it from showing in the smile that is curling across her lips as she makes her way to the opposite bank. “Hi,” she says to him once she is close enough, her demeanor shifting into something coquettish and coy. “You look….familiar. Have we met?” She asks him with a tip of her head, the light of her moon halo dim beneath the sun, and though something glitters in the black of her eyes, her intent remains unclear. so we're slaves to any semblance of touch, lord we should quit, but we love it too much @Ashhal RE: the altar is my hips, ashhal - Ashhal - 06-29-2021 I tried to sell my soul last night There is a familiarity in the river. He’s not certain what had brought him here today, but he’d known only that he needed escape. Loess had grown demanding, and Ashhal has always chafed at demands. Still, for some goddamned unexplained reason, he also knows he’ll go back. Perhaps it’s simply nice to feel almost like he’s wanted for once. Or perhaps he’s a dipshit with an overactive imagination. @Desire RE: the altar is my hips, ashhal - Desire - 08-10-2021 Desire After her previous encounter with Ashhal, she felt she had a good idea of what to expect from him. He hadn’t been especially kind to her even when she was posing as her mother — a woman he supposedly, on some level, had feelings for at one point in time. Had it not been for her ability to uncover a heart’s desire (even when hidden beneath layers of sarcasm and a shield of swear-words) she might have doubted they were romantic feelings—he certainly hadn’t acted particularly fond of Ryatah. This only further bolstered her curiosity, to see what he might be like with a complete stranger. Perhaps he was bitter towards her mother. If he was like any of her other romances, he probably had an entire list of reasons to be. Based on his response, though, he is just charismatic all the time. And it wasn’t his charming way of speaking that enchanted her mother, she had a pretty good guess what had. “My, my, trying to tempt me with a good time already?” There is a laugh that rolls beneath the words when spoken, though the spark in her black eyes is not entirely genial. She remains where she stands, watching him from the limited space that is left between them; close enough that he could see the way the light of her halo illuminates her eyes or all the subtle ways her lips begin to curve into a smile, but not close enough that she could touch him. She is certain that he has reduced most of his interactions with the opposite sex to only turning into one thing, and while that was never off the table for her, it was so boring when given up that easily. He had already shown her that he had plenty of spark—what a waste it would be to let it burn out so quickly. “I have a feeling you’re not someone I would have forgotten had our encounter ever resulted in that, so I think it’s safe to say that no, the back of my head wouldn’t look familiar.” She regards him again with a tilt of her head, as though she is again scanning him for some way to place him, like she might jog a memory. “Have you ever been to Pangea? Maybe I’ve seen you passing through.” so we're slaves to any semblance of touch, lord we should quit, but we love it too much @Ashhal RE: the altar is my hips, ashhal - Ashhal - 08-11-2021 I tried to sell my soul last night He would have been furious to know she had even some inkling of the true depth of his feelings. Even more so if he had known of the way she had toyed with him once already. But perhaps luckily for the both of them, he has no inkling of the secrets she is so gleefully keeping. Instead as he stares at her, he only sees a pretty mare he has no memory of ever meeting. @Desire RE: the altar is my hips, ashhal - Desire - 09-06-2021 Desire His clear revulsion at the mention of Pangea causes her cool, almost flippant demeanor to shift to something a bit more openly curious. Has she ever met anyone that genuinely disliked the place? She herself didn’t find it especially appealing—it was dry and barren, and harsh in all the ways you’d expect a desert canyon to be. Draco seemed to dislike it in the same way she did (as in, they both claimed to dislike it, while continuing to live there), but Ashhal seemed to despise it. He spoke of it with a loathing that gave her the impression it was personal, and she is unable to stop herself when she asks innocently enough, “It sounds as though you don’t like Pangea. Did you have a bad experience with someone from there?” That certainly doesn’t sound like the Pangea she knows, she thinks to herself with amusement flashing briefly in her eyes. Pangea doing something to earn falling out of this man’s favor? Unfathomable. But he takes a step closer to her, and the moment the heat of his breath hits her skin, the mood shifts entirely. It is as if he finally snatched away the veil she had been concealing herself with, and all that is left standing before him is a woman with eyes too dark and a smile far too sharp. “Funnily enough,” she says, soft and slow, taking her own step forward so that the distance between them simply no longer existed, her lips nearly brushing against his own cheek. “Fighting and fucking are two of my favorite past times,” she laughs, a low purr in her chest, “I’ll let you decide which one we’re doing first.” so we're slaves to any semblance of touch, lord we should quit, but we love it too much @Ashhal RE: the altar is my hips, ashhal - Ashhal - 09-09-2021 I tried to sell my soul last night He has never bothered trying to hide his dislike of anything, but even if he had wanted to, he didn’t think he could mask his disgust with the kingdom she hails from. There is something visceral in it, something that keeps him from being able to shove it down. Her question causes his lip to curl into a sneer, his dark eyes flashing as he bites back his guttural response. @Desire RE: the altar is my hips, ashhal - Desire - 10-07-2021 Desire He wears his anger and his disdain so plainly on his face that it fascinates her. She is used to a simmering kind of anger, the kind kept locked beneath cold stares and a few sharp words. But Ashhal spares nothing in letting her know exactly what he thinks of Pangea, and it is all she can do to keep from asking him why he hates it so much, though she has her suspicions. If she is correct it is because of her father, and the last thing she needed was him making a connection between her galaxy-drenched skin and the dark god that had created Pangea, and so she does not press the matter further. Besides, she has a far more interesting game to play. His teeth clamp onto her withers, his body pushing against her, and she feels that familiar shockwave of adrenaline and anticipation shiver down her spine. But unlike her mother, who would have obediently melted in response to being handled roughly, Desire is not quite so compliant. She knows she has not yet given this man a reason to compare her to the archangel, but she has every intention of catching him off guard with the differences between the two once she has made her grand reveal. She wrenches herself away from him, feeling the bruise blossoming beneath her skin from where his teeth had tried to hold her. She does not go far, though, only shaking his grip on her so that she might turn to aggressively push her chest into his. Her teeth snap at his throat, before raking up his neck, feeling his skin against her soft lips. “Fuck me first and if you still have the energy we can fight afterward,” comes her own velvet growl, already feeling that knot of want that she was prepared to let him in unravel. By now she has already curved herself away from him, that sinister glint in her black eyes hidden from his view, and all he is going to see are her galaxy-colored hips waiting for him. so we're slaves to any semblance of touch, lord we should quit, but we love it too much @Ashhal RE: the altar is my hips, ashhal - Ashhal - 10-13-2021 I tried to sell my soul last night The anger has been his closest companion for so long that it is hard to imagine anything else. When his fury flees, there is only an aching emptiness left behind, and Ashhal has always preferred the rage. It swells in him now, as it always does, but along with it the familiar potency of lust. @Desire |