Tunnel is not inclined towards imagining things and does not easily picture Bardot as a woman accustomed to being out of place. Is she not very like all of those other strangers living safely in the bounds of the kingdoms, with their pretty traits and bright skins? To think about it that way was to admit that none of them really fit anywhere. He believed he fit into the forest only because he had climbed out of the surf, slithered into the darkness and never left. What was fitting somewhere anyway? He could feed himself on stones and dirt, the little river fish, and the needles beneath the pines. He could glide among the shadows like a bruise-colored spectre. He could save the life of a child and twist that child into something like him, capable and vicious. He did all of this alone, and who would question the rightness of it but the unspeaking trees and the pitiless gods?
Bardot might.
He watches her eyes grow dark with lust, can feel it rolling off her warming frame and smell it woven into her floral perfume. He hadn’t even wanted her, not really, not at first. She wasn’t the kind that usually interested him. There was nothing broken or cowering or critically inferior about Bardot. He had stood beneath the midday sun and let her look at him with her beautiful, mocking face and done nothing as she pressed her horn to his throat and defied him. He still let her play with him, her words as bold as the sharp horn that he was certain would draw his blood before their affair was done.
She has no intention of letting him escape? He who has never been prey? Her lips catch his own before he can reply and when they break apart he pulls her in again, teeth catching at her jaw to keep her close, lips brushing hers roughly. Tunnel pulls her into his chest, teeth falling hard against her neck, pulling her mane to draw her as near as possible. He lets go, her mane is full of the scent of flowers, but when he presses his muzzle to her skin there she is beneath it. The real her, the Bardot he finds himself ravenous for. He nips her neck at first as his lips travel along but at the juncture of her neck and shoulder he bites her hard, his teeth sinking against her flesh without hesitation.
His touch becomes greedy, possessive, and he presses into her side once more and his lips trace down her spine and then follow the curve of her rump. Tunnel arches his neck and touches her as though it is his natural born right. He plucks another flower from her, separating it from her tail this time and breaking it down in his teeth. He can eat anything he wishes, even Bardot, but he would much rather bury himself between her thighs. When he circles her once more he stretches his neck to nip at her neck, down again toward her withers.
“Little unicorn, I can’t be gentle. I brought you out here to have you, and when we’re done we’ll talk about your brave little speeches...” Husky words are dropped against her skin. ...and then I plan to have you again.”
Another rough nip at her withers, and then further back at the point of her hip, at the dock of her tail should she flag it for him. Still he waits, hungry to see her impatient though reluctance might also interest him; the scent of lust rolling off her is too heady for any hesitation to seem genuine.
@Bardot
