[mature] this life, it feels like a prison || tantalize

[Offspring]

You're looking at an absolute zero;
I'm not the devil but I won't be your hero.

  The desire is undeniable – and the attraction is reciprocated, while her own heart hammers raggedly against the confinement of her own breast (so rapidly he can very nearly feel it, vibrating with adrenaline surging through her veins). There is no longer any shadow of a doubt that the chemistry building is not imagined by him – time has all but ceased, capturing each of them in a moment of breathlessness and unspoken longing, but he can feel the air thicken as it is rife with hesitance, shifting as if the wind itself were changing direction. 

   She presses closer to him, her chest nearly flush against the broadness of his own as his teeth and lips brush ever so lightly across the quivering surface of her auburn skin – he does not yet seek to covet her, nor to cover her; only to know her and taste her – but how could she know his intention? How could she know that, with so many years spent withdrawn into himself, he longed for the intimacy of her presence more than the sensuality of her body?

  That is not to say that he does not want her – he does, and the entirety of the fire-lit canvas of his body is vibrating with the need, but he is more than the carnal desire simmering beneath the surface of his marred flesh. He was a sinful creature – he had given into lust many times when what he sought was so much more than to sate a sexual urge. Doing so had even cost him a great love of his life – but the love had been lost long before that, and he had become lonely, dejected, and he sought affection elsewhere. Flawed. He had many a mistake over the course of his lifetime.

  Yet, the intimacy of the moment is shattered so suddenly. Before he can utter a word, she is whirling away from him, her teeth bared and snapping at him with instinctual wariness – with anger, resentment, and fear lighting the rim of her golden gaze, searing into him. A mere, idle shift of his bone structure had stirred something primal and fearful, and he is entirely still, his watchful scarlet stare wide-eyed – stunned, startled, and speechless. It brought back a memory he thought he had long since forgotten, of his mother cowering beneath the weight of his father – her own teeth bared, lashing out toward his neck, toward his sneering muzzle – before he inevitably tired her out, pinned her down, and took what he wanted. He had seen it time and time again in his youth; he had been forced to watch more than a time or two – and he had seen the very same quivering, frightened gleam in her eye, as she pleaded for him to leave her be.

  He can still taste his blood, even years after he had taken his life – even years after he had raped his mother for the last and final time, before being left in a pool of his own blood.

  He does not shy away, nor does he recoil – he is steady and unmoving, hesitance in place of where desire had laced the crimson pupil of each eye. The moment is fleeting, gone and over with, but she is left trembling, wracked with a memory she would sooner forget. She is apologetic, but he merely gives a shake of his thick cranium, to and fro, slow and methodical – understanding why, but she owed him no apology – not if she had once suffered as his mother had (a terrible, spiteful woman – for who with a heart could name her son Offspring? – but she was his mother, nonetheless).

  The anguish contorting the beautiful, vivid line of her feminine features is haunting, and when she does finally find the words, she is wrought with tension and the word ready may as well weigh more than the blinding moon itself. Ready.

  ”No explanation needed,” he murmurs softly, watchful of her and reaching out to her – seeking to comfort her, to give her solace and a mind at ease. ”I will never do anything against your will,” ah, but she does not know his intent and he does not know her secret, but he can feel it – the terseness of her body language, the trembling fear that had quivered in her shakily whispered words. ”I apologize if ..” I crossed the line, he doesn’t say. ”I misread your body language,” he says instead, his tone apologetic, and his gaze heavy upon her own. ”I only came to seek your company; I am so sorry.”

OFFSPRING

another zealot with the weight of the fucking world