Gale
this is going to break me clean in two --
this is going to bring me close to you
The smoldering markings across Mazikeen’s body blink out, leaving only the fiery coloration of her fur and feathers. The Curse is not watching her face, but it feels the shift of muscle beneath her skin where it remains pressed against her, and pulls away to better see her reaction.
There is an uncomfortable clash of disappointment and desire at seeing her so swiftly change to suit its demands. The Curse had expected more of a fight - wanted one even, since it can’t yet pry the twins from her body - but the unconscious rumbling of satisfaction from his feline chest is unmistakable.
When it sees the hatred in her eyes and the fire return to her skin, the purr turns into a satisfied laugh. That, it thinks. That is what it truly wanted: her submission. She will let it do what it wants, and will even participate herself if the rough tug at the lion’s haggy mane is any indication.
“I don’t think that’s possible,” the brindle lion breathes against her cheek. With each word, a small puff of steaming air rises into the crisp winter morning, and each exhaled breath smells of a bloody breakfast that Gale could have never choked down.
Despite its lies, despite her fear - the Curse has never lain with Mazikeen. Gale has never let it, fighting for her - for them - with an indefatigable strength that even black magic could not subdue. The fury with which he has defended her had left him weaker in a myriad other ways. The Curse had slipped black tentacles into those thin crevices, widening the cracks and its control over its host.
To have Mazikeen consent so easily is a rather splendid stroke of good luck. It would have had her eventually, but deal-making leaves it far less physically exhausted than the alternative of bruising and breaking her until she bent to its will.
She had scoffed at the idea of its generosity before, but the Curse feels itself both kind and rather benevolent as it rakes its pearlescent teeth along her feathered shoulder and then her furred back and hip without drawing blood, and also as it slowly presses Gale’s broad chest against the base of her black tipped tail, and even more so as it moves forward so its chin rests along her feathered neck, and Gale’s lips place a tender kiss just below her ear before it speaks
“It’s a pity he knocked you up so quickly. We might have had some real fun.” The lion’s front paws flex, and eight sharp claws dig into her shoulders deep enough to draw blood. The Curse wants her to feel the pain just as it generously shares with her the truth of her children’s parentage, and it uses the claws that Gale has hooked into his lover’s flesh to pull her closer against him.
@[Mazikeen]
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