[private] a rematch

[atrox]

hangman hooded, softly swinging; don't close the coffin yet, I'm alive

Atrox is no stranger to the kind of boredom that manifests itself into a dangerous recklessness. Hell, he has lived on the razor edge of it for years—has fed himself on the milk of it. He knows what it is like to feel your very skin to feel too tight, your body dancing with the unspent energy and the desire to simply do something. It is a feeling that followed him throughout his youth and his many lives, and it is a feeling that he has begun to feel lately once more; the fatal boredom seeping through his veins like smoke.

So it feels fitting to look up and see the light shattering through the peaceful sky.

It feels fitting and something clicks in his chest in recognition.

He doesn’t waste time in answering it, padding forward as a panther to the source of the beacon. When he sees her there, a form he has seen so many times before, his lips spread into a wicked grin. There are a million things that come to the tip of his tongue—a million insults, ways to bait her, things to say that would cut beneath the surface—but he says none of them. Instead he just flicks his tail and takes a step forward, casually stretching so that his claws dig into the earth, muscles rolling beneath the velvet.

Silence continues to coat his mouth as he stands back up again, body warm and the blood flowing through him. He settles his weight evenly, continuing to study her before he finally slinks forward, every inch of his body electrified and ready. When he is closer, he pulls his lips back into a low, throaty growl and then leaps. His body twists as his paws swipe outward to her chest, his mouth opening and reaching for her.

ATROX | THE PANTHER KING