09-12-2021, 07:39 AM
The way her eyes trace his new form is studious and careful; she is looking for imperfections or improvements in his version of Obscene, though it is easy to match the indifferent expression that Skandar also wears similarly to the dark stallion. Aela would easily see and recognize anything that may be amiss with his new skin Skandar realizes bitterly - would she be able to tell a mimic apart from the real thing? His thoughts continue to roil, twisted and burning, wondering if someone were to wear his face if she would be able to notice, or does their lack of intimacy leave them vulnerable?
His mind is not hers but his emotions can be easily plucked from his thoughts if she wishes, aggrieved and tumultuous.
Perfect. He calms for a moment, the scarlet of his eyes meeting hers with a sweeping motion, allowing the compliment to sink into the darkness of his skin. Focusing with a quiet concentration, Skandar copies the shining black scales that often creep along Obscene’s skin - smooth and glittering in their layered formation. Beyond perfection, he retorts silently with a quirk of his dark brows. Of course, he is - she would not allow him to be anything less and would not accept him if it were otherwise.
The closeness of her breath on his armored skin fogs the shine of Obscene’s scales, the sensation causing them to retreat and disappear, flickering into the obsidian of his skin. She pulls away (too soon) and he cannot help but follow, his head drifting towards her as her electric gaze watches him expectantly. He pauses but it is for no more than a second (perhaps it is the waters that embolden him, that allow him to dare to push any boundary that they may have skirted around before) and in the single-step he takes to draw closer to her, the black and gold of Obscene is stripped away in a wave of fluttering skin, returning the pieces of his flesh into that mystical, starry pattern.
It is in this form that his mouth attempts to find her throat - the same part of her delicate pulse that he had scarred with terrible fangs. There would no monstrosity or violence in his touch but instead, a sort of heat that leaves his own lips burning. He caresses her lightly, almost with regret for the impulsivity that caused him to bite into her throat, his chest tightening as her heartbeat quickens beneath his lips. He can feel his own pulse match the fervent beat of her own, tracing her golden skin for a moment more before even allowing his burning orange gaze to glance at her reaction, prepared for whatever it may be.
“Aela,” he breathes onto her perfect skin, memorizing the warmth of her beneath his touch. There is a weight to his voice - so much more to be said beneath it, so much more that he should say - but he cannot find the words. So silence befalls him, much to his dismay.
His mind is not hers but his emotions can be easily plucked from his thoughts if she wishes, aggrieved and tumultuous.
Perfect. He calms for a moment, the scarlet of his eyes meeting hers with a sweeping motion, allowing the compliment to sink into the darkness of his skin. Focusing with a quiet concentration, Skandar copies the shining black scales that often creep along Obscene’s skin - smooth and glittering in their layered formation. Beyond perfection, he retorts silently with a quirk of his dark brows. Of course, he is - she would not allow him to be anything less and would not accept him if it were otherwise.
The closeness of her breath on his armored skin fogs the shine of Obscene’s scales, the sensation causing them to retreat and disappear, flickering into the obsidian of his skin. She pulls away (too soon) and he cannot help but follow, his head drifting towards her as her electric gaze watches him expectantly. He pauses but it is for no more than a second (perhaps it is the waters that embolden him, that allow him to dare to push any boundary that they may have skirted around before) and in the single-step he takes to draw closer to her, the black and gold of Obscene is stripped away in a wave of fluttering skin, returning the pieces of his flesh into that mystical, starry pattern.
It is in this form that his mouth attempts to find her throat - the same part of her delicate pulse that he had scarred with terrible fangs. There would no monstrosity or violence in his touch but instead, a sort of heat that leaves his own lips burning. He caresses her lightly, almost with regret for the impulsivity that caused him to bite into her throat, his chest tightening as her heartbeat quickens beneath his lips. He can feel his own pulse match the fervent beat of her own, tracing her golden skin for a moment more before even allowing his burning orange gaze to glance at her reaction, prepared for whatever it may be.
“Aela,” he breathes onto her perfect skin, memorizing the warmth of her beneath his touch. There is a weight to his voice - so much more to be said beneath it, so much more that he should say - but he cannot find the words. So silence befalls him, much to his dismay.
skandar
i want to be the bullet
that brings you to your knees
@Aela