Scent is such a crucial thing to creatures such as they, and what a lovely adaptation her flowers, fragrance camouflage. So much so that he had not even been interested in finding out what lay beneath. It didn’t help that he had misplaced himself out here in this sunny summer meadow and did not see Bardot as something that had wandered into his web and thereby at his mercy.
Bardot had been too forward though, and would not allow him to get bored and drift back to his shadowed wood. Thus challenged he’d drawn near. She is warm, there is sunlight on his back and sunlight on his lips and the scent of her. Rich and distinct from those loathsome flowers but he understands why those blooms would need to be so cloying, because without them he might have come halfway across Beqanna to pull it from her skin. She is herself, not like any other, not intoxicating with fear like Briseis or savage like his Shroud. Bardot reminds him of nothing and no one and whatever she may be he has not encountered one before.
She probably hopes to frustrate him further with her flippancy, or even to look mad in some way. Instead his temper simmers back, his focus turned toward the way her neck arches and meets her withers, the shape of her back. He is not one to laugh, but he might have when her teeth pinched at the broad plane of his shadowed neck. What does Bardot think she’s claiming? Neither are you, says she, and Tunnel does not reply. He knows what he is, has never given much thought to presentation but reacts or does not, usually the former. Whatever Bardot thinks is hiding beneath his thick hide he himself is not aware of it.
“What do you think you’re doing Bardot?” He growls, lips grazing the curve of her cheek. The monster does not play silly games, not the kind that flirtatious girls play. One of those strange flowers clings to the crest of her neck and in a single smooth motion he reaches up to pluck it away and drop it to the grass at their feet. “You should go home.” The flower having drifted to the earth he brings his face to hers, nostrils flaring before he grabs hold of the line of her jaw and then releases her only to force his lips against her own. Action to satisfy impulse, that is all he has ever been.
Tunnel has had enough of the too bright meadow, of the openness and the distant stupid strangers. She is not the first that he has given the chance to escape, but he has never meant it less. He breaks away from her mouth, too volatile to let such a kiss drift into sweetness if it ever had a chance to. Shifting closer to press his chest to Bardot’s, he drops his teeth against her neck just near where he’d torn away the wretched flower now crushed beneath his hooves. Lashing his dark tail against his heavy, shifting hocks, Tunnel rumbles before reaching out to nip harshly at her withers.
@Bardot He wasn't cooperating, haha, but here are words. <3
