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  • Beqanna

    COTY

    Assailant -- Year 226

    QOTY

    "But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura


    [mature]  you’re dripping like a saturated sunrise, Tunnel
    #11
    Her fear has slowly evolved into a sort of morbid curiosity, unable to tear her gaze from the intimidating blue stallion. She is oddly still, ever mindful of each breath she takes, worried that maybe he can hear the way her heart is beating erratically in her chest. When he bridges the gap between them, she does not shy away, though she diverts her eyes to the ground as his breath fans across her skin. The sensation of it sends a shiver down her spine, an oddly satisfying feeling that she tries to ignore. ”Yes,” She says, a quiet response to his first question. But are you afraid of me? she thinks as her eyes hesitantly lift to meet his again from behind her black forelock.

    She is certain they are not the same in that regard. Not even close.

    Her eyes close as his touch finds her face, biting her lip against the turmoil that is boiling inside of her. Her fear and desire are at war with one another, and not even she is sure which one will win. Briseis has always been driven by instinct, but she has never been in a situation where she was being told two things at once. ”Be less afraid? I can’t just...choose to not be afraid of certain things.” Like being afraid of you, another unspoken thought, an unfinished sentence.

    ”What do you want from me, Tunnel?” She finally asks, looking up at him through her long lashes. But as she asks the words, she can feel her blood running cold, fear trembling from the nape of her neck and across the ridge of her back. She is afraid — afraid of saying the wrong thing, afraid of setting him off, of crossing the lines she still doesn’t know exist.

    briseis.
    you’re ripped at every edge but you’re a masterpiece

    @[Tunnel]
    Reply
    #12





    “No, obviously not.” He snarls, because he is certain she could stop being afraid if she were motivated enough, but that isn’t his problem. “...but I could distract you.” And he lips at her cheek, a sultry kiss that he drags back behind her ear, grooms the skin behind her poll. He has taken his time with her and, as unlikely as it is, she seems inpatient for him to move on. Not away, but on with this.

    What do you want from me, Tunnel? She asks, not quite a whisper but soft enough to put him in mind of the murmurs between lovers.

    He’s withdrawn enough to meet her eyes, as she looks up at him through long and impossibly dark lashes. “Why Briseis… I don’t want anything. It’s already mine.” He rumbles, deep and seductive with the electricity of cruelty riding every syllable with a hiss and snap. He pivots, dark legs shifting in the needles and ferns and he is beside her, his shoulder just behind hers. They are close and even if she flees him now she will only narrowly evade the white teeth that close against the roots of her ebony mane behind the crest of her neck, forcing her a fraction closer with a jerk of his head, unsatisfied with her stillness, or the centimeters between them, something undefinable. He lifts his fore-hooves from the black loam as he releases her, only to drop his teeth against her withers, to cut her skin between tooth and bone. He doesn’t usually draw the blood of his precious things, but Briseis has inspired him.

    When he lets her go he drops his head to breathe the perfume off the line  of her shoulder, a featherlight touch, a taunt of gentleness to follow the pain he’s inflicted. “Don’t you want to be mine?”

    As if she has a choice.


    like a shipwreck we die going into ourselves
    as though we were drowning inside our hearts




    @[Briseis]
    the heart moving through a tunnel
    in it darkness, darkness, darkness
    Reply
    #13
    The way his touch drags along the top of her neck makes her muscles twitch, as though for a second she was debating trying to flee. Running was her first reaction to most things; from her nightmares, from danger. And yet in this case, the things she had fled had chased her into the jaws of something far more terrifying — something that she wasn’t going to just wake up from.

    Already mine, his words echo in her ears, and she can feel the heat as it rushes from her body — when for just a moment, her heart stops. Before she can react, his teeth grasp the tangled threads of her mane, roughly jerking her closer to him, close enough that she knows he will feel the way her body trembles, the muscles nearly convulsing underneath her black coat. Her anxiety manifests as glistening sweat along her neck and flanks, struggling to bring her mind from the fog it is trapped in, with his blue form towering over her.

    When he lands his teeth against her withers, harsh and unrelenting, she involuntary shies sideways, her black legs a tangled mess as she stumbles away. The dark blood nearly blends with her impossibly black coat, and when he moves to caress the throbbing skin she visibly flinches away, her heartbeat an erratic pulse in her chest.

    His question ignites something in her, awakens a nearly dead ember, and it fills her chest until it spreads to her veins and shows in the way her eyes darken, almost harden, and her ears fall flat to her head in response. ”I’m not yours,” And even though her voice is quiet, it is unwavering, twirling around rapidly to face him. ”You can’t just decide that.”

    And yet, for all her words, she still hasn’t ran.

    briseis.
    you’re ripped at every edge but you’re a masterpiece

    @[Tunnel]
    Reply
    #14




    All his fractionated tortures culminate into a moment that finally draws her out in a way that truly stirs him. The fight flares to life in Briseis and her eyes darken with anger that ripples over her body. He can almost see the the indignation that fires down her nerves. If he could fan the flames and turn her into a rippling black fury she would be splendid. He wants more, to push her to the point of breaking and see what follows. The fear was boring, expected, it will return but it is the flares of tenacity that he appreciates.

    Another villain might laugh in the face of her bravery but Tunnel only follows the steps of her dance with cool eyes, tilting his head a little as she whirls and spits her words at him. “No, I can’t.” And then he is silent, just watches her for the span of several heart beats, lets her absorb the truth that he has not spoken. She stays, even now within his reach, waiting for him to take from her, to unravel her fears and create something new in their place.

    Briseis decides.

    Tunnel steps toward her again with a hunters patience, his black barred legs controlled, hooves settling back against the earth with deafening silence. She is beautifully feral, and she has turned on him without being cornered. The blue beast circles Briseis, just out of reach though he is not inclined to expect her to lash out at him, rounding her once before tightening the circle, closing the noose to slide up alongside her, lining his shoulder up with her flank and dropping his lips to graze his teeth against her hip. “You chose, Briseis.” The words are a soft growl, lips tracing over the place, roaming down the slope toward her belly, breathing her in. The tension in her frame sings a song he cannot resist, the taught canvas of her soft skin quivering under the fall of his breath.


    like a shipwreck we die going into ourselves
    as though we were drowning inside our hearts




    @[Briseis]
    the heart moving through a tunnel
    in it darkness, darkness, darkness
    Reply
    #15
    He is impossibly calm, but in a way that is unsettling. Like the surface of dark water that is too flat, or a forest that does not rustle with the sounds of birds in its treetops; the longer that he watches her in silence, the tighter that foreboding fist begins to clench. She is crushed beneath the apprehension, the uncertainty of what was to come, and she knows he can feel the way it hums off her skin like electricity. His collected quietness has sent her heart hammering against her ribs again, wishing that he would just do whatever it is he is going to do. She wonders if this is his plan, part of his torture, to spiral her into fear and madness before he pulls her apart.

    Like a cat plays with its prey, and she can do nothing but stand there, half-paralyzed in her fear, and slowly allowing the realization to dawn over her that she had missed her opportunity to escape long ago.

    He circles close, so close, so that she can feel the heat that rises from his skin even though they are not touching. Her skin shivers, her nearly smoldering eyes following him as he narrows his path around her, something between fear and fury hardening the lines of her usually soft face. But the task that has been laid before her is impossible. She is small in comparison to him, lithe and refined even for a mustang, and to physically fight him would be disastrous on her part. At this point, she thinks running would only spark a chase.

    But for all her anger and terror, there is a part of her that wonders, if she can just be compliant, if she can grit her teeth through her fear, perhaps she can just let it be over — whatever it may be.

    The feel of his teeth against the svelte curve of her hip triggers her to shy to the side once more, her small ears still lost in the tangled mess of her mane. The anger is slowly giving way to simply fear once more, and something similar to a defeated acceptance has subdued what once burned in her umber eyes. Everywhere she moved, he followed her faster, his larger frame looming against hers, his teeth always quick to catch her skin or mane. He was like a shadow, hovering so close until he suffocated her, until he finally has forced her into submission.

    Except, shadows had always been kind to her. They reminded her of quiet, of solitude, and of Ether — glowing eyes in the dark, cool skin against her hot flesh, and she finds herself wishing that when she steals a glance into the dark, that his shadows could simply appear and swallow her whole. He could take her far away from here, from him, if he only knew where she was.

    Even in the lack of light her neck shimmered with perspiration, her mane clinging to the nape of it, and when she rests her eyes on his, her voice is hushed but taut when she says, ”I made the wrong choice, then.” There is still an edge of defiance, flickering just faintly in her eyes, evident in the rise and fall of her voice, and etched in the way her muscles are rigid beneath her coat. He had her firmly within his grasp, now, and all she could do was wait to be cast aside.

    briseis.
    you’re ripped at every edge but you’re a masterpiece

    @[Tunnel]
    Reply
    #16




    Let him be the stuff of her nightmares. As he presses his flesh to her, let him press into her dreams, and live in her wandering thoughts, waiting to be found in the quiet moments when she lets her mind stray too far.

    He is inspired to violence but never in a predictable pattern.

    They dance so briefly and his dark ears are full of her heavy breathing and thump and shuffle of their hooves through the undergrowth. The forest around them is silent as the malice spreads out from Tunnel like an invisible black fog. He pursues each little shift, where she steps away he steps in, and his body is a wall of hard insistent muscle bullying her just a little further. He might catch her looking furtively into the dark but it doesn’t matter because this is his corner of the night and there will be no rescue. ‘Too late’ has come and gone.

    I made the wrong choice, then. She says in defiance of him and Tunnel’s cold grey eyes are flat. “Right and wrong do not live here, Briseis.” Whatever compass she lives by spins uselessly in the world in which the blue monster dwells. He raises himself up to cover her, teeth unforgiving on her night-black hide as he forces himself inside her, tasting the blood on her withers when his teeth cut her skin again. He could feast on her flesh, truly make himself all of her fears but is too consumed with fucking her to take a bite. Sweat turns his hide an inky midnight blue, and he reaches out to sink his teeth into the back of Briseis neck as he spills into her with a rumbling shudder.

    He takes his time sliding off of her, forcing her to bear his bulk, his hot breath on her neck and shoulders. When he does dismount it is only to settle beside her, tracing his muzzle along her spine firm and slow, breathing in the smell of their mingled sweat and finding that her fragrance is now even more enjoyable. She might have smelled of other places and men when she arrived, but no more. Now there is only sex and a nightmare on her skin. “You are mine.” If she would like to dispute this he can show her again.

    like a shipwreck we die going into ourselves
    as though we were drowning inside our hearts




    [Briseis] Sorry, its crap, feel free to ignore anything that you don't like Big Grin
    the heart moving through a tunnel
    in it darkness, darkness, darkness
    Reply
    #17
    She hardly has a moment to react, before he is on top of her. Her breath rushes from her lungs in a strangled gasp, and even though she tries to dart forward, his weight and vice-like grip is enough to keep her in place. She is forced to withstand it, the feel of him inside of her, and his teeth repeatedly against her neck. She can feel the warmth of her own blood as it trickles down her skin, and the nausea that fills her stomach the entire time he is on top of her. The fear and terror is palpable in the way her body shakes underneath of him, and she squeezes her eyes shut in an attempt to block it all out. This is nothing like with Leilan, and the furthest thing possible from what she had with Ether. This was aggressive and cruel – it was void of lust, and especially of passion.

    Her jaw clenches tightly to ward off the tears that fill behind her eyes as he shudders and finishes inside of her, her face taut and withdrawn when he finally slides off and stands alongside of her. Whatever defiance and fire she had managed to summon is eradicated. The vacancy in her eyes is unmistakable, and she hardly even flinches as he drags his nose along her back, not able to bring herself to care. She doesn’t look to the shadows anymore; wherever they are, it is not where Ether lurks, and that settles like a cold, sickening acceptance over her.

    She is covered in his scent, and she wonders if she will ever be rid of it. When he says that she is his, this is the only time she lifts her eyes to look at him. She wants to defy him. She wants to tell him no, that she would never, ever willingly be his. But she doesn’t have the energy to fight him again, especially since she had lost the first time. And so, she says nothing, hoping that perhaps with the light of day and his waning adrenaline that he would grow tired of her, and she could begin the agonizingly slow process of forgetting that this had ever happened.

    briseis.
    you’re ripped at every edge but you’re a masterpiece

    @[Tunnel]
    Reply




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