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    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


    [private]  Brigade;
    #11

    you could break my heart in two, but when it heals, it beats for you

    Every story about Kensa begins with once upon a time there was a sweet girl, impatient to see the world…

    Those stories all end with the woman who Brigade stands before.

    When first she invited him near it had been with the easy confident charm that most see, she hadn’t been in the mood for overt flirtation or to simply pluck those few chords that pull men apart so that she can look at their insides. Now she sees that would not have worked on Brigade anyway, even if she had wanted him that way just then.

    He had frightened her, and she realizes she has become too accustomed to others yielding to her beauty in the daylight. If she had met him with her dark heart dragged out onto her sleeve they might have come together effortlessly and then likely never spoken again.

    But she wants him, wants his anger, and the burn of his stormy eyes even if she should not. She wants to break into him and feel him crash over her. Kensa could have a body likes his cover hers anytime but it would not feel like Brigade. She knows though she has never touched him that he is singular. Her desires are not just desires, but a soul deep longing to know him that should not have manifested so quickly.

    His rebuff—for that is what she hears—does not strike her in the way she prepared for. It hurts, yes, but it angers her too. The rejection and irritation tumbling together and creasing her brow. Here in the middle of the sea that he had placed between them it is cold. Kensa freezes and burns, embarrassed and furious and still more embarrassed by that.

    “I will do as I please.” Managing to spit the words in exchange for the warning. His eyes belong to the wolves she knows from her childhood. Better to stand her ground than to run from a lone predator lest he bring her low as she retreats.

    He holds on even as he tells her to go.

    So she presses in again, dropping her ears back into the blond mess of her mane, but still never touching him, coming close enough that the bridge of her nose hovers inches from his when her arch neck is so drawn. The tension in her frame animating her anew when she hisses at him, those panting breaths easily passing for anger. “You may never come to me, but I am not going to be frightened away by your hateful glares.”

    Kensa



    @[brigade]
    Reply
    #12

    BRIGADE

    Brigade may never fully understand the way that he has inherited the worst of his parents.

    He has his mother’s guards—her never-ending ability to hold others at bay—and his father’s temper. He is a collision of their wildest sides, their most feral instincts, the pieces of them that had never been refined. It leaves him reckless and angry, hungering constantly for a connection he instantly severs. It leaves him pushing others way as quickly as he can and yet yearning for them to stay, to just stay.

    She manages to continue pushing forward and he remains as immovable as mountains.

    His face is carved from granite, the red of his coat in stark contrast to the white that ribbons down his face. His wide jaw is set, stone-colored eyes hard as he pins his ears and looks down, finally pulling back his lips to reveal his teeth—blunt and flat and completely incapable of doing any true damage.

    “Do you always do as you please?” his voice is hardened and she’s so close that he can practically feel the heat radiating off of her. There is something about the set of her jaw and the spark in her eye that makes him want to do something to wipe it away, to stop her from feeling so damn smug, so confident.

    She is so close that the tension between them nearly crackles and he finally snaps.

    Without thinking, he pushes back into her, teeth reaching out and nipping at the corner of her mouth. He barely manages to restrain himself as he drags her closer to him—nearly blind with the short amount of freedom he gives himself. He’s everywhere, heart thundering in his chest, reaching out and finding that she tastes as sweet and dangerous as she sounds. “Kensa,” he manages, and it’s barely audible between his gritted teeth, lips running down her face and sweeping underneath her jaw to the delicate flesh.

    He pauses for a second, forehead pressing into her, breathing hard.

    Swallowing, he pushes himself back, disheveled.

    “It would be better if the only thing you got from me was hateful glares.”

    It would be better for them both.

    the world was on fire and no one could save me but you
    it's strange what desire will make foolish people do



    @[Kensa]
    Reply
    #13

    you could break my heart in two, but when it heals, it beats for you


    He does not back away, or relent and meet her part way. Brigade is a citadel and she hates that she feels like a desperate girl. Nothing in his face changes as it had before, she is undone by the stillness, by the refusal she reads on every inch of wine-red muscle. The wind picks up yet again, whips her blond locks across her freckled face, softening the obstinate set of her features in a way she would despise if she could see it.

    Isn’t she strong enough to face someone like him and bend him to her will? She who refuses to be weak ever again?

    It summons up too much, her seams are torn and the petals that she stuffs her bodice with are fluttering away and exposing the angry onyx bones beneath. If she is honest she thought she could woo him, carry him home in her heart and wait for the day he would climb into Hyaline to find her, his mind and body crazed by the memory of her. Stupid girl. Yes! Yes I do! She wants to scream it in his face, challenge her pulsing fear of his bared teeth (enough to hurt her even if he is not satisfied with their capacity for violence), the innate desire to submit. Her silence is louder, resisting further humiliation at the hands of this hateful creature.

    She doesn’t hear any thunder.

    Brigades teeth are at the corner of her mouth in an instant, without warning and she lets herself be dragged in, pulled close, exhaling abruptly as though she’d been struck only to gasp at the taste of him. She is only allowed a moment to press her lips back before he is gone, searing his way down her skin with her name in his mouth, his breath hot against the latch of her throat. She leans in to his touch like a broken thing, shivering when he pauses, her breathing a hitching and erratic.

    Nothing she can say will please him. She understands this has he withdraws, and knows too that he told her no lies when he said she should stay away. This man is no play thing to entertain her between trysts and she wants to rage at that truth too. He is too much, the sensations too vast and the danger too great to risk herself on. Kensa should fold and leave him with his hateful glares.

    “Brigade.”

    She can think of nothing else to say, and so pants his name like an oath before taking back the distance he has put between them pressing her forehead to his. When she kisses him she means it to be tender, to plead with him with her body but she cannot manage it long. She catches his lip in her teeth before trailing her mouth along the granite planes of his face, pressing her cheek to his, baring her throat to his mouth, his teeth. “...Brigade it wouldn’t be enough.”


    Kensa



    @[brigade]
    Reply
    #14

    BRIGADE

    She rips open his defenses and she leaves him bare and vulnerable. Except it only serves to stoke his own fury, to make him that much more aware of his weakness. He is so young and so foolish and he has no real defenses against someone like her. Someone who stands up to him and refuses to yield; someone who doesn’t back down when he bites at her, who steps into his inferno and drags him closer.

    He mind whirls with it, his heart thundering.

    He can’t decide if he loves her or hates her; if he wants to kill her or let her kill him.

    She says his name and he bites back a groan, fighting to remain impassive and calm. But she closes the distance again and he loses the battle, feels the undertow. The defenses come crashing down and instead of his steel, she gets his oceans. It roars through his head as her teeth catch his lip and he nearly shakes his antlered head, trying to clear his mind of anything but the fog and the waves that crash through it.

    “Kensa,” he says again, and it is like a plea, but he doesn’t push her away again. He doesn’t try to fight the roiling hunger in his belly and the feral growl that builds in the back of his throat, His mouth finds her jaw and then her throat, his teeth grazing down the graceful curve of her neck to her withers.

    He wants to consume her. Wants to tear her apart. Wants to figure out what lives beneath the beautiful surface and lies beneath those dangerous eyes. “Kensa,” this time, his voice is darker and her flesh is between his teeth. He can taste the salt of her and the mountains and the lake that she has described; he can taste the wild right there and it drags at the wanderlust dreaming of his heart—the need, the want.

    “This is a mistake,” he manages, because he knows it is. She has no way of knowing the selfish ways of his young heart. She doesn’t know how deeply jealous he is. How possessive. She doesn’t know that he consumes what he loves and destroys what he wants and that she is wading too deep into the riptide.

    She doesn’t know that beneath his stormy grey eyes there is pieces of himself he has yet to discover.

    She doesn’t know. He doesn’t know.

    But it’s lost in the feverish way that he pulls her against him, that he kisses her, head spinning when he realizes that he barely knows her—that they have barely met. But it doesn’t matter. The pressure in his chest continues to build and he loses himself in the moment, in the press of her against him.

    the world was on fire and no one could save me but you
    it's strange what desire will make foolish people do



    @[Kensa]
    Reply
    #15

    you could break my heart in two, but when it heals, it beats for you

    She knows. She knows it is a mistake, that she is buying agony with her lust. Kensa has had so many others, knows the dance, and what it will cost. In the summer time her womb is empty and not yet ready to be seeded and so she has no concerns at all… normally. Normally she doesn’t feel anything but desire.

    Its frustration she tells herself in the stuttering repetitive thoughts that circle through her mind. He made it so hard and that is why she needs him, why she craves this son of Tephra. Loess. Brigade has been so close to her and she has not known, and in her lust she is already thinking of when she can next have him touch her. Greed.

    “What is..?

    She knows.

    Kensa asks him though she knows because she is savoring the pressure of his teeth against her withers and crushing herself to his velvet chest. His neck is a wall of muscle against which she leans, a kiss is pressed to his shoulder above the pinion of his wing, a sharp nip following shortly after.

    Wings have always been alluring to her. Kensa steps away from him. It smells like rain out here now, and like him, like his sweat, and her desire. Her mouth chooses a feather, tasting and smoothing it against the others. Drawing her chin in she noses beneath the edge of that wing, to the darkness of his side and the rich scent of his skin and the dusty fragrance of feathers. She would slide beneath that vast burgundy wing if he would only let her, curl against him as she rain comes and touch him until his needs override all thought of what they should not do or be to one another.

    Kensa

    Reply
    #16

    BRIGADE

    She must know what she is doing.

    She must, she must.

    Each touch, each moment is enough to send him spiraling until he can’t hear through the dull roar that builds in his ears. He can feel the soft velvet of her nose, the heat of her mouth, the sting of her teeth. He can feel the way that she is slowly and surely pulling him apart, leaving him unraveled. He knows that there was something important he had to say, but he can’t remember what; he knows that there was something he knew that he had to stop, but he can’t remember what he was meant to do.

    She asks him a question but it doesn’t cut through the fog.

    All he can do is keep tasting the wilderness down the smooth curve of her neck and the elegant arch of her back. The way that she opens up before him like a feast and he can only lose himself within it. He bites back the dark growl that builds in his throat again and he knows (he knows) that he not being gentle enough with her. He is taking and hoarding and not stopping to be sweet and soft.

    She comes to his wing and he is practically blind with everything that rages in him. He nips at her, bites, feels the give of flesh and then follows it with a searing kiss, but her question comes back to him. “This,” he finally manages, his voice throaty. “This is.” He shakes his antlered head and pulls back, gasping for air that he can’t seem to get, his broad chest heaving as he tries to steady himself.

    He has one hand on steady ground and he has to use it to pull himself up before he drowns. “I can’t,” and there is almost regret that darkens his voice, but he buries it under whatever steel he can muster. He takes another step back and the rich red of his coat is darkened, his heavy mane split over both sides of his arched neck, light grey eyes stormy. For a second, he says nothing, listening to nothing but the sound of the thunder that builds and the sound of their own breathing. She is so beautiful like this and it makes his chest ache with the desire to pull her close, to try and be gentle, to tell her just how lovely she is.

    But he doesn’t deserve that—look at the way he handled just the few moments he had been given.

    He’s so aware of his brutish hands, at the way he would crush her between his palms. He studies her face for a second longer, feeling that sharp pull of need in his belly and knowing that it, more than anything, is why he can’t stay. Is why he can’t continue. “I should go,” he says and he is surprised by how steady his voice sounds when everything within him feels so deeply turbulent. “I’m sorry.”

    the world was on fire and no one could save me but you
    it's strange what desire will make foolish people do



    @[Kensa]
    Reply
    #17

    you could break my heart in two, but when it heals, it beats for you

    The point of her shoulder rests against his, she cannot break from him completely and so stretches her neck to trace the curve of his powerful wing, the muscle lying just beneath. Extending herself under the fall of his lips and teeth like a cat that craves the violence of his touch, the opulent chestnut of her topline waiting to be carved by his desire.

    How poorly she has prepared in these fleeting moments to face his rejection yet again.

    This is. He pulls away from her and in the absence of his touch she can feel the way her pelt is disturbed, and that her mane is twisted away from its natural fall as her flesh prickles, repulsed by his ability to deny her—that she is something unworthy. I can’t. With the distance between them she can admire the density of his frame, his body carved my the rough terrains on which he has spent his life. She should understand how he sees her then, voluptuous but so pretty she must be fragile. Once she too had been solid, shaped by not dissimilar forces. Would he have feared breaking her then?


    Kensa has no ability to know his thoughts, why he hates and spurns her when she can feel the chemistry between (twisted, barbed like she is). If she could it would make her angier than she is when tears turn her topaz eyes glassy, but this is just the anger that comes with hurt confusion, and tears that cannot be shed.  

    Cliche though it may be the sky is darkening. Heat has pulled the storm rapidly inland.

    “I don’t understand you.” Its a curse whispered from her lips, too sharply because she cannot give someone like him her weakness. ”Then this is goodbye, Brigade. Save your apologies.” She might have coyly told him he knows where he can find her but in that moment she hates him too much and hopes he stays away from Hyaline. Likely he will when he finds her scent alone is the razor wire on the border. Kensa does not leave, but stares at the merlot dark man with her ears pinned against her suffering. She has only just met him and is furious that he can hurt her like this. Given the chance she might wonder where and when her confusion over his ferocity turned into this.

    There is something different in the refusal and the apology than the animosity that came before, just enough realness to make her ache despite the desire to lash out. She could love him if he let her, and Kensa realizes it is that which should frighten her most of all.

    “What do you want?” She adds suddenly before he can leave or decide to return to the granite monster that might decide to chase her off and  demonstrate his own absent weakness...and she shouldn’t ask, because her clear silvery voice breaks into a whisper on the last word almost destroying her cold brave face.

    Kensa



    @[brigade]
    Reply
    #18

    He hates the hurt in her eyes, the hurt that so quickly doubles with pain and anger, and this is reassuring. He wants her to hate him. Hate him as much as he hates himself. Hate him for his cruel ways and selfish heart and the way that he takes and then throws away however he pleases because it’s easier than opening himself up for similar hurt. So he doesn’t shy from the storms that reflect in her eyes behind the tears and he doesn’t flinch from the sharpness in her words. I don’t understand me either, he wants to say, but he remains silent, absorbing the anger and the daggers that she throws at him, letting them bounce off.

    He hopes that she will turn away—that this will finally drive her from him—but she persists.

    Before he can make the decision for them, storm clouds darkening the skies, threatening to rip open above them, she is asking him one final question and the way that her voice breaks undoes him. He bites his tongue until he can taste the blood and when the summer rain finally does fall, he doesn’t acknowledge it.

    You,” he growls and the answer is as much an accusation as anything else. “I want you, Kensa. All of you. Does it make you happier to hear me say it?” His light eyes turn mercurial behind the tangles of his forelock, his mouth twisted into something fierce. “I just met you and I want you and I can’t be trusted with that.” The words fall over themselves, his voice lower than usual, eyes pinning her there. 

    “Right now, I would beat myself black and blue for you.”

    He curses under his breath, the rain falling harder and causing his mane to stick to his heavy neck, splaying across the muscle and the untouched flesh—hardened by exertion and untouched by war. He looks back to her and takes a step back. “I would destroy you, Kensa,” her name is sweet still, poisoned honey and he lets it linger, “and I would enjoy it. So I have to go. I can’t stay here.” Another step back, lightening cracking above them and illuminating the area that had suddenly become so dark.

    BRIGADE

    when I was a man I thought it ended when I knew love's perfect ache
    but my peace has always depended on all the ashes in my wake



    @[Kensa]
    Reply
    #19

    you could break my heart in two, but when it heals, it beats for you

    It doesn’t make her feel better to hear it.

    She doesn’t shrink back or let the tears fall but it wouldn’t matter because the rain pours down upon them blurring the lines of her beautiful markings and leaving no room for tear-tracks on her face. It is too hard to fight him, he doesn’t want to bandy words with her, he wants to frighten and push her away. Kensa should have left when he warned her away, but now she has tasted him, had his mouth on hers and the vicious sting of his teeth punctuating the insistence of his touch. Ruined.

    “You don’t know me.”Kensa’s voice is mournful when she cuts in, raising it over the din of the storm in the trees around them, wind keening through the branches. She has listened with her wet eyes trained on his face watching it shift through its phases of darkness but never relenting, never giving her anything to grab onto to hold him. He doesn’t know her, and yes he is saying exactly the same thing, even if she does not mean it the same way. The words are useless, small hands pulling at the scaled arm of a leviathan.

    Right now, I would beat myself black and blue for you.

    She drops her head away from the fury of the rain, but the lightning splitting the darkness overhead doesn’t even stir a twitch from her soaked hide. Brigade steps back and finally Kensa does the same, though she doesn’t let go completely. “Try to fucking destroy me. “ Kensa snorts, shakes the rainwater soaked forelock from where it is plastered on her face and spins away from him. The earth beneath her feet is sucking mud already but Kensa digs in and throws herself into the empty meadow, surefooted, fleet beneath the driving rain. She could go to the river and go right home but doesn’t, she needs to run, to feel the distance stretching between herself and Brigade as raw as the longing to look back and see if he is leaving.  
     

    The wet earth under her feet, the storm drowning out the sounds of hooves, of rapid fire breathing. She needs the drugging adrenaline of this flight, the vicious beauty, to wash away whatever has just happened to her.

    Kensa



    @[brigade] I'm not wrapping this, but she is def running the fuck off. Big Grin
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