“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He’s withdrawn enough to meet her eyes, as she looks up at him through long and impossibly dark lashes.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.

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.

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.