"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
I call him the devil because he makes me want to sin (and every time he knocks, I can't help but let him in)
He shivers a little when she talks of the first day—of how he had frightened her. It is such a wildly delicious memory for him, the way she had quaked and run from him, the way she had smelled, soaked in the sweat of her terror. The beautiful prey she had been, so obediently listening to him as he drove her through the hallways of a nightmare of his own design, the paths crooked and narrow and dangerous.
Of course, he cannot tell her that he aches for that feeling again—that if he wanted short-term instead of long-term pleasure that he would gladly turn on her again, pressing the edges of his fangs into her jugular to let her bleed out on the gray, dusty floor of Pangea. He cannot admit such things to her so instead, he turns the shiver into a shudder of regret, of embarrassment, his dark eyes downcast.
“I am sorry. I don’t know why you do that to me.”
Her fault. Of course that day had been her fault. He couldn’t have controlled the way she made him feel. But she apologizes, falling into place, and so he leans over, rewarding her with a lingering kiss along her jaw. “I forgive you. We won’t let it happen again.” Or he wouldn’t let her know that it would happen again. One day, he would chase her again. One day, he would turn on her, the predator that she thinks that she has tamed enough to sleep by her bedside. One day, he would leave her broken and alone.
He forces the thought from his mind, instead focusing on her body pressing up against him, the way that she shivers and blushes—both wonton with need and recoiling with fear as the wasteland opens up before them. She folds into him and he leans down, playing with the beautiful, pale tendrils of her mane for a moment before forcing her away so that he could look at her. His eyes are clear, steady as they hold hers.
“Good,” he nods, although he does not immediately tell her that he loves her back. Let her think on that for a while. “People who are in love would do anything for the one they love, right?” It was rhetorical but he paused as if he expected an answer. “You would do anything for me, wouldn’t you?”
His face is beautiful, serious, and almost a little sad as he looks at her.
"Good. People who are in love would do anything for the one they love, right?"
She smiled up at him. "You would do anything for me, wouldn't you? Otherwise, you wouldn't really love me."
Her eyes widened. Of course she did! How could she not? He was beyond perfect. His appearance was practically divine, his voice so smooth and sexy. And kind. He had become so kind to her, and she didn't want that to ever change. Yes, of course she'd do anything to be certain it never went away.
I am yours, she confirmed softly, pressing her nose into his neck again and breathing his wonderful scent in. She was blissfully happy with him. She never would have thought anyone would want her, and some how he did. Not just anyone, but someone so completely fantastic as he. She was so very lucky, and she didn't want to ever lose him.
I would do anything to make you happy. She said it with confidence, knowing he would not be that monster again. She would make sure he stayed this way, his good self. The one that loved her. He hadn't actually said it, but he didn't need to. It was in his touch, in his eyes, in that guilt in his voice when they talked of him chasing her before. No, he wouldn't chase her again now.
She sighed happily into him, wishing this day would never end. Most especially when night came and she would try to hide from the other residents. She was afraid they would find her, treat her more cruelly than even his monster had. There were far worse things that could be done to her than frightening and chasing her. She pulled away from him, suddenly hesitant as she met his eyes then looked away timidly.
Bruise.. Would you stay with me tonight? I'm afraid of the others. She felt weak for admitting it, but he loved her. He would understand and want the best for her. Wouldn't he? Maybe he might even want to hold her..
I call him the devil because he makes me want to sin (and every time he knocks, I can't help but let him in)
She says exactly what he wants her to say, and he closes his eyes in pleasure, his smile hazy and pleased. What a good little toy she was turning out to be. Feeling affectionate, although admittedly for all of the wrong reasons, he returns the physical attention she pays him, once again grooming her gently, picking at the soft cream of her mane, lips trailing down and carving out the different angles of her face. He pays particular mind to her jawline and neck, the most sensitive parts, but also the places he most liked to imagine her breaking, the blood beneath the skin practically calling out him, simmering just for him.
“Good,” he says in his low, throaty hum. “I want to be happy with you.”
Putting the weight of the relationship upon her, giving her responsibility and domain of it. It was subtle, but it was laying the bricks of the foundation; brick by brick, he reminded himself. Brick by brick. While she was, thankfully, malleable enough that he was able to expedite this entire process, he knew that he wouldn’t always be able to push his luck with her. Eventually, even she would grow suspicious.
At her request, his face grows hard and he swings his gaze outward to the rest of Pangea. “No one will touch you,” he snarls, every bit the possessive, protective lover. Possessive was correct; Bruise did not like to share his toys. Protective, however, he was not. He softens as he looks back to her, apology writ in his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, hesitantly reaching out to her, drawing her into him, pressing his lips to her forehead where they linger. “I just get so angry when I think about someone else touching you.”
For a moment, they stay there, interlocked before he whispers.
“Of course, I will stay with you. I will always be with you.”
01-15-2017, 05:39 PM (This post was last modified: 01-15-2017, 05:41 PM by Rhae.)
Rhae
She dove into his possessive tone, finding endless comfort and security in it. Protective. His, and only his. So safe and loved. Just what she wanted, what she had always needed and craved. Her body thrummed in pleasure and her eyes shined with happiness. Nobody would dare touch her, because she was his.
And he was hers, too. Her Bruise.
"Of course, I will stay with you. I will always be with you," he whispered. Her face brightened, heart leaping. She could never be happier than she was just now, here at his side. Loved by him, wanted by him. Protected. Maybe he needed her as much as she needed him. She hoped so.
Bruise, she cooed sweetly, just to say it, just to feel it wrapped so warmly in her love for him. She hadn't even realized that she was no longer ducking her head in attempted anonymity. Hair no longer curtained her dark face as she looked to him, met his captivating eyes so openly. So easily. She would never be like this for anyone else, only him. He made her stronger. She needed him.
In a sudden urge for play, she clipped at his neck with a tinkling laugh and bounced away from him. The shy girl was transformed into someone new as she ran a few paces away, forgetting the gentle curve in her spine that made her odd, forgetting everything else entirely. There was only him.
She stopped to look at him from where she'd paused, head held high with laughing eyes and bright smile. A clear whinny rang out for him, urging him to play! Then she was bounding away again without a backwards glance in a fun little zigzag like a doe.
I call him the devil because he makes me want to sin (and every time he knocks, I can't help but let him in)
The sweetness of her voice sickens him, but he doesn’t show it, doesn’t show that he is repulsed by the syrup of it. Instead he just presses his lips to her forehead, chest tightening as he reminds himself, over and over again, that art is pain. He was not meant to always like it. If he was to only create canvases from the crude splashing of Fear upon it, the blood splattering outward, then he would be a hack—not a true artist. He needed to put time and effort into it. Sacrifice. Like he was sacrificing now, with her syrupy voice ringing in his ears, the role of protector and enamored lover, stretching thin and pulling tight.
Before he knew what was happening, she was running away from him and his heart raced in his chest, the need to chase expanding and contracting painfully. This is different, he reminds himself, watching as she scampers away, all light and play, her laughter ringing out into a wasteland that begged, that deserved to be filled with screams. He could barely keep a grimace from his face, the need to hunt from his bones.
He gave in though, indulging her desire to play although he was convinced that such frivolity was far beneath him. With a laugh of his own, forced from his throat, and unnatural to his ears even then, he broke into an easy canter, the motion effortlessly graceful. The ground swept underneath him and despite the fact that he knew he could overtake her easily, he checked himself, staying several feel behind her.
Allowing just a little more speed, he caught up enough to press a kiss to her haunches, his teeth carefully pulled away from the velvet of his lips, before he fell behind her again, letting her run forward. It would be so easy, he thought, staring at her from behind, the cream of her trail streaming behind her rich coat, it would be so easy…he broke the thought forcefully, catching up to her side once more and grinning at her.
