"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 V A R i'll use you as a makeshift gauge of how much to give and how much to take
Though she’d taken to the air in her departure, @[Karaugh] had not lingered overlong in Loess, and it is not difficult to follow her trail.
The smoky black stallion knows that Heda will make her own decision regarding this uncharacteristic invitation to Sylva. He intends to honor that decision, though he is reluctant to allow her to cross into the autumnal woods without his protection. The type of debauchery that the buckskin mare had suggested is not something that he wishes for Heda. She is soft and sweet and gentle, and she is his.
Ivar can still feel the soft press of emotion she’d given him, that delightful bit of love. To damage that seems unfathomable, and so there are things that he must do, safeguards he must put in place.
This is one such safeguard, Ivar knows.
The hills begin to decrease in size the farther south he goes, and the summer-green flora is scattered here and there with out-of-place autumn gold. This is the no man’s land between Loess and Sylva, and once he’s well within it, Ivar turns west, where the mountains reach into the sky along the coast. This is not the way she’d come, but he is not following a trail so much as a hunch. It’s correct, he knows, and is certain of it when he catches a familiar scent. It is not fresh, but as he walks the border and climbs higher into the mountains, it becomes stranger, layered by time and frequency.
Karaugh’s lair is somewhere near, and if she is not here she will return soon. Perhaps she is reporting on her journey to her red-eyed king, and the idea makes a dark sort of smile flicker across Ivar’s pale face.
Once she was sure any longing eyes were out of view she shifted into her more naturally unnatural form. Cutting swiftly into the canopy of flames, to the darkness she so admired. The rapid beating of her wings brought her effortlessly closer to her ridgeline. Her home.
Tucked into the rocky region was a few caverns. Her favorite was hidden just a little farther up. It's entrance draped in vine overgrowth. She did not immediately go to it after her diplomatic visit. There was a thurst that needed to be sated. The forests offered a variety of options but her favorite was an unsuspecting equine. Every so often one ventured a little too far from home. So when her heat sensors picked up on a figure lurking about the outer edge of Sylva she became intruiged on who her next meal would be...
Whoever it was looked as if they were searching for something, someone. Setting her hunger aside for curiousity she dove in a bit closer before morphing into her equine state with leathery wings folded at her sides. The heat signature fades to reveal more natural colors and... A devious grin curls her lips as she knows just who it was, "Well, well, well... What have we here?!" She coos in delight. The pied stallion wasted little time in accepting her offer but she wonders which he has come for. "Bored without me?" She questions rhetorically. "I'm afraid your a tad early for the kingdoms party," she strides forward to his side. "I suppose we could start the festivities early though," she gives him a flirtatious glance before dragging her eyes across his sloped shoulders. She waits for his thoughts before continuing further...
I V A R i'll use you as a makeshift gauge of how much to give and how much to take
He is no skilled zoologist, but the leathery wings that Kraugh had flown away on were familiar. They are not the dragon wings worn by Castile, but rather a more natural version, similar to those of the bats that occupy many of the small caves of Loess. That suspicion is confirmed when a little brown bat suddenly becomes a much larger creature: Karaugh, hanging from the sky on leathery wings.
When she lands, Ivar remains where he was standing, one hind leg cocked casually as she comes closer. There is no mistaking the delight in her expression, but Ivar’s pale face remains carefully still. She had been a visiting diplomat a few hours earlier, and while he is now on her turf, there are still some decisions to be weighed. There is no water nearby – that he knows from his childhood – but that seems to matter less than he had originally anticipated.
The buckskin mare comes closer, teasing him about an early arrival, and Ivar glances down to where she stands beside him. This time, there is nothing stopping him from looking her over more fully. Her dappled pelt glows with health, and even the muted sunlight does not hide her attractiveness. She is very little like Heda save the buckskin coloring, but Ivar is not thinking of Heda in this moment. She is safe at home, protected and secure, and he must do what is necessary to keep her that way.
If that means reaching down to Karaugh, and ghosting his pale mouth just above her shoulder, then so be it.
“I wanted to be sure the party would live up to the hype,” he lies, following the curve of her shoulder up to her withers, where he breathes in the familiar scent of Sylva and wanton mare in the tangle of her black mane. She has already offered, but he needs something more than her panting beneath him. Ivar does not have the words to describe that something more, but he had taken it from the soft green pegasus, and he plans to take it from Karaugh as well. She will probably even be willing, but he is still deliberately slow, watching for a reaction.
He closes his mouth – sharp-toothed mouth, nothing like his father’s – around the base of her mane, where the flesh is soft and the delicate muscles are so close to the skin. He bites down but does not draw blood, only holds her tightly enough that she could not move away without pain. The hold is brief, but it is a caution and a question, is this really what she wants? He’d not intended to give her a choice, but this close her golden coat looks like Heda’s, and it is enough to soften him – even for a moment.
Ivar wants her to squirm, wants her to give him a reason to bite down.
10-15-2017, 08:11 PM (This post was last modified: 10-15-2017, 08:12 PM by Karaugh.)
There is a thick hanging of lust in the air. Whether of flesh or blood - maybe both - it mattered little in the moment. In his reaching out to her a familiar tingle radiates down her spine. Ebony traced ears capture his statement but words escape her as his teeth bare down on her withers firmly. A quick gasp of air escapes instead. Leaning into him as he takes control.
The slight release allows her to shift her wings as a grin curls her ebony lips. Dark chocolate eyes bore into his to find what passion drove him to her territory. Surely flesh was plentiful elsewhere. Blood filled every inhabitant in Beqanna. His remark earlier suggested disinterest in the kingdoms invite. So she inquires in an airy breath against his slick scales, "What do you really want Ivar?" For once her question was sincere in requiring an answer, be it words or actions. Her wing lifts slightly. The bony finger - placed at the joint of the span - tracing lightly along the slope of his shoulder. She wanted to know his deepest desires.
Learn them.
Taste them.
Push him to the limits to see how much he could truly handle. She was not his meek queen. She would not lie down in submission willingly. He'd have to earn that...
I V A R i'll use you as a makeshift gauge of how much to give and how much to take
“Everything.” The scaled creature replies, truthful at last. He wants everything that she will give him, and everything that he can take.
He is a more selective predator than the little bat. There is a season to his hunting, criteria for his prey. Karaugh meets them all, and the sweet smell of decaying leaves below the autumnal canopy is enough season for Ivar. She wants him as a stallion, and perhaps as something more. The gasp she takes at his firm hold is more than fear, and for the first time he wonders if perhaps she might give him more than he had previously anticipated.
When she slides the tip of her wing against his shoulder, he releases his hold on her withers. Instead he ducks his head, reaching for the forearm of her wing, the solid bone to which the rest of her wing connects. He means to bite it, to crush it between his powerful jaws and render her flightless.
He had come to drain her dry, to leave her on the border as a warning to the red-eyed king. Seduction had only been a means to an end, but he suspects that the uptick in her heartbeat at his teeth on her skin was not the easy fear he had anticipated.
Karaugh had liked it, he realizes, and he wonders if she will enjoy being pinned to beneath him, her broken wing a sharp counterpoint to the ecstasy of orgasm.
He cannot fathom such a thing with his gentle lover; she deserves soft touches, gentle words, kingdness. Karaugh is the enemy, and deserves what he will give her – pain and pleasure alike.
Ironic how his answer gives her no clarity at all. Still she grins a devilish grin at his word. The dragging of her single claw down his scaled shoulder ends with a lashing of his jowls. There is an instant sharp pain on the bone that tauts her wingspan. Instinctively she retracts it to her side, a chuckle emitted thru a winced grin. "That's not very nice," she hisses. In a mere second she shifts her wings away to free her of the burden. Exchanging them for two canines to descend from her upper jaw. And in that same second they are pressing against his throat. The hunger in her willing her to puncture thru the impenetrable scales but she resists. Instead she holds him briefly as he had her. Gauging his reaction of being controlled...
When satisfied she gently eases pressure. Releasing her jaw slightly to allow her fangs to glide down his jugular. Each new scale they slide across sending a new sensation coursing through their adrenaline filled veins. She could be both. Pleasure and pain.
As her jawline met his chest she released him fully. Ebony lips trailing to his withers. To the very spot he had used to force her to him. She does not offer the same bite there. Brushing over the scales almost tenderly.
Aligning her golden body perpendicular to his gave her an advantage if he should react harshly. Though somehow suspects that he may enjoy the dangerous concoction as much as she. That her willingness to stroke his ego with submission and tempt him further into the depths of pleasure with her assertiveness will reign over the need for blood...for now.
Just as her lips are traveling from wither to the soft spot right behind his forelimb her heighten hearing picks out a call through the canopy. The party is beginning. Though they have already begun she inquires, "Did you wish to join the others gathering? Or are you satisfied right where you are?"
I V A R i'll use you as a makeshift gauge of how much to give and how much to take
He can still taste the leathery skin on his tongue, and there are beads of blood on his canines. The wing is gone though, drawn into her sides with skill and magic, and he follows its disappearance with a curious touch. His touch streaks the little bit of blood across Karaugh’s shoulder, which seems fitting. She had laughed, even as she hissed with pain, and her admonishion that he was not ‘very nice’, is met with a low chuckle of his own.
“I’m not here to be nice,” he replies, his brown gaze captured by the sudden appearance of two pearly fangs. So she is like the blood bats, he realizes, and with a slow smile he raises his head. Her teeth click down individual scale, each a novel sensation. They do not hurt – she cannot hurt him – but he can hear the way that her heartbeat increases. Karaugh likes this, the feeling of power, and he is content to give it to her. She slides farther down his neck and he shivers, his eyes closing slowly in a heady satisfaction.
This is something new, allowing her to hold the reins, but as she moves the warmth of her body father away, Ivar’s eyes open and narrow.
(Too far away,)
He realizes, and closes the space between them. Ivar has turned, pressed his chest to hers. She might have wanted an advantage, but he is uninterested in giving her one. The scaled creature has come for a reason, and he does not intend to go home empty handed. His muzzle presses briefly against the spot where he’d held her before. He presses down, not biting but simply applying pressure. He wants to know if it is tender, if she will wince again. He enjoys the wincing, but he does not enjoy the chatter.
For a moment he considers answering her, and instead pulls away, slides his muzzle along the line of her neck and up to her jaw. His teeth are gentle, but each touch is a reminder that he could if he wanted to. Karaugh does not seem the type of scare easily, but Ivar would like to see fear in eyes, even for a moment. He wants her to worry for her life ( though he no longer has any intention of taking it), and so he continues her caresses until he holds her throat between his teeth.
It is a hold much the way he’d held her crest, firm without pressure. He’d like her to struggle, to drive his teeth in a little further, to taste her blood. The buckskins’s jugular beats alluring against his throat but he’s in no danger of damaging it, even if she struggles. He does so want her to struggle, to realize how far out of her depths she’s managed to wade.
Diligently she watches his reactions. Noting how he raises his pied face to allow her full length of his muscular neck. He was rather trusting in the fact that she would not be able to puncture his scaled flesh. After all she was armed better than an ordinary equine. Too often though sins of the flesh won over primal hunger.
As she continued her exploration of his senses, he was quick to not let her move off too far. She had no intentions on going anywhere if he did not wish to exercise their need someplace else. When his lips cross the spot he had anchored onto early her spine dips. Exaggerating the curvature of her swayed back. Ebony lips had been venturing down the length of his foreleg when the pressure increases. She reacts with a nip to his tendon before throwing her golden head up. A soft snort flutters out her nares just before he moves again. This time positioning himself much as she had done to him.
Apparently he was satisfied where they were. Bony blades prick along her soft hide. The familiarity of her predicament causes her to smirk, Stillwater. The name causes a flushing of her heart - though Ivar would be unaware as the exactly why. The memories of those nights flood back to her. The want to give him, Ivar what he so desired and more becomes stronger. Causing the muscles in her neck to flex between his jaws. Pressing into his razor edged teeth just enough to puncture her flesh. A slow beading of blood flows onto his lips. The smirk on her own curl tighter into a demonic grin. Taunting words of seduction vibrate up her throat, "What are you waiting for Ivar?"...
I V A R i'll use you as a makeshift gauge of how much to give and how much to take
Her back dips beneath his touch, a promise of the way she’ll curve under him, and a low hum of pleasure reverberates deep in his chest. Karaugh is no naïve girl when it comes to pleasures of the flesh, and her delight in showing him as much is a heady addition to evening. The mare’s reaction to the pressure at his bite is to take the offense, but Ivar feels only a pinch on his leg – his scales are far more difficult to puncture than her tender hide.
An increase in her heartbeat brings a slow smile to his mouth, and a deeper urgency to the way he holds her. Using his height to his advantage, he straightens his neck with his jaws still tight, wanting to feel her all-but-dangle in his grip. He is not disappointed, and the tight flex of her muscles has blood in his mouth even sooner than he’d anticipated. It is thick, coppery, and sweet.
It is smeared against her golden throat as she speaks again, when he pulls away to meet her dark gaze with his own.
“In a hurry?” He murmurs, but the condescension in his tone is untrue. She wants him – that much has been certain since the moment she’d eyed him up and down in Loess – and there is no denying that he wants the very same. With enticing slowness, he makes his way down the dipped curve of her back, pressing kisses and nips down the entire golden length. He is not predictable with when one or the other will come, and while most of the nips are more of a pinch, he rounds her rump with a solid bite.
This one is harder than those before, a genuine attempt to sink his teeth into her flesh. It’s the type of bite he’d meant to pepper her entire pelt with, to leave her battered and bleeding out on the forest floor. That had been his goal with many bites, though. This is just a single bite, an unexpected burst of pain that he hopes will make her do more than simply hiss her dissatisfaction.
Ivar wants her to move, to jump away, because he intends to catch her. To catch her, bring her back, and hold her steady.
He does so, because that is his true skill, and it is easy to mount her, to fit his forelegs around the sleek curve of her hips. They both want this, but Ivar is not yet finished playing.
With his weight atop her he does not act, instead breathes a quiet: “What do you want, Karaugh?”
Crimson red fluid leaks down the length of her neck. Creating a trail that he smears across her golden flesh. The depths of her eyes find his as he releases his grip to momentarily stare into her bottomless gaze. Her lips pressed thin in focus.
Ebony ears twist to catch his question but it is only answered with an anticipated bite of her lower lip as he is moving once again. Sensual touches of pleasure glide down her body. Each calculated caress is met with a trembling of flesh. Shocking her heart to beat harder against the cage that confines it. She does not watch as he moves down her side. Eyes shuttered close to feel his lips more deeply...
Until there is pain. With a surprised jolt she lunges forward. Ebony tail tucked tightly to her buttocks. Her forelimbs reach, pulling her body quickly from where she had stood. A sharp turn to the right she sees the pleasure in his predatory face. Red staining his pale lips. She grins when her wings shift to her sides and unfurl just as she leaps from the ridge line they had perch themselves atop. If he wished to hunt, let him hunt...
Gliding down from the hidden nook her leathery wings remained tucked to her sides until she is just above the canopy of Sylva. Another shift and she is diving under the trees as a creature of night. Using chirps to guide her within the shadows. Heading towards the heart of the kingdom. Coming to rest against the brittle bark of a maple. Tiny ears flicker to a familiar voice coming not far off, Gryffen. She waits as the mousy blood-sucker.
Waits until she sees his heat signature weaving thru the trees. As he is stalking past where she had concealed herself, she shifts again. Back into the golden temptress, muddy wings folded tightly to her sides. Appearing behind him, he turns to her, a need growing as he comes to her side. Pulling her tightly to his chest as he forces his weight onto her back. She bares the added pounds as she slides her hindquarter under him. A slightly exaggerating dip to her spine.
What do you want Karaugh?
As intruiging of a question as it is, and of all the answers she could give, she reflects his own previous answer...
"Everything."
It's the only word that's whispered from her fanged grin. Twisting her nape to view him gripping her hips with his forelimbs. Drawing her in tightly against his own thighs. He leans forward to grasp a section of ebony tresses. With the added leverage he thrusts harder. Deeper. Bracing herself against him she takes it all. She takes everything he has to give until he reaches ecstasy and there is no more to take. His tighten muscles flex and relax. Slowly his position slips away as he releases her from under him. She expands her accessories to stretch before bringing them in again. Turning to face him and walk forwards. Brushing against the length of his frame, as the clawed finger drags across his spine.
Continuing to walk past his heaving, sweat beaded body, she looks into the shadows. She can hear them indulging themselves in all aspects of the party. Satisfied though she shifts and flies off into the darkness without so much as a second glance to her partner...
