hangman hooded, softly swinging; don't close the coffin yet, I'm alive
Atrox has never been one to go back for long. For his dozens and dozens of children, not many were with the same woman, and if they were, it wasn’t his own doing. He just grew lazy about looking for others. Grew lazy about having standards. They asked and so it came to be. But she was entirely new, every time. She was a hunger that he could never sate—a thirst that was never quenched. No matter how many times he has mapped the curves of her, he has never found them dull. No matter how he memorized it, he found something new every time—something that hooked at him, dragging his attention every moment.
It happens again and his vision nearly blurs with want.
He can feel himself shudder, with ice that laces up his spine and he breathes heavily, closing his eyes as his chest heaves. “Ryatah,” he says again at her coyness, her name through gritted teeth. He swallows and instead of sinking teeth into her flesh, just presses a kiss there instead. “You will never be close enough.”
But that doesn’t stop him from trying.
He circles her and then rises up, his legs gripping her sides and then pulling her back hard. Teeth find her neck and he loses himself in the rhythm of it. It is nothing but agony, a heat that erupts in his chest as he kisses her shoulder, her back, the places that he can reach. He says her name slowly at first and then nothing at all as the darkness around them swallows them further. There’s nothing but her and that soft glow—nothing but the black of him surrounding her and pulling her close and closer.
It continues to build in his chest, dark and potent, until he finally loses himself to it entirely.
And when the wave of it washes over him, he feels nothing but her.
