03-02-2022, 12:56 PM
Don't look back, nothing left to see
I can feel you though, wake me from this dreamin
I can feel you though, wake me from this dreamin
Aquamarine, somewhere between blue and green. Not quite the ocean of mischief in Aela’s gaze, not even close to the lush viridescent of Cheri’s when she grew angry. He snorts suddenly in drunken laughter as his own sparkling ruby eyes lock into the pale of hers. The way she looks at him gives him the idea that she’s seeing something that pleases her and there is only a foggy second of wonderment at what exactly that might be. Is it the youthful handsome face that she likes, the trails of glittering gold that adhere to the chiseled lines of his face in perfect patterns until it meets the constellation etched across his chest? Is it his drunken humor, his willingness to share in something indecently fun? Or is it something else entirely that he’s oblivious of?
He doesn’t know what he’s doing anymore. He reminds himself that he isn’t suppose to care.
She wonders about his generosity and he would have snorted with mirth at that too. Nectar was one thing he could share willingly, beyond that he was a selfish man. Surely that pretty smile of hers would be wiped clean off if she had seen the things he had done, what he was capable of. His is a world of self-loathing and beneath all his glittering confidence and smoothness lay a desperate boy bound tightly in smooth cold scales.
Still laying on his back, he watches her settle beside him beneath dark lashes out of the corner of a dusky crimson eye. Amusement sparks there although the rest of him remains rather indifferent, watching as she doesn’t hold back. The sensual laugh that reaches him when she looks his way coaxes a grin of response. He can’t deny that her company, though unexpected, is rather a breath of fresh air. Here was a stranger that wasn’t demanding or expecting anything of him, reminding him of his many failures, looking at him with deserved anger or confusing him with complex emotions that he had sworn all those years ago that he would never feel.
Her voice, a soft melodic purr, entices his attention and in the haze of golden warmth, he considers what she says. The Fae in him is delighted at the thought of turning this into a bit of a game, it had been sooooo long since he had done something out of pure mischief and revelry. "Something tells me your even more restless.” He doesn’t deny it, the lie unable to fall from his tongue.
An ear swivels in her direction as she speaks of her hate of happy families. Ah yes, he understands that too. Except, does he really anymore? His own family had been a broken one and there is no denying that much of his disdain for life in general had stemmed from that. But then… He had taken the Pampas. They had become such a strange little territory but what family isn’t a little dysfunctional? Once, he had hated the idea of a happy family because it was a dream that was unavailable to him. That was before he had met the likes of Cheri, those strange dreams still pressing against his mind like neglected memories. That was before he had become a father himself.
Obsidio’s face hazily appears before him as well as that of crystals set upon a pretty face of black and green and that cold slithering of dread, which had been so quiet and absent since his return, begins to squeeze within him. With her gentle nudge, he rolls back onto his side towards her and wastes no time in dipping his muzzle to amber liquid and greedily inhaling it until the sensation calms. She wants danger and he wants to forget. All the right ingredients that once combined could create something utterly destructive.
Leaning towards her, his muzzle seeking to find her slender shoulder and lightly trace the path where her colors start to blend together, as if she wasn’t a stranger and someone he knew with familiarity. “I wonder if that's truly what you want.” The words murmured close against her peacock toned flesh as his nose moves up her neck and lingers near the sensitive skin of her throat. “I killed my mother.” He whispers, warm breath against her alluring neck. He hadn’t been the one to spill her blood but it didn’t make him any less guilty of the crime. She would still be alive if it hadn’t been for him. If he hadn’t made Gale aware of her, if he hadn’t struck that bargain, if he had never brought her out of the jungle to the field of wildflowers.
And because he believes it so fiercely, that guilt and shame wrapped in those sleek black scales, he is able to say it as truth.
He has not pulled back, still hovering near her throat, as he asks quietly. “Do you still want it... Danger?”
He doesn’t know what he’s doing anymore. He reminds himself that he isn’t suppose to care.
She wonders about his generosity and he would have snorted with mirth at that too. Nectar was one thing he could share willingly, beyond that he was a selfish man. Surely that pretty smile of hers would be wiped clean off if she had seen the things he had done, what he was capable of. His is a world of self-loathing and beneath all his glittering confidence and smoothness lay a desperate boy bound tightly in smooth cold scales.
Still laying on his back, he watches her settle beside him beneath dark lashes out of the corner of a dusky crimson eye. Amusement sparks there although the rest of him remains rather indifferent, watching as she doesn’t hold back. The sensual laugh that reaches him when she looks his way coaxes a grin of response. He can’t deny that her company, though unexpected, is rather a breath of fresh air. Here was a stranger that wasn’t demanding or expecting anything of him, reminding him of his many failures, looking at him with deserved anger or confusing him with complex emotions that he had sworn all those years ago that he would never feel.
Her voice, a soft melodic purr, entices his attention and in the haze of golden warmth, he considers what she says. The Fae in him is delighted at the thought of turning this into a bit of a game, it had been sooooo long since he had done something out of pure mischief and revelry. "Something tells me your even more restless.” He doesn’t deny it, the lie unable to fall from his tongue.
An ear swivels in her direction as she speaks of her hate of happy families. Ah yes, he understands that too. Except, does he really anymore? His own family had been a broken one and there is no denying that much of his disdain for life in general had stemmed from that. But then… He had taken the Pampas. They had become such a strange little territory but what family isn’t a little dysfunctional? Once, he had hated the idea of a happy family because it was a dream that was unavailable to him. That was before he had met the likes of Cheri, those strange dreams still pressing against his mind like neglected memories. That was before he had become a father himself.
Obsidio’s face hazily appears before him as well as that of crystals set upon a pretty face of black and green and that cold slithering of dread, which had been so quiet and absent since his return, begins to squeeze within him. With her gentle nudge, he rolls back onto his side towards her and wastes no time in dipping his muzzle to amber liquid and greedily inhaling it until the sensation calms. She wants danger and he wants to forget. All the right ingredients that once combined could create something utterly destructive.
Leaning towards her, his muzzle seeking to find her slender shoulder and lightly trace the path where her colors start to blend together, as if she wasn’t a stranger and someone he knew with familiarity. “I wonder if that's truly what you want.” The words murmured close against her peacock toned flesh as his nose moves up her neck and lingers near the sensitive skin of her throat. “I killed my mother.” He whispers, warm breath against her alluring neck. He hadn’t been the one to spill her blood but it didn’t make him any less guilty of the crime. She would still be alive if it hadn’t been for him. If he hadn’t made Gale aware of her, if he hadn’t struck that bargain, if he had never brought her out of the jungle to the field of wildflowers.
And because he believes it so fiercely, that guilt and shame wrapped in those sleek black scales, he is able to say it as truth.
He has not pulled back, still hovering near her throat, as he asks quietly. “Do you still want it... Danger?”
obscene
@rosemary
![[Image: Obscene-Pixel.png]](https://i.postimg.cc/fTkjKh9Q/Obscene-Pixel.png){kind=tracking}