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.”
If only it was in the way she thought.
