10-17-2017, 08:01 AM
 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. |