11-10-2017, 02:49 PM
 i'll use you as a makeshift gauge of how much to give and how much to take
“Mhmm,” he murmurs as she speaks, a wordless confirmation that he is listening, even if he is not looking. Her teeth clicking across his skin send a shiver down his spine, an odd sensation to match her unexpected confession. There is something wrong with her admission, Ivar thinks; it is not acceptable to kill. He knows this, even if he has never been able to fathom the logic behind it. There is a reason he has far more sexual conquests than victims; he can control it when he must. “The more I know about you, the more disturbing you become.”The words are said as he tastes the skin above her ribs; he gives no indication that he has reacted any way at all to what Thana has told him. The killing is not something Ivar likes; it is only something he does. To find enjoyment would be to feel something, and Ivar has never shared proximity with much emotion. There is an urge, animalistic and masculine, to lunge after her as she tugs at his mane. He complies. Following instinct is natural, and while there is not a feeling of happiness, there is a definite primal satisfaction in the sensation of her underneath him. His breath is hot in her ear, and his forelegs pin her firmly against him. Soft and sleek with the lay of her hair, and pleasantly rough against it, Ivar runs his muzzle along her neck, then down to her shoulder. There he bites down, the black and blue haired hide no defense against his sharp teeth. It is not deep, but it is enough to trickle down her side and plop – disappointingly – into the leaves below. There is no artistic spiraling of blood in the water, only dull gravity. The whole time, he is mindful of her pleasure, the catch of her breath and the beat of her heart as his only guides. Yet for the first time, he does not command the mare below to not feel the pain of his claiming bite against her neck. He always has before; it makes their eyes roll closed in pleasure (and sometimes in death) all the more quickly. This time he holds back, waits until the very moment before she reaches peak pleasure. Her heartbeat is a hummingbird flutter as he finishes, but he withdraws an instant before she crosses the same line. Incomplete. It could have been a miscommunication – or perhaps simply selfishness on his part. He can still taste Azazelle between his teeth as he smears Thana’s crimson blood down her roan shoulder. That particular sensation is far less satisfactory than the successful planting of his seed, and all four hooves return to the earth, he runs his dark muzzle along the curve of her belly. Maybe, he thinks to himself. She is not kelpie, but she is also not prey. Ivar is far from selective of his women; he is a creature of opportunity. Still, they are always incompatible. That most basic instinct, the need to procreate: he is unable to fulfill it. The scaled creature has reached maturity, but has yet to sire a child. Maybe, he thinks again, this time pressing the thought into Thana’s mind with the hypnotic command to: Wonder if there will be a child. He might as well have someone else bear the load of his insecurities, even if the nature of her concerns might be different than his own. “We’re different there, too,” he says as he nips harmlessly at the edge of her hip. “I’m not selective at all. ” The last word is accentuated by a sharper nip just to the left of the base of her tail. That, coupled with the unwavering stare he now gives her, is the first hint that perhaps he is aware of what he had done. That he might know he has taken her to the very edge and left her unsatisfied. “I’m sure your king is looking for you by now.” he says, the satisfied twist to his smile an almost certain confirmation. He is satisfied, physically at least. Now, as the twilight deepens into dusk, he can return home. Ivar will stop before he reaches the heart of Loess, he will find a bubbling spring to sink himself into. When the hot water has washed all traces of the roan wolf-shifter and the grey-eyed grullo from his scaley hide, Ivar will emerge, settling into an unsuspecting lover’s embrace, and drift to sleep perfectly content. minimal grullo tobiano king of loess |
>:]