[mature] don't close the coffin yet; ry

[atrox]

hangman hooded, softly swinging; don't close the coffin yet, I'm alive

Nothing of them is easy, but he has never been the type to truly desire easy. He has never sought the peaceful road—the quiet one. He has instead hurled himself straight into the belly of war and raids and bloodshed. He had followed Twinge into the flood and then woken when calamity rang its bell. He kept track of the only child who had truly spurned him and let that create a deep ache within him. He had loved that child from afar, tracking his movements, helping where he could, and then sacrificing his memories.

So of course is not surprised that he lets this love take root in him most of all.

The one he never would have expected. The one that was not easy and yet was completely natural.

He loves the scars of her, the sins, the darkness. He loves the kind eyes and the longing for the shadows. He loves that which she tells him and that which she does not. He loves it all, without reservation.

So he smiles when she brushes away his concerns and he gladly lets go of them, releasing them into the darkness without second thought. He had never been one to hold onto such things for long. Instead, he just laughs, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “It’s Aisle, right?” He pauses, chewing on his lip. “And then…Furious and May and Austin.” His eyes spark a little. “And then Echis, of course.”

It feels good to relax into her presence, to let loose of his concern, and when she touches him in return, he gladly turns his attention to that spark instead—the way his skin shivers beneath her. He skims his mouth over her jaw, teeth gliding against the flesh. “I am very charming,” he admits, pressing a kiss to her throat.

“I would gladly count them for you,” he bites lightly. “I do like your sins."

ATROX | THE PANTHER KING