Kiss me again
Kiss me until I am sick of it
She is absolutely fucked and the grin spreads easily over his lips, hiding the thoughts of uncertainty and nervousness that rise as she starts talking. The warmth from the nectar spreads everywhere, making him feel lighter than air and instilling false bravado as the situation escalates around them. Everything about her comes into hyper focus, the soft strands of green defined as they curl along her neck. The patterns that weave along the dark curves of her skin and spiral in the splattered spots of her rump and he finds he wants to come closer to her if only to see how those patterns morph and move. Unthinkingly doing so as he closes the distance between them by a few steps.
That strange look only deepening as she opens up. She thinks he hates her touch and he does… Because he craves it. She truly thinks he despises her and he should be pleased that he’s succeeded in doing so… But it feels hollow. A hollow victory. Perhaps there is a flicker of guilt, a minuscule flare, that he’s smashed some of her self-esteem. It doesn’t last, it doesn’t stay. His own self loathing reaches for those words but becomes distracted as she says, “I want…”
His skull had begun to snake out, his muzzle hovering over the defined slope of her shoulder, as she says the most unexpected thing. She wants to stay. She likes him. She likes him. He freezes, just mere inches from touching her, from giving them both what they want. And yet… It feels like a trap. The nectar usually made one truthful but they both weren’t fae, they were not held to a standard of being unable to tell deceptions. What if it was all just an elaborate lie to catch him? To make him weak? To hurt him?
It is hard for Obscene to believe that anyone would ever want a mortal thing like himself when he had been unwanted for so long. He had been a lonely feral child for such a long time, turning into the hardened lonely young man that stood before her now. He doesn’t believe for a second that someone like her would ever want someone like him. It had to be a lie. It must be a lie. She stumbles then, away from him and he watches her as she mocks him, throws his words back at him. As she becomes confused and squints at him, calling him by an unfamiliar name.
Yenny. He can’t help but smirk (hiding the way his stomach drops behind his smug smile) as if confirming that she was just trying to goad him. That she had been lying the whole time. He can’t help the jealousy that stirs around his withered heart, wondering if that was the name of the one that had supposedly called her name like an offered prayer. Maybe she was seeing the red eyed stallion as that lover instead, the one she had curled beside. Who she really wants to touch. He hates the way that thought carves into him, sharp and hot, just as much as he hates her for making him feel such things in the first place. How she always seemed to gain the upper hand and not even know it.
Still, it couldn’t hurt to just pretend could it? The both of them here, drunk on flowers and nectar and each other. They could just pretend for a little while couldn’t they, that they didn’t despise each other?
He doesn’t stop her when she drinks more, as he indulges more, as he lets himself slip into the inebriated bliss of care free ignorance. His mouth is by her ear, a soft murmur for only them to hear. “Why don’t you try?” He’s holding his breath, surprised at his own daring even as his scarlet eyes hide his thoughts with their everlasting scorn. “Try to tempt me.” Baiting her. Baiting himself. "I may not want you," (Lies, lies, lies) "but I'd love to see you try."
Obscene
@[Cheri]