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    COTY

    Assailant -- Year 226

    QOTY

    "But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura


    [mature]  the altar is my hips, ashhal
    #8

    I tried to sell my soul last night
    Funny, he wouldn't even take a bite

    The anger has been his closest companion for so long that it is hard to imagine anything else. When his fury flees, there is only an aching emptiness left behind, and Ashhal has always preferred the rage. It swells in him now, as it always does, but along with it the familiar potency of lust.

    She does not wither beneath him, which serves only to heighten his violent need. He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t need to. She understood his silence perfectly, and her answer is everything he had been waiting for. A dark, humorless laugh is ripped from his throat when she challenges him, though he says nothing in response. The day he does not have the energy to do both is the day he would finally find peace in death.

    He would absolutely fucking delight in showing her just how much he could do.

    There is no hesitation as he lunges after her with a feral snarl. The ghost of her teeth on his neck drives him forward to repay her in kind. There is no gentleness as his own teeth find the curve of her hip, scraping unkindly across the unblemished canvas of flesh. When he is done with her, she would wear bruises painted on her skin alongside those galaxies. A reminder of his lust until the day they healed.

    He is rough as he pulls her beneath him, wings flaring wide to steady his vicious movements, knocking unnoticed into branches and foliage. Leaves and feathers dance around them as he clasps her barrel between his legs, teeth marking her skin in a dozen places.

    And when his need is sated, he doesn’t linger, though he is not nearly done. He pulls himself from her hips, but he doesn’t retreat. Instead he shoves himself against her until she is trapped between his hard-angled body and the rough bark of a tree. With a vicious curl of his lip, he finally speaks. “We’re just getting started.”



    @Desire
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    Messages In This Thread
    the altar is my hips, ashhal - by Desire - 06-28-2021, 11:10 AM
    RE: the altar is my hips, ashhal - by Ashhal - 06-29-2021, 02:47 PM
    RE: the altar is my hips, ashhal - by Desire - 08-10-2021, 01:54 AM
    RE: the altar is my hips, ashhal - by Ashhal - 08-11-2021, 10:40 AM
    RE: the altar is my hips, ashhal - by Desire - 09-06-2021, 02:33 PM
    RE: the altar is my hips, ashhal - by Ashhal - 09-09-2021, 12:30 PM
    RE: the altar is my hips, ashhal - by Desire - 10-07-2021, 04:24 AM
    RE: the altar is my hips, ashhal - by Ashhal - 10-13-2021, 09:44 AM



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