"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
10-25-2018, 03:53 PM (This post was last modified: 10-25-2018, 03:54 PM by Ashhal.)
I tried to sell my soul last night Funny, he wouldn't even take a bite
It’s quiet, the early morning still and hushed. God, he fucking hates quiet. Too much damned time and space and silence to hear your own thoughts. And his thoughts are a dark fucking place to be. Not a place anybody wants to be. When you’ve lived as long as he has, you’ve seen shit. Hell, you’ve done some shit. And it ain’t good shit.
Damnit! He should be sleeping. Counting some goddamned sheep. Not lying stretched out on his side staring up through a hole in the canopy. With a huff, he lifts his head up briefly before allowing to thump back to the leaf-littered earth. Again. Again. Fuuuuuck, this sure as shit isn’t helping.
With a grunt, he jerks himself upright, ruffling his wings as he scowls into the forest. His appearance is twisted into a rather fearsome expression. Hell, he could be a bitch when he’s crabby. They should fear him. Or at least stay the fuck away.
Although, on second thought, maybe he needs a distraction. God, he hasn’t picked a fight in forever. Fucking A, maybe that’s what he needs. Or a good fuck maybe. He’s really not picky.
Stretching his pale legs out before him, he pulls himself to his feet in a surprisingly graceful movement. Grumbling some no doubt unsavory things under his breath, he settles his wings more comfortably against his leanly muscled physique. With a sigh, he leans against the nearest tree, scratching his neck absently against it’s rough bark.
Well fuck. What else is going to do? With a sigh that smooths his expression into something faintly more amicable, he peers into the distance. Towards the meadow. Debating if it’s actually fucking worth it.
Jude picks her way delicately through the forest, unsure of what she is looking for but not bored nonetheless. Beqanna proved itself to be just chock-full of surprises - maybe she is looking for another. Eyes alight and ever-curious, she searches out the shadows of the trees. What will Beqanna give her today?
Leaves rustle above as the breeze presses lightly into Jude’s face. She closes her eyes and leans into the cool morning air, separating each individual scent. An earthy, masculine, flesh-and-blood smell brings her eyes open with a start. A stallion - close - so close that she should have noticed him earlier. The pink girl peers around, setting one in hoof in front of the other, seeking the man that evaded her moments before.
Dark gray and profoundly handsome looms just ahead. The labyrinthine girl stops, cocks her head and releases a serpentine smile. A quick and easy decision (impulsive, if you dare) - Jude slinks into the man’s line of sight. Her eyes do not twinkle; instead, they grow darker and darker, churning fascination and a secret desire deep within. Lithe, petite, and dangerous - today she is not in the mood to be courted, nor is she in the mood for her typical playful conversation.
Finally, after carefully curving a circle around him once, she stops to face him. Her chin turns up, eyes daring - “You look irritable as hell - it suits you.” And truly, he does: his brow seeming in a permanent scowl and his mouth far from pleasant (though it looks as if it might deliver pleasant bites). She likes him - his anger, his power. She wants so badly to suck it out of him, though she will settle for something less. Jude presses forward, moving her head to the side and offering a vulnerable view of her neck.
“Do you want to tell me of the depths of your dissent?” she questions, voice lilting on her feminine accent. She twists away from him, then turns her head to peer back. “Who I am kidding?” she purrs. “That’s not what you want.”
I tried to sell my soul last night Funny, he wouldn't even take a bite
Think and ye shall receive apparently. Not usually how the damned thing works, but he can’t fucking complain. I mean, he could. He probably will. But he shouldn’t. He’s just an ass like that.
He’s been staring off into the distance for gods know how long when a sound distracts him. He’s not particularly surprised he’s been noticed. It’s not like he’s got a small fucking presence. Nah, he’s all fucking man with a just a bit of the beast. His frame is large and noticeable, lean and well defined with muscle. His features are sharply delineated and distinctly masculine, not something most can ignore, no matter who the hell they are.
And when that someone happens to be a pretty little mare? All the better.
His dark gaze settles on her as she slinks from the forest, her movements almost feline, invitingly seductive. He doesn’t shift from his position, instead letting her come to him. How fucking convenient? It’s not often his wishes get answered so damned easily. Must have some twisted guardian angel watching over him. Well, guardian devil more like. But hell, he’s not picky.
His features grow darkly wicked as she finally speaks. Course it suits him. He’s basically got two fucking moods. Irritable or hungry. Two guesses as to which he’s feeling now. “And you look fucking edible,” he growls, his voice low, with just a tinge of ire.
And she does. Like a goddamned piece of pink candy. And by the looks of it, a bit of sweetness that very much wanted to be eaten. And the hell if he wouldn’t oblige. A woman who like to play with fire sure as shit wouldn’t be surprised if she got burned. Just how he likes ‘em.
A faint smirk touches his lips when she recinds her initial question. He’s a goddamned open book apparently. But fuck if she isn’t right. That was definitely not what he wanted. Straightening from his casual lean against the tree, he shifts closer to her, his large frame crowding, intimidating. “Yeah?” he challenges, drawing her out. Seeking a confession. One word and he’d fucking show her exactly what he’s made of. “And what is it you think I want?”
11-04-2018, 05:46 PM (This post was last modified: 11-04-2018, 05:47 PM by peregrine jude.)
peregrine jude
i glow pink in the night in my room
The ebb and flow of power: Jude sways back and forth on its gusting and neverending winds. She is good at control - controlling her true feelings, controlling the weak-minded, controlling what does and does not touch her. One might even say she is obsessed with it, for power and authority are always weaving such intricate webs across her mind.
Jude is just a spider piecing together each delicate fiber, finding new prey in each finely spun corner.
She knows how good she looks, and she’s not surprised or really flattered when he compliments her - but she is pleased. Jude also knows what she can do with her body, and she can often read people for what they want: this stag has no problem throwing her own game back in her face.
Ashhal leans closer, hovering above the pastel pegasus (one might be intimidated, but that one is not Jude). She peers back up at him, eyes simmering and shifting as if to say give it your best shot. The question hangs in the air between them - Jude knows what it is: a dare. Will she follow through? Without a doubt, but for now she does not say anything. Instead, she stretches her muzzle to his neck, searching for the soft and sensitive flesh below. Her muzzle follows the sinewy lines, before snapping back, whispering -
“Don’t you want a release?”
When she looks at him this time, she’s inviting him closer. Jude does not move, for she has made her intentions clear enough:
“I can be one.”
i've been blossoming alone over you
@[Ashhal] i'm so sorry this took so long - she just was not agreeing with me and now she finally is D :
I tried to sell my soul last night Funny, he wouldn't even take a bite
He’s played the game a thousand fucking times. Knew all the damned ins and outs. Frankly, if he were interested in anything more than a nice piece of ass, he might even be worried. But he’s not. Hard to tug on strings that aren’t there. Maybe that’s why he’s always avoided tanglement.
Either that, or he’s just a fucking asshole. Probably the latter, let’s be real.
She meets him halfway though, and that pleases the fuck outta him. Play the damned game beautiful. His smile curves wickedly across his pale features as his eyes rove her body hungrily. She’s reckless bravery and delicious allure all rolled into one convenient package. Frankly, he’s not one to look a gift horse in the damn mouth.
No doubt she could give as good as she got. And ain’t that just the fucking dream.
Her question brings smirk to his features, shameless and knowing. She’s picked the wrong damn bull to take by the horns. He shifts then, pressing closer, crowding her with his larger, broader frame. Her lips on his skin is delicious, tantalizing. But he’s been seducing women for decades. She’d need a little practice to catch up. Hell, a lot of fucking practice.
His lips trace phantom touches along her skin, almost touching but not quite, close enough to feel the heat of his skin, the warmth of his breath. When he reaches her delicately curved ear, he pauses. “I think I’m not the only one who wants a release,” he breaths tauntingly, his teeth snapping sharply closed to emphasize his point, barely missing her sensitive pink ear.
The words are as much warning as they are promise. In another thirty seconds, there would be no fucking escape. Not for her.
Practice makes perfect, that is what she tells herself time and time again. Each encounter with a stranger is just another step closer to understanding the endless depths of intricacies one can possess. The most unique individuals are the ones she learns the most from, though every psyche has its lessons.
Today is a lesson of a different kind - an indulgence, if you will.
Ashhal is dangerously close, brutish features closing in with each passing second. Jude senses that most find him intimidating, and those of weaker (or perhaps, clearer) mindsets might shy away. She is not easily intimidated, be that foolishness or bravery - she is still too youthful to tell. His aged muscles and furious attitude are wildly intoxicating, something she has yet to fully experience. When he presses closer, she roots herself deeper into the ground, defiant and all too knowing of what she wants (what she knows she must succumb to).
His breathe is hot on her skin - she likes the feeling, relishes it, but allows no physical reaction. He knows what he is doing - knows too well - and she will not offer him more satisfaction than she thinks he deserves. His words, breathy and tantalizing, tickle the delicate skin of her ears. Jude does not flinch, not once, not even when his jaw closes like a snapping turtle’s terribly close to her flesh.
(She almost wishes his teeth did snap against her ear, drawing blood, perhaps even ripping the tip from its place - anything to allow her to release her control.)
Jude reacts immediately, lifting and tilting her head back to the underside of his neck to bite, closing her jaw to pinch. She then quickly backtracks two steps, just enough to lift her head and stare audaciously into his eyes:
“You don’t talk a big talk but your attitude does,” she says, spitting back a taunt. “Do you bite as hard as you bark?”
Jude swishes her tail irritably, awaiting whatever wrath Ashhal dares to cast.
I tried to sell my soul last night Funny, he wouldn't even take a bite
Fucking intoxicating is right. He hasn’t had anyone quite so rough and tumble in a long ass time, and he is more than ready for it. Damn, it looks like he’d get everything he wanted today. A fight and a fuck. And hell if that didn’t just tickle him in all the right spots.
Unless, of course, her bite doesn’t match her bark, as she’d so eloquently put it. But it’s a risk he’s willing to take.
Her teeth pinch the sensitive skin under his neck, barely a fucking sting before she’s dancing away from him. His eyes darken dangerously as they follow her rapid backtrack, though that smirk still curls his lips with wicked intent. She stares back at him with a fucking dare in her eyes, and didn’t she just know she’d loosed a fucking predator.
He doesn’t follow her immediately however, instead shifting almost languorously, muscles rippling beneath the pale fluidity of his skin. No doubt she expected him to immediately leap for her, a wild beast in an equine body. But she’d learn a damn lesson or two about him today.
He doesn’t do anything without ensuring his success first.
With a rumbling chuckle, he steps forward, wings flaring aggressively as he watches her closely. Watches for a reaction. Stalking her, like a predator does prey. She looks like some damned delicious prey too. When he surges forward, it is with a calculated grace and agility, his heavier form crushing against hers until he has her pinned rough between himself and a tree, teeth clamped over the slim, graceful arch of her candy-pink neck.
Oh, fuuuck, he hopes she squirms and fights. It would only make it that much more delicious when he had her pinned beneath him. Oh, she’d enjoy every fucking minute, he’d make sure of it. But she’d know just who she’d chosen to fuck with.
Jude’s eyes glitter as Ashhal spreads his wings, showing off just how big he can be. He moves with almost no effort, endlessly impressing and delighting his pink opponent. She glimmers and glows beneath his aggressive attention; her eyes pass over and over his form, imagining how she would strike his form if he would so let her.
Not once does Jude falter when the gray stallion draws ever closer.
She cannot say she predicted what Ashhal would do next, but she can say she was ready for it. When he launches toward - almost like a feline, oddly graceful for one so large - Jude steels herself against is might. Her ballerina frame is no match for his brutish strength, so she falls to shove and finds herself pinned to a tree. It is here that she realizes she has never met a match so equal: similar in deviance and defiance.
The rough bark of the tree scrapes unforgivingly against her side, breaking through her skin. The warmth of her blood causes her to gasp - she is trapped, out of control (how terrifying). Jude’s bones begin to ache beneath Ashhal’s weight - a feeling that is quickly masked by the teeth he digs into her delicate nape. At first she panics, shaking her head in an attempt to break her grip. His teeth only seem to drive deeper, though; it is that consuming pain that changes her panic to desirous determination.
Jude bucks, dragging her side against the bark in an attempt to break free. When she is still trapped, she whips her head around to bite his shoulder - this time she holds back nothing, clenching her jaw as if his skin were grass. The stuck mare leaves a trail of these bites, each harsher than the last.
When the tree leaves her skin raw, a feeling not entirely unwelcome, Jude hisses out, “I hope you can fuck me just as well.”
I tried to sell my soul last night Funny, he wouldn't even take a bite
She’s a fucking pistol against him. He can almost taste the brief thrill of fear as she recognizes her vulnerability. It only serves to push him harder, and in no time at all he is rewarded with a sudden burst of defiance.
Fuck yes, that’s exactly what he’d been waiting for. The fight that suddenly fuels her, spurring her to struggle and squirm against him. He hardens almost painfully, heat flashing across his skin as he digs his teeth into her nape, tasting the copper of blood on his tongue. Gods, they’d both be bloodied and bruised by the time this is over. The very thought of it thrills him, sending a pulse of desire along his heated flesh.
Her teeth roughly scrape his flesh, leaving smears of blood and tender skin that would bruise in their wake. The color is stark against his pale color, a fucking badge he’d wear with satisfaction. Just as the red would darken the pink of her skin. He shoves harder against her, a groan escaping his throat as he scrapes his teeth roughly down her spine, her wing crushed between them. The scent of arousal mixes with the tang of blood and raw flesh.
She taunts him then, the words hissing into the air, daring him to do just that. He bares his teeth, eyes hard, glittering with a furious desire. “I can fuck you even better.”
He gives no other warnings. Offers her no second chances. She’d already fucking used them up. She’d get exactly what she asked for. Instead he pulls himself roughly on top of her, hooves scraping and digging into her flesh until he has her beneath him. He isn’t kind or gentle, shoving hard against her until has her in the correct position. As he pushes inside of her, it takes a few tries to get it right, but holy hell, her squirming beneath him is so fucking delicious that he doesn’t give a damn. It’s all the same to him anyway.
His teeth find her skin once more, scrapping and bruising her elegant back until they find purchase at the joint of her wing, digging into the sensitive flesh there. He slams into her, rough and hard, unwilling to give even a fucking inch. She’d take all of it. Would fucking scream for it, pain and pleasure twisting together until it becomes one.
