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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]  A beautiful face is a mute recommendation - Longclaw
    #1

    -Diorae-

    If she still had a tail, she would’ve pressed it in between her glutes. She’s afraid, no, not afraid, terrified. The white of her eyes visible while she glances around, body tense and each and every little sound startles her. Marigold wastes no time to go home, whatever that might be. One would name a land, or a place, but to her it’s a someone. Her place was at his side, and she’s bound to return to him like he had told her to.

    Longclaw never told her where that would be, where she could find him. Instinctively she knows. He’s her alpha and like a good submissive she returns to him, submits to him. But first and foremost she just follows the way they had come from, starting from the Hell’s gates, all the way down towards the beach.

    Hell’s gates – Tephra’s beach – the riverbank. Something tells her they didn’t pass through Tephra for nothing. Nor does Marigold wait at a border to politely wait and ask. She cannot wait, cannot stop. She hás to find her. Alone she isn’t safe, alone the eyes follow her each and every move, alone she’s vulnerable and afraid.

    She’s all tense, ready to bolt and react to everything. Each little sound that spooks her makes her dart to the side, sidestepping before bolting in another way. Ears against her skull and nostrils wide and flaring with each breath and loud snort. Marigold wants to call out to him, to make her presence known, but she cannot. And that only adds more to her distress.

    It’s like a vicious circle. Panic and stress only fuelling her more, causing her to run around headless, desperate to find him. And the longer it takes her to find him, the more panicked and stressed she becomes, making her search harder. That she might be trespassing or disturbing peace, isn’t at all on her mind.

    A beautiful face is a mute recommendation.

    #2

    LONGCLAW

    -I close my eyes, ignore the smoke-

    His mute little bird has returned to the nest.

    Around the curve of shore, until she’s brave enough to plunge into the damp jungle growth, Longclaw follows Marigold on quiet wolf paws. It was curious to watch her this way - without her knowing he was doing so. Every dart or jerk of her body sent him into a tense frenzy: when she looked for the source of fear, he looked for it too.

    It didn’t take him long to realize the fear was her own. “Little canary, my golden singer,” He thinks, hearing her snort again in a panicked flurry of movement, “just what have those eyes seen?” The wonder of her shape is further distorted the longer he looks - where once her tail had been full and gossamer, now only the remnants remained. Along her shoulder, that place where he’d blessed her and her alone with his mark, now sits a harsh, jagged black brand.

    He’s decided he’s had enough of the silent following.

    “Marigold.” He calls to her, pushing aside the overhang of wide leaves with the girth of his solid chest. He’s no longer wolf - in the shadows behind her Longclaw has changed himself back to the familiar shape she knows. “Is that you?”



    @[Diorae]
    [Image: sScEgld.png]
    #3

    -Diorae-

    The feeling of being watched doesn’t get any less the further she darts into the lands. It’s like her ears pick up each and every sound from the foresty areas nearby. Perhaps even make up sounds that aren’t even there. Like the sound of something sneaking hidden in the shadows, following her steadily. She thinks she sees things too, just out of the corner of her eyes.

    But then, when she turns to glance in the direction, there’s nothing. Marigold is trespassing into the territory further and further, but that’s the last thing on her mind. Longclaw. She has to find Longclaw. She would be safe with him and he would hold her, hush her, protect her.

    That he had promised.

    Like Marigold had promised to come back. And back she is, though, perhaps not as he had expected her to come back. It’s not Longclaw’s brand on her shoulder, but Carnage’s. He’s taken her tail too, and his last wicked game had ended with her golden coat marred with blood. Not hers, but.. No. That was a sacrifice she’d been willing to made.

    ”Marigold.” That name, hér name, spoken by that voice. It sends a shiver down her back, and the sharp intake of breath is now slowly released. Tears are shimmering in her eyes as both her ears flick forwards, eyes searching for the source.

    And there he is. Just like she remembers. Beautiful and dashing, untouchable. Before she knows it her legs carry her towards him, tears rolling down her cheeks but at the same time a smile pulls on her bloody lips. Like she was wordlessly telling him “See, I did come back, I did what you asked of me.” And oh, Marigold wants to be near him, she wants to touch him, to get high on his presence, but he isn’t hers to touch.

    Her head drops while her body keeps trembling, shivering under his gaze. She’s fighting the battle within herself. Wanting to claim her price, while also needing to take her place at his side again. Slowly Marigold starts to relax. All that had haunted her gone, leaving her alone, leaving only Longclaw behind.

    A beautiful face is a mute recommendation.

    #4

    LONGCLAW

    -I close my eyes, ignore the smoke-

    She’s a mess. Bloodied and torn, crying soundlessly.

    Longclaw enjoys every second. “There there, come close.” He murmurs, stepping forward to drape his neck possessively across her own. His lips find sanctuary against the warm gold of her skin, they hum wordless tunes to her as the trembling subsides. She’d done perfectly, executed his wishes to the letter and now she was back; Carnage had served his purposes well.

    “Look at you,” He tsks, raking a cold tongue over the absent smear of blood she’s painted herself with. The coppery tang melts pleasantly in his mouth. He smiles. “let’s get you cleaned up, hmm?” He offers, lowering his fine head to nudge her gently. As they walk, he thinks.

    She looks worse-for-the-wear, but all in all she’s not horribly disfigured. Not like Zephyr, what with her criss-cross of jagged scars and those unsettling, cloudy eyes. He can’t help but mull over the odd brand; what purpose did it serve? He’s not familiar with the shape - runes had never been his specialty, though he knew they held power.

    The jungle thins. A mesh of sparsh grass tickles their ankles, they’ve come to the intersection of warm springs that divide Tephra and Longclaw’s intentions are clear. He steps forward without hesitation, takes the lead so that he can slip down the soft incline of shore to wade into the belly of the steaming river. From there he turns a deceptively handsome smile back towards Marigold, nods his head for her to join. “Come here.” He demands firmly, “Let me wash you.”

    She’d done so well, after all. “An obedient little bird, this one.” He thinks, sighing deeply as the waters soothe his battered shoulder and neck. He’d been busy too, moving from guard to guard in hopes of a enlightening battle. Diable had given him valuable insight, Levi had given him a much-needed release, now it was his turn to focus on other matters.

    His bright green eyes dart to where she stands; this matter will be a good start.



    @[Diorae]
    [Image: sScEgld.png]
    #5

    -Diorae-

    It’s hard to say how much time has passed ever since she had been dropped off at Hell’s Gates. To Marigold it felt like it had been months, close to years. Time had never stopped in her very own paradise, and neither had it in the real world. Just how much difference had there been between them? Enough for her wounds to heal, well, the physical ones. She’d come out more damaged than she already had been.

    More damaged in a way that she longed for Longclaw even more. His presence, his guidance, his protection, his touch. Before it had just been natural to submit to him, but now, now she desperately wants to, she needs to. Marigold simply wouldn’t know what to do without him.

    Relief washes over her upon the first touch. A shiver puts her nerves on edge and Marigold gladly presses closer. With her eyes shut now she leans on him, and the tears that had first only clouded her vision, now pour freely. It takes her a moment to realise he’s talking to her again, and one golden ears turns in his direction. Longclaw’s action makes her realise in what state she found herself in.

    Even if she’d had a voice, she probably wouldn’t have replied to his suggestion. It wasn’t really that either. More like a declaration of what they would do next, and that wasn’t something she had a say in, or wanted to have say in. Longclaw knew best, that Marigold trusted.

    Before she would’ve been hesitant about bathing, about letting her guard down while washing away dirt from her skin. Her nervousness never let her, always keeping her on edge. Now Longclaw was there with her. Marigold stops at the waterbank, watching the blue iridescent stallion in the water. The sparkling droplets on his skin made him even more beautiful. For a moment she’s lost watching him, only realising that she had been staring when he calls her into the water.

    She doesn’t hesitate and walks into the water until she’s standing before him. Again Marigold is itching to touch him, the feeling almost making her restless. Only his warning from béfore has her containing her desire. He was not hers to touch. And thus she drops her head, muzzle almost touching the water as she wills herself to relax.

    Which is kind of hard, the way she so desperately wants his touch. He couldn’t have given her a better welcome home, or a better reward. Not that she needed one, it was only natural for her to go back to him. It was what he had told her to do after all. But that wouldn’t make her turn it down, or take it for granted.

    The first contact of water against her skin makes her shiver, or was it the fact that Longclaw touched her? She wouldn’t know the answer, it does, however, make her release a sigh. The water pools around her legs, gently touching her belly too, coloring her golden coat dark. The peacefulness of the moment has her wanting to sway her tail relaxed, only is it only a short bob left. It’s movement only a little.

    A beautiful face is a mute recommendation.

    #6

    LONGCLAW

    -I close my eyes, ignore the smoke-

    There’s no reason to doubt her, anymore. If he had thought her to be a shifting sort of personality, Longclaw might have cut the strings of her pretty throat long ago. That first day, crouching near the edge of the riverbank, he’d meant to do it - wanted to, even.

    And now here they are. Slipping wordlessly into the water, Marigold succumbs to Longclaw’s desires in a fashion that only serves to stroke his ego. With every soft turn of her body his inner demon purrs in elation, the color of her skin melting into warm butter beneath the black waves of this steaming river. Only when she stops, head dropping to hover above the lapping water, does he move forward to begin the ritual observed by those in close confidence; his iridescent body glides alongside hers, they entangle each other like yin and yang. “You must have been terrified, I know.” He says at first, nose dipping into the water before he pulls it out once more to stroke her skin. It leaves wet marks along her hip and muddies the dried blood placed there.

    “I never doubted you.” He murmurs, emboldened by her presence. The flat of his cheek presses flush to the golden curve of her skin, he rubs greedily against her. “And now I never will.”

    He pauses; with the backwards tilt of his head and the hungry, green flash of his eyes he relays his wants without words. He’s learning, after all, how to communicate to this silent bird. “Have you missed me?” He longs to say, though he knows the answer already. Look at her! Returned to him with practically no effort on his part. Marigold was his, now; she’d proven her worth. Again, his eyes flash with lean, hot desire. “I’ve missed you.”

    He moves; the water churns beneath his legs and brushes softly against Diorae’s. Around her hind (he pauses only to lip the remnants of her tail - he rather likes the bob, the way it cannot hide her feminine charms anymore) he twists himself, the two are positioned like animals thrust together in a ‘T’ formation. “Marigold,” He calls, that unnerving gaze never straying from her lovely face, “were you transformed?”



    @[Diorae]
    [Image: sScEgld.png]
    #7

    -Diorae-

    There is no way for her to answer him, except for submitting. Till a point her eyes can tell how she feels, but she cannot tell him what happened word for word. Marigold does the one things she can do: submit. Her body relaxes further, even with the fresh crisp of the water that runs down her coat. All because it’s his hot touch that brings the water to her skin.

    Longclaw’s touch leaves a pleasant feeling wherever he touches. A light tingling, burning just under her skin. It has her pressing herself into him, wherever and whenever he touches her. He might not allow her to touch him, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t lean into his touch.

    She’s so focussed on his touch, than when it disappears, Marigold has to lift her head and sidestep to keep her balance. Confusion swirls in her eyes as she looks up, searching his gaze. What she sees makes her shudder and a soft gasps escapes past the barrier of her lips. It’s gone just as quick, making her wonder what she saw. Longclaw doesn’t give her any time to think about it either, as his attention focusses on the one thing she’s most ashamed of. Her bob.

    It’s impossible for her to not tense because of it. Her head drops towards the surface of the water again, in defeat, but also willing that she could just disappear. She was a disgrace to him. Maybe now her time was up. The lioness inside her roars, disagreeing. She’d killed for him, and thus there was no way Marigold was to leave now.

    The ‘huh’ lied on her lips. He calls her out of her thoughts, pulls her back to him. She doesn’t know what he asks of her, what he means or what it meant to be transformed? All that had changed was that her mind was chaos, that she longed for him and that she no longer had a beautiful blonde tail. As if to say that exactly, Marigold sways the little that was left of her tail, nothing more than a pathetic bob.

    Her hazel eyes show her confusion too and her gaze searches his for answers. To be able to look at him she has to bend her neck. No. She wasn’t transformed. Or at least not that she knew. In truth, the lioness has always been a part of her, it simply had been Carnage who had brought it out of hiding.

    Yet, that’s something she still has to discover. Marigold isn’t able to give Longclaw anything. And while wanting to submit and give her all to him, she’s afraid of not being good enough. Oh, how desperate she is to tell him what she had done for him, how big his part had been in her trails. She can’t. So she presses back against him, not to make him move out of their formation, but as to show her commitment, her determination. She simply would be lost without him.

    A beautiful face is a mute recommendation.

    #8

    LONGCLAW

    -I close my eyes, ignore the smoke-

    The eyes; molten depths of unfulfilled desire, begging to reach out and just brush against his mind so that he could simply understand. Diorae’s wordless thoughts are relayed through her gaze well enough. Longclaw doesn’t need to hear her speak in order to perceive what she wants to say.

    She presses herself into him, against him, and he dances beneath the water with growing excitement. The silt of the murky riverbed swirls around them, darkening the almost black waters further and Longclaw raises first one knee and then the other above the choppy surface as he works on situating himself. He longs for perfection and knows that such things come from practice - the beginning stages were not so hard to learn from observation, or simply to feel from instinct, but the act itself? Still a mystery.

    Marigold will be his first.

    Who else could be so willing, or work so hard to allow him charge of the situation even when he was not master of it? Who else could take the brunt of a first coupling (he’ll lose himself, he might even hurt her, but it’s a risk he wants to take) and transform it into praise, or adoration? Only his canary, that’s who; she suits his needs and will satisfy him until he’s ready for other interactions. (Until he’s ready for his ghost-girl, until he’s something she deserves.)

    They might even enjoy it. “One way to know for sure.” Longclaw thinks, pressing a rushed kiss against the dip of her back.

    His chest glides up her warm, golden buttocks as he rises; the slick blue and crushed buttercream of their skin melding together with the action. Briefly, he feels her - a moment of connection that sparks a tight coiling of his gut and causes a rough grunt to escape past his lips - and then he jerks wet hips forward and intrudes further, grasping her between his forelegs so that they might be joined in a quick rush of action.

    He indulges in the sensation, the silken touch of something so soft stroking something so hard racking his body with spastic convulsions. Heaving, he slackens his upper half to drape the gilded blue of his neck over the pale white of her own and focuses instead on personal satisfaction as he thrusts, withdraws, and thrusts again. Longclaw feels himself reaching an apex of sorts, a climax, but he’s drunk on this interaction and knows it won’t be something worth prolonging.

    A burst of excitement overtakes him; his head raises and in a flash, he’s gripped Marigold firmly by the crest. Heat, sexual rage - it all overcomes him in waves until he finds that incoherent gasps are breaking loose to the tempo of his rapid fucking. He wants so badly to hear her scream (in pleasure or pain, she could take her pick) and that need drives him forward into a new high, one so numbing that his vision blurs momentarily.

    Suddenly, Longclaw forces himself deeper in a rush of energy and summits, spilling himself in undulating spasms that drain all traces of eagerness or vim. Spent, breathing through flared nostrils and darkened by mingled sweat, Longclaw shudders a sigh of relief and slips casually from Marigold’s back. “That was …” He begins to say, still crossed in the way of vision and fully intending to follow up with ‘fantastic’, but sensibility comes back to him in a rush and with it, a strange sense of disgust.

    How could something that felt so right needle him like this? “Marigold, that was lovely.” He chooses instead, cutting through the water to meander beside her. Briefly, his nose reaches out to stroke the curve of her neck. “Practice makes perfect.”



    @[Diorae]
    [Image: sScEgld.png]
    #9

    -Diorae-

    Suddenly she’s extremely aware of his body. She cannot say if her shivering is caused by the cold water that splashes up her sides or by Longclaw’s almost pressing presence. He’s radiating heath and Marigold wants more of it. She presses her golden buttocks against him more firmly as a shaky breath escapes past her still red and bloody lips.

    She is not new to this. He wasn’t her first – how else could she have killed what she loved most; her grandson – but never before had she felt this desired. Not loved, Marigold knows that what they have isn’t love, but desire and lust. And she wants it. Because it means he wants her too, and that he would not yet cast her aside.

    On instinct she wants to move her blonde tail out of the way, only to remember she doesn’t have a tail that could get in the way. His kiss sends a jolt down her spine and her muscles tense for what is coming. She is so very aware of each droplet of water that falls from his skin on hers.

    Marigold doesn’t flee from the weight that now rests on her body and before long she’s locked in his embrace. His burning hot body is in stark contrast with the cold water. The first brief touch sends an anticipated tingling through her body and before she can push back for more – which she cannot beg for by the lack of a voice – he breaches her.

    Her first reaction is to tighten around him, to fight the intrusion. The light brush of his muzzle among her neck snaps her out of it and soon her body is rocking with each violent thrust. He is everywhere. Inside of her, around her, completely surrounding her. It is as if her senses get numbed, the world around them disappearing into nothingness. Just their bodies dancing in the water. Soft puffs of air leave her lips, some louder and harder than others, much like she would’ve moaned, cried and grunted if she’d been able to.

    She’s torn between pleasure and pain when he comes. More and more hot seed spills into her through his rapid thrusting and there is no way for her to escape. Longclaw holds her tightly, she could as well have been tied down. By the time he’s done, just one last jerk of his hips slapping against her buttocks, there are tears in her eyes. Her breathing is rapid, sharp and quick and her coat soaked with sweat and water.

    For a moment she’s not in the here and now and Marigold barely notices that he slips down her back. His words fall to deaf ears, she’s simply staring ahead as her sides heave with every breath she takes. He had been so very unlike any other experience she had had. Intense, both pleasure and pain, and she cannot tell which one was stronger. It’s the mention of her name, or the one he had given her, that pulls her back to him. She shudders, presses back against his side. Oh yes, she desperately needs him, her need even bigger now.

    Yet his last words made her blink. A little drunk she tilts her head and bends her neck, so she can glance back at him. That sounded like he wanted to do it more often, but to practise for what? Not that Marigold would complain, she’d do anything he would ask of her. And thus she reaches out, her hot breath ghosting over his nose, but she does not yet touch.

    A sharp intake of breath is the only sound she makes, though her discomfort shows in the expression on her face when she moves. First she dips her bloodied muzzle into the water, washing away the blood by rubbing her lips over her own chest. A couple of steps forward make her realise her muscles ache, and she snorts softly. It wasn’t painful, just uncomfortable, just as her crest which he had held on to pretty tightly.

    She has the need to bathe, desperately too so, but Marigold doesn’t per say know what the reason is of that. She does blame it on the blood though, making her feel all dirty and trouble. Especially after their deed, Marigold desperately wanted to forget which blood she had on her hands.

    A beautiful face is a mute recommendation.





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