10-20-2018, 12:04 PM
Leilan
a dragon who couldn't be hurt on the outside
could have so many ragged holes inside
could have so many ragged holes inside
Closing in, she half-heartedly lifts her leg, but doesn't kick - wrong, all wrong, if this were anything more than play. He'd like to tell her that, but, since he's moving too fast and has about a split-second of time before slamming her into the stone wall (not wanting to hurt her, not too bad at least, he instead needs to pull on her mane perhaps a little more to prevent actually knocking all of her breath out of her; she doesn't need a broken rib. Bruising, on the other hand..).
This close to her now, it's impossible not to silently enjoy the way she squirms; every move she makes electrifies his skin, the pressure shifting with her joints and muscles replacing, even though they both know it's futile against his hold - it had been tested earlier. But doesn't he just love her spirit... even if it's supposed to work against him, it's just one of those things that make her so damn attractive as a whole - this mysterious girl is full of depths and when pushing a little further, some of those depths are full of fire, and boy, does he like to get burned.
From the corner of his eye, he sees the sharp rocks being lifted, and with a smile on his still-clenched jaw, he shifts his head a little behind her neck (between her and the rock he holds her against, if he can) to obstruct the path of those obsidian rocks with a part of herself. Not that she wouldn't be able to hurt him still, she'd only need to adjust their course; but it's just enough movement to show her he wouldn't be waiting for her to pierce his eyes either.
When nothing slams into him, he starts to loosen his jagged teeth from her mane, fully intent on stepping back to let them assess her situation and give her some tips - then try again. But before he can do that, she turns her neck to look him in the eye; she's tracing over him and suddenly he's not sure who's holding who, but honestly, who cares anyway. If he's her prisoner in every way except physically, he doesn't mind; he wouldn't even mind if she'd decided to set her whole army against him and capture him for real, to be honest. As long as she'd visit. Don't they both already know he'd do whatever she asks, if she asks in the right way, though. She wouldn't need to hold him; she already does.
Their heartbeats align as well as their breaths, pressed against one another instead of the wall, both drums thrilled at the prospect of... what, exactly? A fight, or any other kind of touch, it doesn't even matter. Pain or pleasure or both, he wants it. Probably both. He wants both. Everything and all that she offers. Or more or less, that her body language does.
Somewhere along the lines, something has shifted. There's hunger in the way she stares at him, and he can't ignore the sudden shift in pressure into his sides. While he carefully disentangles his teeth from her mane, it only takes her words of admittance to confirm what he already knows. There's part of her, no, all of her, wanting to be touched, to be held, but never forgoing the challenge to see what they're made of. And he wants to know it, too.
You know, nobody can see us down here, the rocks are leaning over. He wants to tell her, but he doesn't need to - he doubts she would care if someone did see them now. Distracted from his own thoughts already by the sheer smell and warmth of her body, he's nosing his way through her mane, having left a few icicles on the hairs he'd held before (subconscious adrenalin working it's way through his throat, but not enough to cause any hurt or damage).
But it's too much, or not enough, and he needs more. Suddenly, he places a soft bite to her withers. Soft, as it would have been with regular horse teeth, instead of the sharper ones he has now. If she moves, he'll probably draw a little blood - but he doesn't want to do any lasting damage, and lets his teeth sink in only for half a heartbeat, drawing back as quickly as possible. He retreats his head to her exposed side, pushing against her some more so she can't really move away from him or the rocks; resting his head behind her shoulder and into her ribs, he gives her a moment's respite; then he moves his head slowly along the lower side of her, toward the softer parts of her belly. Perhaps it'll tickle (he hopes it does), perhaps she'll repay him for biting her (definitely wouldn't mind, it's thrilling), perhaps he gets the chance to explore some more of her below, or any other part of her he doesn't want to share with anyone (always a good idea). Perhaps he can make her scream.
One can try, right?
This close to her now, it's impossible not to silently enjoy the way she squirms; every move she makes electrifies his skin, the pressure shifting with her joints and muscles replacing, even though they both know it's futile against his hold - it had been tested earlier. But doesn't he just love her spirit... even if it's supposed to work against him, it's just one of those things that make her so damn attractive as a whole - this mysterious girl is full of depths and when pushing a little further, some of those depths are full of fire, and boy, does he like to get burned.
From the corner of his eye, he sees the sharp rocks being lifted, and with a smile on his still-clenched jaw, he shifts his head a little behind her neck (between her and the rock he holds her against, if he can) to obstruct the path of those obsidian rocks with a part of herself. Not that she wouldn't be able to hurt him still, she'd only need to adjust their course; but it's just enough movement to show her he wouldn't be waiting for her to pierce his eyes either.
When nothing slams into him, he starts to loosen his jagged teeth from her mane, fully intent on stepping back to let them assess her situation and give her some tips - then try again. But before he can do that, she turns her neck to look him in the eye; she's tracing over him and suddenly he's not sure who's holding who, but honestly, who cares anyway. If he's her prisoner in every way except physically, he doesn't mind; he wouldn't even mind if she'd decided to set her whole army against him and capture him for real, to be honest. As long as she'd visit. Don't they both already know he'd do whatever she asks, if she asks in the right way, though. She wouldn't need to hold him; she already does.
Their heartbeats align as well as their breaths, pressed against one another instead of the wall, both drums thrilled at the prospect of... what, exactly? A fight, or any other kind of touch, it doesn't even matter. Pain or pleasure or both, he wants it. Probably both. He wants both. Everything and all that she offers. Or more or less, that her body language does.
Somewhere along the lines, something has shifted. There's hunger in the way she stares at him, and he can't ignore the sudden shift in pressure into his sides. While he carefully disentangles his teeth from her mane, it only takes her words of admittance to confirm what he already knows. There's part of her, no, all of her, wanting to be touched, to be held, but never forgoing the challenge to see what they're made of. And he wants to know it, too.
You know, nobody can see us down here, the rocks are leaning over. He wants to tell her, but he doesn't need to - he doubts she would care if someone did see them now. Distracted from his own thoughts already by the sheer smell and warmth of her body, he's nosing his way through her mane, having left a few icicles on the hairs he'd held before (subconscious adrenalin working it's way through his throat, but not enough to cause any hurt or damage).
But it's too much, or not enough, and he needs more. Suddenly, he places a soft bite to her withers. Soft, as it would have been with regular horse teeth, instead of the sharper ones he has now. If she moves, he'll probably draw a little blood - but he doesn't want to do any lasting damage, and lets his teeth sink in only for half a heartbeat, drawing back as quickly as possible. He retreats his head to her exposed side, pushing against her some more so she can't really move away from him or the rocks; resting his head behind her shoulder and into her ribs, he gives her a moment's respite; then he moves his head slowly along the lower side of her, toward the softer parts of her belly. Perhaps it'll tickle (he hopes it does), perhaps she'll repay him for biting her (definitely wouldn't mind, it's thrilling), perhaps he gets the chance to explore some more of her below, or any other part of her he doesn't want to share with anyone (always a good idea). Perhaps he can make her scream.
One can try, right?
@[Breckin]
Two things I know I can make: pretty kids, and people mad.
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