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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


    Sochi;
    #1
    and underneath the layers, I find myself asking what's left
    a hollowed out form, the skeleton of a ghost, the pitiful echo of what once was
    He misses Sochi.

    Their heated and primal passion gave them a child as feral as their instincts. Castile has often watched Reia scour the lengths of Loess, scavenging and refining her hunt. She is beautiful, but it surprises him not as his mind flashes to Sochi. Her eyes had brightened, perhaps even subtly softened, when he admitted that to her and punctuated it with a tender touch. It isn’t a compliment she receives often, but the words slipped from his tongue like the finest silk, blanketing across her and pulling her closer to him.

    Sochi is unconventional; she doesn’t belong in the sea of faces that are so desperate for love and family, lost in their own whimsical dreams. Unlike so many, she is independent and fierce. Their agendas pull them apart, but there is an underlying trust and yearning that always rejoins them. They know they will find each other again.

    It's a seamless alteration in his wandering, a simple turn to the left, once a lungful of her scent reaches him. His eyes dart underneath his forelock until a light, wintry gale lifts it from his view. Sochi, mild in manner, is a beacon to him. She somehow stands out among the others, her lean body capturing him time and time again. Her name tingles the very edge of his tongue enticingly, but silence purses his lips together as he crests a final knoll to reach her.

    Castile’s touch is aggressive, brimming with a deep want, as his lips trail down her neck to her shoulder. Ecstasy pours drunkenly through his veins and his eyes shut to savor the fleeting moments. Her skin is as soft as he remembers, as inviting as their evening together. ”Sochi,” he finally murmurs her name, his voice a deep, gravelly rumble. His eyes open then, intense as they hungrily rove across her body before leveling on her face and admiring her blue blaze. ”I missed you,” he confesses quietly, uncertainly. Their tender moments have often been chaperoned, intimately observed by their peers, but finally, they are alone. Not even Reia intrudes as her mind takes her far beyond the hills where she pursues rams.

    castile


    @[Sochi]
    #2
    Sochi

    darling, you're wild-eyed, empty, and tongue-tied
    maybe you need me or maybe you don't

    Sochi does not feel the things so many of her peers do. She did not grow up feeling such things, did not develop many crushes, did not indulge such whimsical fantasies. For a time, she wondered if she was capable of it all, but then she met Castile. What she feels for him is not easy for her to describe, not easy for her to talk about, but she feels it deep within her. It is a wild feeling, as wild as the two of them are.

    It doesn’t yearn for labels or boundaries or rules.

    But it does leave her wanting something more.

    So she doesn’t play coy when he does finally find her again. Her silver eyes go molten when he pushes into her, his lips on her flesh, and she curls, as agile as the feline into him. “Castile,” she says his name, wondering at how the edges of it are as sharp as he, and she reaches out to let her lips wander down his jaw, nipping just lightly. Her teeth find their way down the muscular curve of his neck, beneath his metallic mane, letting the salt of him rest on her tongue. It stirs a fire in her belly that will not be smothered. It stirs a hunger in her belly that she thinks may never be truly sated.

    “I am here now,” she says, although it is muffled against him, more of a growl than anything, the rasp of her voice deepening. She pulls back slightly, feeling the nerves of her on fire, adrenaline looping in her veins. She reaches out and lets the blunt of her teeth pull at the delicate flesh of his mouth. “You’re here now too,” she says, something flashing in her eyes when she finds his gaze, feeling the weight of the moment resting between them. Then there is silence, an almost challenge in it as she feels the heat of him.

    playing the slow rooms, howling at half moons
    if you are a Queen then, honey, I am a wolf



    @[Castile]
    [Image: sochi.png]

    I was less than graceful, I was not kind
    be out watching other lovers lose their spine

    #3
    and underneath the layers, I find myself asking what's left
    a hollowed out form, the skeleton of a ghost, the pitiful echo of what once was
    Sochi arrives as swiftly as the breeze and places herself alongside him. It’s comfortable, her company, and she presses to him with a sense of belonging and possession. Without even saying it, without even the titles, they both know. The way their bodies seamlessly merge and how her lips trace along the edges of his jaw down to his neck, is enough to symbolize what they have effortlessly become. Their child – a product of fiery passion and predatory nature – runs across the hills with a freedom that Castile yearned for his family. He would search for her, simply to hold her, but his blood – perhaps, even his heart – instead craves Sochi.

    The smile that surfaces cannot be tamed or suppressed. It broadens with her touch, as her body heat challenges his own. She’s here, she confirms in a voice he has come to anticipate (fierce, unyielding) and admire. As her mouth teases the hair of his coat, Castile hums. It vibrates his bones and ignites the fire inside his soul. ”I am,” he repeats satisfyingly to her before reaching forward to savor the taste of her skin in his mouth. A mirroring nip pinches the base of her neck where it curves into her lean shoulder. But he still grins, almost boyishly, as his gaze lifts to meet hers, locked in a moment of desire.

    He allowed the autumn to pass with hardly notice. Even with the season having ended, the want for her hasn’t dissipated. Possessive and proud, Castile simply leans into her and tousles her striking forelock, then her mane, before muttering quietly for only Sochi to hear. ”You’re mine,” it sounds almost more of a growl, but his eyes soften just slightly. Deep in his chest, his heart is thrumming because he doesn’t want the moment to end, for his side to be left cold again. Although they are independent hunters, he has found something in her that he has always – even unknowingly – craved.

    The word ‘love’ doesn’t yet reach his tongue. It’s swallowed back down without a second thought. It’s there, brewing between them, but still premature even with Reia lurking. He doesn’t even finish; he doesn’t add that he will be hers, but it tantalizingly rests against his lips. It would be her decision, to harness the dragon king in a way no one else truly has.

    Another touch finds her. Castile’s eyes slowly blink as the sunlight blankets across them together. ”Is Loess to your liking so far?” He asks, diverting, and pushes his desire farther down for the time being.


    castile


    @[Sochi]
    #4
    Sochi

    darling, you're wild-eyed, empty, and tongue-tied
    maybe you need me or maybe you don't

    It’s easy to be here with him—in a way that surprises her. She hadn’t thought that she would ever find something like this to be easy, to be desirable, to be enjoyable. She hadn’t ever thought that she would let someone get close enough to find out but he had managed to sneak in when she wasn’t looking. He had found her in one of the most fragile moments of her life and somehow the rest of it had built around him. he had given her their daughter, and a home, and in a strange way, purpose—drive.

    So she doesn’t retaliate when he claims her, when the word slips out in his husky voice. Even though her eyes spark for a moment, even though something flashes across her face and her entire body stills, the muscles locking beneath her coat. She takes a deep breath, studying the hard angles of his face, the boyish charm and the kindness that simmers there beneath the strength and the predatory instincts.

    She sees him, all of him, and she exhales slowly.

    “Okay,” she says quietly, because it is easier than saying ‘I am.’ It is easier than admitting that she has been for a while—that he has claimed the pieces of her she had pretended didn’t even exist. It is easier than admitting that she doesn’t even know what that means any longer. So she just says okay and then let her lips find the curve of his jaw and the sweep of his neck, moving beneath the bronze of his mane and taking in the spice of him, the scent lingering. “Mine,” she says quietly, almost to herself, feeling that rare tightening in her belly, the feeling clicking into place—of finding the pieces she had thought she’d lost.

    She pulls back slightly before her lips curve.

    “I am enjoying it quite a bit. How about yourself?”

    playing the slow rooms, howling at half moons
    if you are a Queen then, honey, I am a wolf



    @[Castile]
    [Image: sochi.png]

    I was less than graceful, I was not kind
    be out watching other lovers lose their spine

    #5
    and underneath the layers, I find myself asking what's left
    a hollowed out form, the skeleton of a ghost, the pitiful echo of what once was
    Their relationship was unexpected. Their lives crossed during a tumultuous section of his life when everything seemed a whirring hurricane of mistakes and anger. Their coupling was initially a mistake, fueled by rage, but within seconds, he somehow found solace in the fire.

    Everything is simple between them. They curl into one another during the evenings when their bellies are full from a recent hunt. During the day when the sun is bright, they stray apart and tend to their own matters, only occasionally returning to each other for a word or touch. There is a sense of independence muddling the closeness that has blossomed between them. It’s simple, easy. Their relationship is effortless.

    Never has he imagined this, and yet it stands in front of him with intense eyes that burn through his skin and into his soul. Obliging in the plainest of ways, Castile can only smile in response. There’s nothing dramatic – she placidly agrees - and it’s sealed with a touch that traces down the length of his jaw, then his neck. His skin longs for the contact, lusting for it as she trails underneath his unruly mane and breathes him in. The moment is suspended, savored in his thoughts. Slowly, his eyes drift shut as his mind follows her every touch and breath. Mine, she plainly claims, and Castile immediately turns his head to look at her, nearly surprised by the rebuttal. Truthfully, it’s what he hoped, but their world together is unlike anything else he has experienced.

    ”Yes,” he agrees finally, the boyish grin broadening as his gaze sweeps across her and settles on the sharp edges of her face. This is more real than anything else. A throaty rumble vibrates through his core in muffled joy before he forces himself to peel his eyes from her to look across Loess. ”It certainly beats the Island,” he cannot suppress the chuckle even as his memory is ablaze. ”But I do like it here. It’s more suitable for us,” he is thinking of her now, and their daughter. As much as he wanted the island and the isolation of it, Loess has provided him something greater. Having settled into his role, he finds himself preferring it even above Nerine.

    For a long moment, his mind wanders, but the focus remains Sochi. Inclining his head to look at her, he quietly asks, ”What was your childhood like?”

    castile


    @[Sochi]
    #6
    Sochi

    darling, you're wild-eyed, empty, and tongue-tied
    maybe you need me or maybe you don't

    Sochi had never imagined she could feel the things she does for him.

    She had never thought, that day they stood across from one another sharing secrets, that one day he would be one of her greatest. But she doesn’t fight it—suppress the full extent of her feelings, perhaps, but not fight entirely. She just growls lightly in the back of her throat, feels the smoke of it rising there, and lets it simmer. She closes her silver eyes, tracing the masculine angles of him, the things she has studied for so long. She memorizes the gold band, the bronze of his mane, the boyish curl of his lip.

    All of these things that make him who he is.

    All of these things that make him hers.

    The flame between them rises and falls, stirred into life by slow touches and proclamations and then softened into embers again. It is all edges and heat and kindness—and she cannot feels the pressure of it building in her chest, the knife of it cutting against her flesh. But the sound of his laugh, that mischievous chuckle that is so uniquely him, cuts through her. Could anyone enjoy life the way that Castile could?

    “We’ll go back someday,” her smile is slow and lazy, her silver eyes finding the horizon before sweeping back to him. When he asks about her childhood, she frowns slightly, thrown off by the question. It’s been a long time since she’s thought about it. “I was born in Nerine during Hestia’s rule.” She rolls a shoulder, that frown creasing her brow. “My mother was kind but a worrier. She warned me often about the dangers of being in my tigress form. She wanted me to be careful; that others wouldn’t appreciate me like that.”

    A child’s interpretation of a mother’s warning—a warning twisted into self-hatred.

    Never Sloene’s intent, but the end result all the same.

    But Sochi rolls it off. “I was part of a child exchange with Hyaline. I was young when I left for there.” In those ways, she had been perhaps a disappointment to kingdoms. As she had grown, shedding the more cheery demeanor of her youth, she had slipped into the background of the East and then left altogether. “What about you, Castile?” Her frown melts away into a smile, teasing a rare warmth into her features as she nips at the corner of his mouth. “I imagine your childhood was more than being traded like chattel.”

    playing the slow rooms, howling at half moons
    if you are a Queen then, honey, I am a wolf



    @[Castile]
    [Image: sochi.png]

    I was less than graceful, I was not kind
    be out watching other lovers lose their spine

    #7
    and underneath the layers, I find myself asking what's left
    a hollowed out form, the skeleton of a ghost, the pitiful echo of what once was
    ”How fascinating it would be to see their reactions toward me,” he whispers low, punctuating the comment with a gentle chuckle as he envisions the interaction and how fiery it would be. They would object to him again, spat his name into the sand, but he could just as easily burn them and their home. It has frequently crossed his mind – set flame to the place of inbred scum. So what has stopped him? Truthfully, he hoped father would join him in the endeavor, but since then the idea has fallen through the cracks. The stirring dust has settled and, unbeknownst to Castile, there is a new lord of the Island.

    All the angst and frustration, although still far within him and easily awakened, has been suppressed with the comfort found within Loess and Sochi.

    The adoration borne between them has only intensified with each passing day. He cannot stifle the grin that tilts up the edges of his mouth when she confesses her childhood. It isn’t what she endured, but the simple sentiment that she is telling him. This never would have happened years ago when they first met. Closed up and shielded by a wall of iron, Sochi would never so much as let him dive into her life like he has now. He reaches forward to touch her in this moment, to caress the curve of her jaw and savor what they’ve become. Love comes to mind – it truly does – but he swallows it with reservation, promising himself another day, before feeding her his own life story. ”I was born in Nerine, also, but when Nayl was Queen.” He doesn’t admit that she is his mother – or that she is even quietly living retirement in the caves here – or that he played a lackluster role as prince of a matriarchal herd. ”And I actually spent a lot of time in Hyaline as well when Amet was King. I was sort of being traded since there wasn’t a place for boys in Nerine, but I also tried to live there out of friendship. Things didn’t exactly work out.” A shrug ripples through his shoulders. ”So Nerine is where most of my childhood was spent.”

    The coastal kingdom has always – will always – own a sliver of his heart. He loved the salty waves lapping at his legs and its residue laced into his unruly locks. He even tried again to live there, but fate had other plans. ”Rather boring, I know.” He bumps her softly, never letting too much time pass between touches.


    castile


    @[Sochi]
    #8
    Sochi

    darling, you're wild-eyed, empty, and tongue-tied
    maybe you need me or maybe you don't

    She blossoms beneath his attention without even realizing it.

    She opens up in a way she has never with another, offering him pieces of herself, giving him the deepest parts of her soul and trusting his hands to hold it. She doesn’t think twice about it and perhaps that is the greatest display of affection that she could ever show him. Even when the words do come to mind, even when she does tame her fiercest of edges, it would never mean more than this moment, this trust.

    He quiets her, stills her, and she finds a peace here by his side.

    She finds something like tranquility with his sun-baked flesh pressed against her.

    And, ultimately, her trust is returned when he listens quietly, sharing his own history with her. “How odd that our stories have so many parallels,” she muses, thinking on the fact that they share the same birth place, that they both left to live in the same kingdom. Then again, it makes sense that the two would find themselves with the threads of their lives having crossed before they ever knew the other’s name.

    Still, it makes sense, and she feels a strange closeness with him because of it.

    “I have never once found you boring,” she says, her voice quiet, the raspiness of it softened into a husk as she traces the arch of his gold band in an oddly tender moment. She stills, vulnerable in a way that she has never been before and then merely rests her head against the muscular arch of his neck.

    For a second, she rests, letting the tightening in her belly pass. Letting the rush of warmth flood through her and then recede. Letting the fear of what it means to press so much of yourself into another pass.

    playing the slow rooms, howling at half moons
    if you are a Queen then, honey, I am a wolf



    @[Castile]
    [Image: sochi.png]

    I was less than graceful, I was not kind
    be out watching other lovers lose their spine





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