11-30-2020, 01:50 AM
so make your siren's call and sing all you want, I will not hear what you have to say --
His blue lips quirk into that crooked smile of his, and this time his laugh is just a sharp exhale. “I don't think Crowns will let anything be boring. Vulgaris maybe got more than he bargained for,” he says with a fondness reserved for his first born. He replicates her way of never referring to her sire as her father, and it's difficult to say if he's actually that observant, or if it's something that he never would have noticed to be considered strange. He did not consider Ivar to be his father; the word did not fit the kelpie man well at all, and he could not remember a time that he had ever called him that. He was his sire, and not really anything beyond that. There was a reason that Varick had completely separated himself from everything that was kelpie-related; he was not like them.
His skin shivers involuntarily at the way her lips start to trail down his neck, the frost of his scales melting beneath the warmth of her breath. It is easy to mistake the touch as something tender, but he can feel the exploration to it. He lets her look, even tilts his head just slightly to let her trace down the length of his throat, and then says in the low gravel of his voice, “You should know by now there isn't a weak spot.” His dark blue eyes catch the sharp green of hers, the same edges he has cut himself on a hundred times already. He lowers his head, pulling her momentarily into a brief but tight embrace as his mouth drags down her neck. “But you can look all you want, viper.”
He steps away from her, knowing he had likely just crossed all the boundaries that she hates him to cross. The rattlesnake colt had curled himself back onto the ground at the feet of his mother, seemingly exhausted from being born, and standing and nursing. Varick blows a soft breath across the colt's frosted scales and then presses his lips to the top of the filly's small head. He looks back at Sabbath, recognizing the fatigue still in her eyes, and the previous mischief from earlier fades and is replaced with concern when he tells her, “You should rest, Sabbath. I can wait outside while the three of you sleep.”
His skin shivers involuntarily at the way her lips start to trail down his neck, the frost of his scales melting beneath the warmth of her breath. It is easy to mistake the touch as something tender, but he can feel the exploration to it. He lets her look, even tilts his head just slightly to let her trace down the length of his throat, and then says in the low gravel of his voice, “You should know by now there isn't a weak spot.” His dark blue eyes catch the sharp green of hers, the same edges he has cut himself on a hundred times already. He lowers his head, pulling her momentarily into a brief but tight embrace as his mouth drags down her neck. “But you can look all you want, viper.”
He steps away from her, knowing he had likely just crossed all the boundaries that she hates him to cross. The rattlesnake colt had curled himself back onto the ground at the feet of his mother, seemingly exhausted from being born, and standing and nursing. Varick blows a soft breath across the colt's frosted scales and then presses his lips to the top of the filly's small head. He looks back at Sabbath, recognizing the fatigue still in her eyes, and the previous mischief from earlier fades and is replaced with concern when he tells her, “You should rest, Sabbath. I can wait outside while the three of you sleep.”
VARICK
@[Sabbath]