"“Content to admire you from afar.” Well that’s just bullshit. She wasn’t *content* to be admired from afar. She would rather not see him at all then be tortured by a buffered distance." --Mazikeen, written by Squirt
05-07-2021, 01:13 PM (This post was last modified: 05-07-2021, 09:37 PM by Obscene.)
Kiss me again Kiss me until I am sick of it
He doesn’t bother responding to her (when it finally clicks in her sluggish brain), he’s too distracted by the sound of her crystalline laugh. A strange look filters across his dark features, the smirk still upturning the corners of his mouth but tight across his lips. The red of his eyes burning brightly as he focuses on her, laughing drunkenly at her own cleverness. She’s beginning to fall into the clutches of the nectar, the beginning stages of pollen apparent in the glossiness of her emerald eyes. The stutter of her words, her obvious confusion. He’s partly irritated by her evasiveness, just wanting her to answer him. The rest of him is consumed by the sudden feeling of power he has over her. That and something else... The realization jolts through him like an electrical current, a sensation that makes his entire muscular body tingle with anticipation. It's a raw hotness of desire that burns as painfully as the hatred that writhes around his shriveled heart.
How often had he dreamed of this since the day she stormed into his life? Of her bending to him willingly, on her knees and wanting nothing more than to please him. A dreamy expression has taken root over her lovely face and he finds that his mouth is suddenly dry with the comprehension that he could have her… If he wanted her this way. His muzzle lowers to the bowl, drinking deeply from the honeyed wine, partly to distract him as he soothes his parched tongue. How far was he willing to go, being this villain? Or were there boundaries even he couldn’t cross?
“Just answer the question Cheri.” He encourages her, trying to get the jeweled mare to focus merely on his words, as if what he wanted didn’t matter. The strange look only deepening as he stands a little distance from her. Curious to see what she would do now that she was in the thrall of her inebriation. He would start with questions, easy enough to loosen her up and see what truths came from her unguarded lips. And then… Then even he’s not sure what he would do. “If I never let you go home, what would you do?” Pausing for a moment as his piercing crimson gaze never leaves the delicate curves of her face. “Do you think yourself beautiful? Do you think that I would ever find you beautiful?” He’s never been more grateful that he can lie unlike his fae brethren that still watch an increasingly drunker Cheri with apparent enthusiasm. Setting her up to fall into a trap of his cruelness, to pick her apart until she was right down here in the same self loathing he belonged to. To prove that she meant absolutely nothing to him.
The longer she stared at a particular object, the larger it grew. Cheri was stunned by the size of the meadow flowers, growing and growing in size all around her. She felt like she could plummet backwards into their soft embraces, just recline on the slope of their multicolored petals and observe Obscene from a distance like she wanted to. She looked up from the ground and back at him, drawn away from her twisted hallucinations by the sharp edge in his voice, and watched as he dissolved into a state of liquid before filling up the empty glass shape of himself again, over and over.
She laughed, softly. Everything was funny, everything felt funny and she liked it.
“Pushy, pushy, pushy.” She thought of him and his strange questions, annoyed by the insistence of them and their maker. The words took form in the air and drifted towards her, caressing her skin just like the wind that curled over her legs and tousled her bright green hair. What would she do if she couldn’t leave? Did she think she was beautiful? Did she think he would find her beautiful? Was she high right now? “Do I ever get nervous?”
“You hate when I touch you so no.” She started from the end and worked her way backwards, back to the beginning and then forwards to the end again. “Once I thought I was pretty but now I’m not sure what I am. I want -” She stopped herself, confused, and then continued. “- I want to stay here. I like you and your obscenities. I want to touch and be touched by you.” The pegasus hiccupped, causing her wings to bounce and then settle again.
She took a step forward and stumbled, but not into him. Just rocked on unsteady legs and then stood upright again, her foreleck a mess covering her eyes and her lips tilted as sideways as her thoughts.
“As if I could ever tempt you! Wooo-loo-loo mister Obscene.” She threw her head back and laughed at the way he’d broken her heart that first time, as if the phrase couldn’t touch her now. A lie; the words hurt just as much as they always did but she knew that, even in her current state of inebriation. The sun cast rays of light over the black pelt covering his hide and the flowers wound up his legs, bled into his skin and blanched themselves white like spots. He faded from black to evergreen, from spruce to redwood, from crimson to cream and then back to pale green. The vines wrapped around his shoulders and flared into wings, and Cheri’s smile faded.
“Yenny?” She mumbled, stepping closer to the phantom before the vines crumbled and the vibrant colors turned ashen and dark again. “Obscene?”
Her gaze tilted, unfocused. She could hardly stand still though she tried. “More.” She demanded. “More nectar.” Cheri edged closer to the reservoir of remaining liquor. The feeling was fading fast and she wasn’t about to let the fall supersede the rise. She didn’t want to think about Targaryen or where he might’ve gone after the winter festival. She wanted Obscene to berate her and enrage her, to make her laugh and take her mind off of things for a little while longer.
Yesterday, 03:07 PM (This post was last modified: 10 hours ago by Obscene.)
Kiss me again Kiss me until I am sick of it
She is absolutely fucked and the grin spreads easily over his lips, hiding the thoughts of uncertainty and nervousness that rise as she starts talking. The warmth from the nectar spreads everywhere, making him feel lighter than air and instilling false bravado as the situation escalates around them. Everything about her comes into hyper focus, the soft strands of green defined as they curl along her neck. The patterns that weave along the dark curves of her skin and spiral in the splattered spots of her rump and he finds he wants to come closer to her if only to see how those patterns morph and move. Unthinkingly doing so as he closes the distance between them by a few steps.
That strange look only deepening as she opens up. She thinks he hates her touch and he does… Because he craves it. She truly thinks he despises her and he should be pleased that he’s succeeded in doing so… But it feels hollow. A hollow victory. Perhaps there is a flicker of guilt, a minuscule flare, that he’s smashed some of her self-esteem. It doesn’t last, it doesn’t stay. His own self loathing reaches for those words but becomes distracted as she says, “I want…”
His skull had begun to snake out, his muzzle hovering over the defined slope of her shoulder, as she says the most unexpected thing. She wants to stay. She likes him. She likes him. He freezes, just mere inches from touching her, from giving them both what they want. And yet… It feels like a trap. The nectar usually made one truthful but they both weren’t fae, they were not held to a standard of being unable to tell deceptions. What if it was all just an elaborate lie to catch him? To make him weak? To hurt him?
It is hard for Obscene to believe that anyone would ever want a mortal thing like himself when he had been unwanted for so long. He had been a lonely feral child for such a long time, turning into the hardened lonely young man that stood before her now. He doesn’t believe for a second that someone like her would ever want someone like him. It had to be a lie. It must be a lie. She stumbles then, away from him and he watches her as she mocks him, throws his words back at him. As she becomes confused and squints at him, calling him by an unfamiliar name.
Yenny. He can’t help but smirk (hiding the way his stomach drops behind his smug smile) as if confirming that she was just trying to goad him. That she had been lying the whole time. He can’t help the jealousy that stirs around his withered heart, wondering if that was the name of the one that had supposedly called her name like an offered prayer. Maybe she was seeing the red eyed stallion as that lover instead, the one she had curled beside. Who she really wants to touch. He hates the way that thought carves into him, sharp and hot, just as much as he hates her for making him feel such things in the first place. How she always seemed to gain the upper hand and not even know it.
Still, it couldn’t hurt to just pretend could it? The both of them here, drunk on flowers and nectar and each other. They could just pretend for a little while couldn’t they, that they didn’t despise each other?
He doesn’t stop her when she drinks more, as he indulges more, as he lets himself slip into the inebriated bliss of care free ignorance. His mouth is by her ear, a soft murmur for only them to hear. “Why don’t you try?” He’s holding his breath, surprised at his own daring even as his scarlet eyes hide his thoughts with their everlasting scorn. “Try to tempt me.” Baiting her. Baiting himself. "I may not want you," (Lies, lies, lies) "but I'd love to see you try."
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