Gale
this is going to break me clean in two --
this is going to bring me close to you
Mazikeen slips out of his grasp in an instant, and Gale is too furious to use his magic. Had he tried, he might have become even more enraged, but as it is he only roars his frustration at her smarmy expression and the myriad of unsatisfactory shapes she becomes.
“You know what.” He growls and he doesn’t even want her to be Wishbone anymore, he just wants her to do what he says. He wants her to bend to his will, to break her, and in his fury he forgets how much he’d disliked it when he’d broken her before.
She becomes a white lioness and he is a lion to match without even thinking about it, his mane bloody and as red as her flashing eyes.
“You are the most infuriating creature I have ever met,” The Curse tells her for the first time, unaware that Gale has told her this very thing.
The desire to leap forward, to crush her throat between his jaws is almost overwhelming. The darkness wants it, wants to wrap her up in blackness, to watch the life return slowly to her eyes before snuffing it out again.
But more than that, deeper than that, he wants to watch them burn. Wants to keep them burning. Wants them to burn for him, oly for him and at last, as he meets her glare for glare, he realizes that this is not a trap laid for him alone.
It will snare them both, and if it means she is bound more tightly to him as a result, he will gladly place himself inside the ropes.
Yet he cannot make himself come to her, cannot unmake the thing that he is, cannot bend the summons of a mortal woman. So he remains still, even when she beckons, even when the wrath in his eyes has softened.
“No.”
There is a brief pause, and then he says again: “No.”
The word is just as firm a second time, and yet he takes a step forward. Hesitant. Cautious. There are no Alarms, no Warnings, only the increasing awareness of her nearness. Of her desire too, and of his own, rising like the fire that lighting that flickers across his skin.
“You are mine.” He repeats, and though he cannot bring himself to promise what she has asked, he is slow and purposeful in his movements, teasing and soft and nothing like he has been before, with featherlite kisses across her bloody skin.
He settles atop her but proceeds no farther, waiting for the arch of her back, for the fire he feels beneath her skin, for the sound of her pleasure as he mouths her pale neck and whispers softly: “And I am yours. ”
@Mazikeen
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current appearance: cave hyena -> lion
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