"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
08-08-2021, 01:09 PM (This post was last modified: 08-17-2021, 12:08 AM by Bardot.)
Bardot
I know what sin is
There had been a moment in the afterglow when they had looked at each other, when he had taken his teeth to her throat and stoked the white hot flames of need within her again with his dark praise. As she saw something in those stormy eyes that broke through the clouds like lightning and momentarily reflect in her own. A flash and then it is gone and he is pulling away from her, disgust written on his face. His promise of taking her again seems to be forgotten when he flatly tells her to leave and then disappears himself into the cold darkness.
She had said nothing when she had seen the change in his expression, had felt the absence of his body next to hers. She should have expected this cruelty, he was a dark stranger and neither of them owed the other anything. Still, she can’t help the sharp knife of rejection when he spurns her as if she was nothing. The look she gives him as he goes is one of pride, defiance, and disappointment, not allowing her hurt to get the best of her. She would not beg him to stay.
She did not know the forest the way he did and it took her awhile to find her way out of the darkness, the memories of him etched into the recesses of her mind, burned into her brain and refusing to dissipate.
She spent a few days bathing in the River, her body bruised and aching from the way he had handled her. She had found the demon in these waters and it had been enough of a distraction to chase away any bitterness left in Tunnel’s cruel exit. The changes in the redwoods, finding her mother, and the hunt for her brother soon took up most space in her head and soon Tunnel was no more than a memory she recalled from time to time. Mostly he came to her in dreams that left her panting and aching when she awoke but were soon forgotten by the distractions of the day.
The heat of summer drives her back towards the riverbank on a particularly hot day, her flowered tail snapping at gnats and another annoying creatures that threaten to eat her alive. The marks he had left on her were stubborn, refusing to fade at first, but now only a small few remained, close to fading. As if he had never touched her at all. She slips into the waters seeking relief from the oppressive heat and sweat that clings to her buckskin figure. What might she encounter near the rapids today? Small rivulets stream across her back as she dips herself lower, only momentarily reflecting on both the demon she had encountered here as well as the dark stallion that she had once given her body to. The memories of them fade as she washes herself clean, closing her golden eyes from the intrusive beaming of the sun and focusing on the tasks left ahead of her.
They may call me a sinner, but I am at peace with myself;
He tries in the days that follow the Bardot day to disappear into the forest in his usual way. It should be as easy as standing eerily still in the darkness and waiting for his mind to grow quiet, and his body to make it's demands. Eat, sleep, or even just wait and listen like a coiled snake.
None of this happens. Oh he does stand as quietly as a stone, but his mind never stills. In it are once delicious pictures gone sepia and moth eaten until they taste of dust. Up until now he has not even bothered to remember these things, his moments have been just moments passing and gone and mattering not at all because he was alive only in the next violence and the next.
Now there is time all around him, the before, the now, and the question of what comes next. It unsettles and enrages him, the loss of the simplicity of earlier days when he only needed to take, consume, conquer. He was changed already when he made the decision to walk out into the meadow but he might have returned to the darkness and himself if she…
He does try to remove her from his thoughts, even going so far as to look for someone else to break, certain that it would send him back to the quiet hedonism of his former days. The potential victims he does come across do not spark his interest, though he hunts in the forest for days and lays eyes on more than one who would have served… he finds his craving too specific for these, and stalks further and further out toward the edge of the forest.
If only it could be said that he has caught the scent of her floral perfume once or twice and moved on. It might be a balm to his pride to have forced it out of his nostrils and moved on. That has not happened. A breeze over the water carries their heavy tropical fragrance to him in the trees and he turns toward it immediately
The first thing he's done without thought all day.
Tunnel is on the bank before he knows it, looking out at her in the current. He hardly notices the sun beyond the way it glows against her damp skin. Her mane is curling again at the ends where it has been wet. He lowers his head to drink from the river's quiet edge. The forest shadows cling to him but the sunlight that reaches him makes his blue black coat brilliant and distinctly out of place beside the river.
He could say something to her, her name perhaps or the phrase that he knew might turn her warm and needy. Instead he stays silent, pushes into the river upstream of her but not close enough to again shelter her from the force of the water. What about her bothers him? The way she disrupts the intractable violent storm that he has for so long embodied? Could it have been anyone or is she exactly the woman, the one he should have avoided without knowing it.
Tunnel still hasn't said anything as he drifts closer to her, his hooves deft on the stony riverbed until he is close enough to reach out and groom her, his body following much more slowly, drifting closer. She might spurn him but he recognizes his marks on her skin and wets his muzzle, smooths his lips against her skin. He doesn't say a word, just helps her bathe with a slow and deliberate touch, his eyes intent and dark as he smoothes tangles in her black mane and drips cooling water over her withers.
She can feel his presence despite her turned back, the eerie silence of the forest seeming to follow him from the cold confines of bark and decay and spread around her with a demanding icy grip. His darkness threatens to drown out the rush of the water, threatens to block out the sun and song of thrush and swallow. And yet she resists, shining bright from her spot in the shallows as she lowers her muzzle to skim the crystal surface, to let the tip of her horn catch a beam of light and glitter in his direction.
Her breath hitches in her throat as she senses him but she pretends as if she is ignorant, as if she is the prey caught unaware by the gator who had slipped into the water behind her. Despite her calm and unbothered appearance, she can’t help the flutter of anticipation that quickens the rhythmic beating of her heart. She has not exactly been innocent in the time that’s separated them and has enough awareness to recognize it was partly fueled by the bitterness of their parting as much as it has been from curiosity and the thrill of being desired and wanted.
She should be angry at him. She should shove that fine tip of her horn right into his throat and deliver the punishment that he rightly deserved. But she doesn’t, finding that her anger melts away with the water running off her back from the cleansing caress he gives her. She is still and quiet beneath his grooming, still not acknowledging his presence despite the silent delight that rockets through her body at having him so close to her again. Of feeling his lips against the heat of her skin and breathing in the musk of his scent as he traces the faded bites that shine faintly from their last encounter.
She will not be the first to speak. Not after the way he had left her. It was her fault really for allowing herself to be vulnerable with a shadow, for giving such a valuable thing like her virginity to a monster. But she can’t regret it when his teeth are smoothing the tangles from her mane, when his lips touch places that he’s traveled before and bring back the memories of dreams that refuse to let sleeping dogs lie.
They may call me a sinner, but I am at peace with myself;
Sunlight glitters across the river. It catches on the water that rolls from his lips, like diamonds dripping from his dark mouth to roll across her skin. They are side by side, the both of them quiet except for their breathing. He washes dust and sweat from her neck, and then moves on, continuing these ministrations across her golden form. If he smells another on her he gives no indication, only attends to this task. Dropping water upon her skin, grooming her carefully, massaging at muscles that must still ache from that night. Of course his teeth are on her again but he moves slowly this time, tasting her skin, leaving her brighter rather than bruised.
Tunnel works like this for a long time, and when he does speak he looks back over his shoulder at her to do so, his own hip now pressed close to her own shoulder. ”Are you… well?” A pause, a breath exhaled, heavy, frustrated (as he so often is these days). His grey eyes flicker away, studying the wet buckskin of her back, the perfect symmetry of her body seeming to hypnotise him as he drifts into himself. His eyes seek hers again, his dark face serious.
He does not feel like who he used to be, but how is he supposed to explain this when she knows so little of him?
“I should have shown you the way out of the forest.” He says roughly, abrupt, like someone who has never apologized for anything in his life. His head lowers, muzzle grazing the curve of her croup. On his other side the river presses relentlessly into his strong limbs but between them the water is as still as glass, only disturbed by the movement of their barrels with each long breath. “You do not know what I would have done to you if I had not left. I do. I have done it before. You think my estimations of my own monstrosity to be inflated, they are not. When beside you I see them clearer than ever.” The deep timbre of his voice is for her alone, carries no further than her ears whether she chooses to listen or not. “Do you remember telling me that even monsters dream? I did not, I don’t have memories of dreams but now...”
“Bardot.” He says, as if gathering all his frayed patience in around himself like a heavy rope. ”I close my eyes and I see you.”
TUNNEL
@Bardot help he has --feelings--, should nhave gotten that vaccine SMH
She doesn’t mind the silence, the unspoken things that hover heavily between them. His touch is careful, a far cry from the way he had nearly torn her apart in the heated climax of their union. It doesn’t take long till the steady drone from the hidden cicadas lulls her into a hazy summer daze, her lids closing over the fine threads of gold spun within her eyes. Between the soft coolness of the water streaming around her body, his steady touch as he presses into those aching travel-worn muscles, and the overall balm that comes with having him so near draws her further into this false sense of security, half asleep on her hooves where she stands surrounded by him in the shallows of the river.
To anyone who didn’t know better, they looked for all the world a content and happy couple. The way he grooms her so intently, the languid smile that lingers on her soft lips. They cannot sense the electric tensions that spark between them beneath the surface, the steady burn of heat and confusion that had been building for weeks rising again with renewed vigor.
After so much silence, his voice startles her from her half-sleep and she is momentarily confused, jolting against him where her shoulder barely rests against his hip. An itch forms to the right of her horn in an irritating spot that she can’t reach. She is bold as she slowly rubs her head against his flank, her horn sliding against the dark navy fur along his hindquarters before she glances back at him. He seems on edge, a darker expression then the one she had sensed before as he stares at her.
She still says nothing, letting her silence speak for itself.
”I should have shown you the way out of the forest.” Obviously, she thinks but keeps her tongue still. Not yet. Not when he was apologizing in his own way, she hadn’t expected that. Didn't expect the rush of words that come out of him, the most she has ever heard him speak at one time. A single ear swivels back to him, indicating she was listening even if she wasn’t openly acknowledging him. The things he speaks of, these “things he would have done to her” imply threats of violence but she thinks it’s more than that. Was it really his fear of hurting her that had turned him cold against her? Or did it have to do more with that look they shared in the aftermath when she hadn’t shied away from him?
His tone is still as rough as sandpaper but low, words meant for only her. How easily he spills his confessions (she would argue that a mindless evil beast wouldn't have such morals) and a prouder woman might have taken them and used them against him, might have tried to capture him and hurt him the way he had hurt her when he had turned his back on her with disgust scrawled across his face. When he had made her feel as if she was nothing.
She would not allow him to know how much it had bruised her, the way he had left her like that.
Nor would she retaliate against him, not this time.
Not when she can see that flicker of light amongst all his shadowy terrible deeds. Not when she can sense a man behind the monster. ”I see you.” “And I see you.” She finally breathes out an admission of her own, the memories of teasing dreams stirring thoughts of his teeth against her mane and makes her stir with a flush of arousal. So achingly aware of his broad chest pressed against the back of her thigh. She finally looks at him, her golden eyes tranquil and clear despite the smolder of desire flickering through her. “I’m not afraid of you.” She states calmly, watching him closely to see what he would make of this bold declaration. She means it too. He could try to break her, he might even be successful at it.
But she would never cower from him. He would not be able to avoid her defiance, no matter what he threw at her. “I’m not afraid of you.” She repeats again, her voice softer this time. “Not like you are of me.” And she holds his gaze unflinchingly, daring him to lie to her. To deny it.
They may call me a sinner, but I am at peace with myself;
It is difficult to not circle back to what was, what has been. Is he so unlike anyone else to imagine himself only as what he has been in the past? There is not yet a part of him that asks why he has lived as a monster. There has been little else, only impulses, only cruel indifference, only dominion over who or what ever fell victim to him. He will never be like any other, so what is it she wants from him?
Nothing, perhaps.
Oh, but he knows that cannot be true. He cannot forget how she feels when she wants him, the unique tension that brazenly grows between them. Fearless.
Bardot startles, he hasn't noticed she was dozing because he has been making his way over the hills and valleys of her body. A pilgrim restoring a sacred pathway he'd once plundered. When she rubs her face against him he tenses a little but stays where he is, watching her still though she only affords him a glance and it is an unaffected if not chilly look. The buckskin mare does not answer his question, his countenance darkens further. He never asks such questions.
He makes an appropriately irritable Beast to her Beauty.
Still she remains quiet when he brings himself to admit fault. Tunnel looks for belief in her, a little comprehension. What she gives him instead is a single listening ear.
For a moment he thinks he truly ought to have torn her apart.
Women you have ripped up and eaten do not give you the cold shoulder.
It is a passing thought and he finds only the slightest desire to act on it, far eclipsed his other desires involving Bardot.
And I see you. She admits, and even though some part of him knew it was coming it sparks a possessive desire. His lips brush the point of her hip, drifting to the midline of her back...but she has more to say, and at last looks him in the face.
Unfortunately she brings him back to the reality in which she is brave and certain… and fearless.
Fearing him now or not is not the issue, she will be unafraid until it is too late. He makes a noise of frustration, looking into her calm eyes, his jaw clenched. "I am not in the habit of giving out warnings, Bardot. You--"
She repeats herself, steady and sure. What comes keeps him quiet only a heartbeat. His reply is placid, but his lip twitches. He would not normally give words in exchange for her defiance. "What do you think so frightens me, little unicorn? Please. Expound."
His voice is gravelly, unaccustomed to so much use. This woman the first he has been able to resist breaking and yet she begs him to destroy her. Why doesn't he? If Tunnel feels anything like fear, it is in not understanding why he has grown so awake within himself… and here is Bardot in the center of that storm, a steady beacon of light, the only thing he craves more than the cold unthinking dark.
Every decision she makes with him is one that she’s carefully considered, a pointed choice. From allowing him to give her both pleasure and pain to the solemn silence she emits now. Of course he could force her to speak if he wished, could have taken her body without a second thought to her wellbeing (as he had done to others before her). And yet he has not, does not. A choice. And that’s what keeps her thinking about him, the spider lurking behind the toilet. How for all his appearance he seems suited to the shadows but can’t seem to help the way he orbits to her sun.
She can tell she is pushing him in ways he’s probably not use to, the way his expression darkens and her pulse quickens with adrenaline as her fight or flight response kicks in. If it was anyone else she might be dead or worse. But she’s not just anyone. She refuses to buckle beneath his glower and simply gazes at him calmly as she refuses to get wrapped into his web. Pretending that she had not already been caught. His lips still brush against the arch of her back and she nearly purrs like the cat imprinted on her skin. Nearly.
A muscle works along his chiseled jaw and his temper flares again as she quietly states her truth. He tries to interrupt but she is not having it, calmly repeating herself again and holding his gaze and watches the words die on his tongue with a hint of satisfaction. No, he hadn’t been expecting that had he? She watches the way his lips twitch, the flash in those steely eyes. He knows what he is doing when he calls her by that name, an involuntary shudder of delight rippling across her withers were his dark lips still linger. She ignores the way desire courses through her veins, pretends as if she hasn’t flagged her tail for just a moment with him still pressed behind her as she comes full circle to face him directly.
“I saw the way you looked at me.” She states quietly, still keeping the conversation private between them. Remembering that exchanged glance between them before he had turned from her. Because I see the light at the end of YOUR tunnel. She thinks but doesn’t say. “You are more than your darkness.” She whispers instead as she reaches for him, dipping her own muzzle across the surface of the river and pressing her wet lips to where his pulse thunders beneath the thick skin of his neck. “And I am more than my brightness.”
She is thoughtful as she casts her golden gaze up to him, to find those storm clouds in his eyes. She shuffles through all of the ways he’s probably thought of to break her down. He could. He still could. He still might before all this is over. There is something broken in her already, something that believes that the only affection and love she might deserve is the kind he can give her. Something rough that’s hard to understand. It doesn’t mean she will tolerate outright cruelty though.
“I don’t belong to you.” She murmurs as her teeth place ardent nips along the slope of his shoulder. “You don’t belong to me.” She continues, a stutter in her heart at the thought of him consuming anyone else the way he had to her. A flicker of jealousy that she chases away because it doesn’t belong here, not when she was so resistant (so nervous) to being bridled and caught by him or anyone else. She was a unicorn after all. “I’ll be yours when you find me.” She finally says, surprised by her own nerve to say such a thing. Looking up at him beneath those long lashes, a hard line running through the coyness and lust he might find there. “But if you walk away from me again…” And here she shrugs nonchalantly, as if denying and ignoring him for the rest of her life would be an easy feat.
They may call me a sinner, but I am at peace with myself;
08-16-2021, 12:32 AM (This post was last modified: 08-16-2021, 01:00 AM by Tunnel.)
She turns to him, and though he has looked upon her for the last hour Tunnel still savors the sight of her movement. He has looked at many women but he sees Bardot differently. He does not know why that is, other women have had beautiful necks and that narrow dip along their spines that he could kiss his way down if he had chosen. He has never chosen. Now he would, but she faces him and challenges his frustration with yet more words, more denials of his long held reality.
He does not know what she saw in his face that night, only what was in his head. She is angry with him for sparing her. Tunnel draws a deep breath, exhales it heavily again. What if he just told her? Described exactly what had crawled out of his mind and intruded on his already savage desires? She would not believe he could have done it. A muscle twitches in his jaw. Bardot presses a kiss to his neck, he breathes her in. She is more than her brightness, yes, but how far from her brightness can he take her before she hates him.
I don't belong to you… nips punctuate the words, working along the strong line of his shoulder. His eyes narrow the smallest fraction.. but she keeps talking, words spilling from her dark lips, lips he would rather feel against his skin but the things she says keep him engaged. For a man who so often takes what he wants he is surprised by the desire that follows her promise to be his when he finds her. He almost kisses her then but is arrested by the look in her eyes, seduction this may be but he knows a threat when he hears one. A growl rises and dies in his throat as his grey eyes consider her fiery gold ones.
He kisses her then, drops his head to capture her mouth and bruise her lips with his insistence. Anger is burning off for something that, when Bardot is involved, rages far hotter. When he breaks with her, pressing her to his broad chest, his voice is a rumble she will feel in her own breast. "I don't think I should agree to those terms, but this isn't a negotiation, is it Bardot?" The stallion kisses her jaw, nips the spot, and returns his muzzle to hers so he can feel her breaths falling against his skin, listening to the cadence of them.
"...And what if I find you every day? If I make you scream in this river, and the meadow beyond, if I find you in your taiga and push you up against a redwood and have you again and again. Will your oath still stand when you no longer can?" Heat rolls off his body in scorching waves, his frame coiled tight. Sweat and water cord his mane, his forelock falling into his grey eyes.
For a moment she wonders if she has pushed him too far. She’s not sure what she sees lurking in those hard corners of his eyes when she looks up through thick lashes. He stares at her as if he might devour her but in what way? Almost… She almost loses her resolve and her nerve by glancing away. He was something sharp and jagged, something that threatened to destroy her if given half the chance. She knows that. She wants him anyways.
So she holds firm, gazing at him with her head held high. And then he kisses her and its even better than she had remembered. He is as passionate as he had been that first time he had stolen her kisses and she finds herself gasping when they finally break apart, her lips swollen and bruised and still aching for more. He pulls her to him and she doesn’t resist, curling into his chest and lowering her head demurely to avoid stabbing him with her horn. She can feel the way he rumbles like a freight train as he speaks, the vibrations pleasantly reverberating against her slender chest. She smiles into his exposed blue skin as she presses soft kisses and finally murmurs, ”No.” No it wasn’t. Not today anyways.
She likes this feeling of being tucked in against him as he kisses her jaw and then brings his muzzle back to hers. Strange, how she feels so safe pressed against him in this way when moments ago he had been trying to convince her otherwise. He hadn’t needed to convince her, she had known he was something terrible when she had first laid her golden eyes on him. And yet, despite the danger that lurks around her, she still presses herself deeper against him as he lets delicious “what-ifs” fall around them. “Is that a challenge Tunnel?” She asks, already playing vivid images in her head of him doing exactly what he had threatened to do and finding herself far from repulsed by the idea. In fact she hopes it’s more of a promise then a warning.
“I’m not in Taiga much these days.” She finally says after placing a sharp nip to his muscular striped shoulder, unable to hide her desire from him and unsure of just how much he cared to know about her. This seemed to be just sex after all. “But if you think you can catch me there then I suppose we can find out.” She slowly moves her muzzle further down the length of his heated body, the memories of her dreams (as well as the approaching change in season) stirring her to be more bold in her actions. In taking what she wants. “As for this river…” She purrs as her muzzle dips lower and runs along the sensitive skin she finds there, tasting the salt and sweat of him as she slowly flags her tail. Not giving a damn who might be watching. “Shall we see who ends up screaming first?”
They may call me a sinner, but I am at peace with myself;
He likes the feel of her in his embrace, the press of her chest to his as they breathe against one another. She is not truly delicate, or fragile. Like him her presence is a weight, a heaviness in the air that can’t be ignored. Bardot takes up space with her boldness and is fearless in her desires. She does not compliment him, she rises up and collides with him. Is she always this way or is this his alone? Why does he wonder?
“Oh it certainly is.” Murmurs the blue stallion, nipping the corner of her mouth before she pulls away. “I don’t think I will need to catch you.” Already he knows that she will be eager, will play with him but will submit gleefully. He reaches out and returns her nip in kind, just behind her shoulder blade, his tone smug almost… playful… almost. His skin shivers under Bardot’s brazen touch and he tosses a dark intrigued look back at her but says nothing else. His attention is drawn to her flagging tail and the curve of her rump beside him, she smells like desire, he loves when the flowers disappear into the scent of her lust heated skin. Already their breathing is loud over the river rapids beyond them that rumble and hiss, and the stridulation of grasshoppers from the meadow. He and Bardot are on their own but bound to scandalize someone, as this is not a secluded area and they are not about to engage in a businesslike transaction. Bardot is not a woman one quickly ruts upon and sets loose. She is ravenous, and he owes her satisfaction. He has been craving her, and is happy to oblige.
Tunnel snaps his dark tail against his hocks, but does not move too quickly. He reaches out from beside her to kiss his way down the curve of her rump to the back of her thigh. He works his way back up, testing her, seeing what she will do when he touches her here. He can’t reach anything more interesting than her curves just yet, and sticks where he is just because of that. Yes, she is ravenous but she is also frustrating and deserves frustration in turn.
Bardot![[Image: BQjeje-Bardot2.png]](https://i.postimg.cc/T37nJTF6/BQjeje-Bardot2.png)
