[AW] hymns of salt and terror;

[Amaroq]

in his own country Death can be kind Where she is wanton with her lust, his need is more instinctual. In his language there is no word for lover, only mate. In his world pleasure is brief and hard-won - a muzzle red with scarlet blood still-warm and a full belly, and riding a storm-surge on a black and moonless night. And yet he knows the same steps to this dance, hears the same music, the thing she wants to sing to like a wolf. Later, perhaps, she will howl - down where the sea steals their voices - and he will join her. Later, perhaps, he will return to his hunt, and he will not be alone. But now, now, his blood thrills at each glint he catches of her fangs, like pearls winking at a girl’s throat. They made him curious, before, but Amaroq is well past asking questions like were you born with those, what do you use them for. Soon enough he will discover what use they are. Before they reach the water, she lets him catch him one more time. Her body is a fire with embers so hot they burn blue; his bends near, his blood melting, freezing, his horn dripping rainwater like tears that turn to ice and tremble like jewels from each seashell-smooth curve. I do not know pleasure without pain, she says, in a voice as soft as the hiss of rain on soil, and in response he shows his teeth in something that is not quite a smile. And then he grazes those teeth, at first lightly and then with more pressure, against her hip as she pulls away again. Wet dark leaves slick along their sides, clinging like kisses, and then they are free in the salt-tinged air. The ocean waits for them and the foam of each wave is a threshold she does not hesitate to cross. The wind is howling, the waves are answering back, sky is a growing bruise. The unicorn tosses his head when she teases, thrusting into the salt-spray; the water is warm to him, as it always is. Now that they are in his element, now that they are home, his wants are shifting again; his teeth feel too big, too sharp, for his mouth. Each step she takes back he matches, smiling like a wolf, and his mane and tail trail behind him on the water like foam, like a veil. he answers. His gaze does not leave her, except to stray to the darkening sky when a fork of lightning splinters toward the sea. It is loud here, above, with the rain and the ocean and the thunder near-ceaseless here in the heart of the storm - oh, but below it will be quiet as a cathedral. Don’t be shy, she says, and he is already before her, chest to chest, treading water. Under other circumstances, he might warn her what comes next; he might tell her, you must take of my blood as I take of yours. He might say It will be worth what comes next. But that laugh echoes in his ears, more intimate than thunder, and her eyes are primordial wild, and her teeth are already sharp. So Amaroq only smiles a saltwater smile, and opens his jaws wide to her throat, and pulls her down beneath the raging black water. @Euryale  amaroq

[Euryale]

Crash, crash, Burn, let it all burn
This hurricane's chasing us all underground
euryale knows the way he knows, that they are meant for eachother.  the way his fangs shine like pearls in the ocean blackness, or the desirous invitation of his alluring beauty, both predatory and impossibly wicked.  euryale knows theirs is a fated union.  one older than religions.  one older than death.  she knows by the way his teeth meets her flesh, with carnal promise and heathen prayer.  the way he drags his gaze across her storm-kissed bodice. ruinous waves of glacial azure, his eyes - icy and magnetic - pulling her to him, like each tidal pull of ravenous moonlight, aching.  aching.  euryale knows the familiar want that blooms like a soft nightmare, within the hollow of her chest. a hideous rose, redder than blood.  red like visceral petals, strewn over the ocean's white foam. devoured, by the blackening storm-sea, and swallowed by her heart made of lightening, and hurricanes and thunder. 

euryale wants this moment to last forever.  she wants to bathe in his infinite glory and drink his blood, like lucifer drinks halo-light and the begging cries of lost, mortal souls.  she wants him like she wants sin.  and their passion, their heaven, their hell; it is undeniable.  they make worship look beautiful.  they make beauty look damning.

the world breathes between them, a sensual stillness.  only the ocean pulses, roaring.  raging. snarling in her ancient appetite.  instinct becomes just another word for need.  need, another word for want.  want, another word for greed.  and, greed, o greed - how the greed grips her fever heart.  how the need fills her like fire fills a wildly, burning room.  how instinctively, she folds against him like a tigress, in heat; folds against another tiger. purring, and begging for blood. with her every luscious, feline curve, clinging neatly to his masculine skin.  every sultry line of her divine feminine, mirroring his divine masculine, till they both danced in wicked, animalistic courtship.  the storm raging alongside them now rages in their hearts, too. when they curl against one another, it feels like belonging.

when his breath falls upon her skin and when his teeth scrapes her flesh in a wicked lovebite, it only accentuates the instinctive need.  the backs of her fangs, drips with a malevolent hunger, when they tangle against one another; a sea of hot passion, turned sensual red.  her blood sings with promises of carnal torment, as do her bedroom whispers, that tangle like ghost fingers within the clamouring shells along the tips of his arctic mane. her heart feels too hot, beneath her breast. each heart-throb pulses at her temple.  beating, like a crooked drug, trapped in her veins. tha-dud.  tha-dud.  tha-dud.  into the waters, they submerge.  into the blackness, they sink.  

beneath the heavy, silk-folds of liquid obsidian, they disappear like phantom lovers of shipwrecked romance. the way he pulls her under; as if to drown.  as if to kill. starcrossed lovers, in a tempest sea of need.  songs of terrible want, ushered past siren lips.  vessels of lust, trapped in such violent souls as theirs'. so hungry. so hungry. their hunger makes them blind. in this moment they were both pure, and unholy; saccharine delights of sin and pleasure and poetry in motion.  make me yours.  as i will make you mine. if only for the night.  he closes his lips around her throat, and she moans with a dark, silky purr.  his teeth feel like knives.  his lips feel colder than death.  his thick canines make her ache. her flesh feels like fire, like thorns aching against the petal-red slenderness a rose.  when atlast he brings her down, down - she hungrily wraps a lithe foreleg against, and around, his neck. her leg falls across his withers, possessively.  the blade of her hoof, slicing the skin there. bruising his muscles.

if she were a human female, it would have been a sensual arm that held him, instead.  it would have been nails that ran wildly through his hair; not her leonine grasp, that threatened to desecrate flesh and rip him apart even as he brought her down. down. down with him.

drowning feels as cruel as falling in love. her gaze flutters closed and she takes her last breath.  together, they go down into the watery abyss.  his fangs upon her flesh;  euryale, sinking now, as she aches to bring him down with her.  she wants to pull him under, as she makes the final lunge for his lower throat.  encircling his toned flesh there, with a kiss of her own.  she bites him the same way he bites her. instinctive.  bestial need.  tonight, she will have him.  taste him.  possess him.  tonight, he belongs to her.  as she belongs to him.  she gives him the last look, in her descent.  between the bubbles and froth, she asks, with sensual surrender; am i drowning? make me immortal with your kiss. 

@Amaroq
There is a fire inside of this heart
and a riot about to explode into flames