Corradh cannot keep his eyes from her. The way she slices like a knife through flesh as she walks through the crowd. He sees her—or thinks he sees her—in a series of many flashes before she arrives to his station. It takes too long, he thinks—as he is not a man often kept waiting. But Corradh enjoys it; the tease of it; the game of cat and mouse that is ended, abruptly, when she flashes her teeth in a smile that belongs to something wild, something untamed. If I let you touch me she asks, and those words themselves are enough to unravel him.
Corradh cannot help it—he has seen her body many times and never touched it. There’s has been the dance of planets; the primordial and distant rotation of gravity, cosmic, even fate.
They had collided, briefly, once before. The memory even now fills him with the same ecstatic, electric excitement he feels before a fight. But it spreads—it intoxicates. He had, in all but name, sworn himself to her before—
IAnd now? It seems his fidelity is rewarded tonight when she brushes her lips—more softly than he could have imagined—against his skin.
He is spiralling and he knows it. Corradh nearly welcomes it—he always has. The descent. The fall. In so many ways, it is the most delectable part of living. He leans back. Then, the black stallion smiles a smile that burns like embers do. “Tonight?” he asks, with measured eyes. Corradh makes a low sound in the back of his throat—thoughtful, purr-like. It is a matter of restraint not to reach out and touch her. “A leopardess.” Corradh reaches out with a brush, clean of paint. The bristles are dry when he runs it down the line of her jugular vein.
Take it as she may.
"Speech." || @Amaunet
we are born like this, into these carefully made wars
where the masses elevate fools into rich heroes
