—
He is near enough to feel her pulse pick up when that syllable drops like a drumbeat. It is impossible that he could hear her heartbeat over the sound of the music, the laughter, the low river of voices and the high ring of glass rims meeting, but he imagines he can anyway. And if it races like that at only the thought, only the mention -
What would it sound like on the killing field?
She, this stranger who wore her claws out for all to admire, is still playing a game. And he grinds his teeth together when her tongue touches the place of his own pulse, hating the way it leaps in response, that its reaction to the nearness of her is something he cannot control. His hole life has been a fist held tight, control over chaos, only ever opening into a caress for her. To have his body tremble and want is a black betrayal when it is the only ally he has left.
He wants to punish it for its weakness. And then he wants to punish her for her daring. If he knew that her magic played a part in it, in the way his blood seemed to heat and hum - then maybe he would put his horn to what it was made for. Then he would seize the gold around her throat and twist until she realized who is in charge, and who is only a girl playing games.
But here in this foolish, lavish party in this foolish, lavish land he can do nothing but watch her with dark rage behind his fern-green eyes. And at the same time, even as he wants her golden eyes on his, begging for his mercy, he wonders what it would take for her to fight for him. Perhaps it would only take the suggestion. Do you want a war, tigress?
“And if you decide you don’t like whatever I am?” he asks, and touches his tongue to the back of his teeth. Now he wonders and what are you?. Perhaps she could be an ally. He could give her something to sink her teeth into. Even as she circles him his gaze follows her, and with these possibilities the anger and desire in him ebbs away so that his muscles are easy beneath his unblemished skin. And when she speaks again, when her breath raises gooseflesh along his hip and belly, even when his nerves twitch again with want, the unicorn smiles.
“Would you like to find out which?”
@Amaunet
What would it sound like on the killing field?
She, this stranger who wore her claws out for all to admire, is still playing a game. And he grinds his teeth together when her tongue touches the place of his own pulse, hating the way it leaps in response, that its reaction to the nearness of her is something he cannot control. His hole life has been a fist held tight, control over chaos, only ever opening into a caress for her. To have his body tremble and want is a black betrayal when it is the only ally he has left.
He wants to punish it for its weakness. And then he wants to punish her for her daring. If he knew that her magic played a part in it, in the way his blood seemed to heat and hum - then maybe he would put his horn to what it was made for. Then he would seize the gold around her throat and twist until she realized who is in charge, and who is only a girl playing games.
But here in this foolish, lavish party in this foolish, lavish land he can do nothing but watch her with dark rage behind his fern-green eyes. And at the same time, even as he wants her golden eyes on his, begging for his mercy, he wonders what it would take for her to fight for him. Perhaps it would only take the suggestion. Do you want a war, tigress?
“And if you decide you don’t like whatever I am?” he asks, and touches his tongue to the back of his teeth. Now he wonders and what are you?. Perhaps she could be an ally. He could give her something to sink her teeth into. Even as she circles him his gaze follows her, and with these possibilities the anger and desire in him ebbs away so that his muscles are easy beneath his unblemished skin. And when she speaks again, when her breath raises gooseflesh along his hip and belly, even when his nerves twitch again with want, the unicorn smiles.
“Would you like to find out which?”
@Amaunet
