[AW] Desert Tempest

[Fever]

rip and smash through the hornet's nest

do you understand I deserve the best?

but you'll do what I want, do what i please

and do it again til I get what I Need

Off in the distance, angry clouds gathered at the horizon, dark and foreboding, a promise of freezing rain. You could smell the cold in the air – it mingled with the sweat and testosterone that radiated off of Jarek’s swarthy skin. Fever could enjoy a downpour; she revealed in summer storms, when the wind is hot and sticky as it kisses your neck – when stepping in the rain was both a relief and a burden. There were fond memories associated with those sweltering and humid rainfalls. 

But this winter drizzle was only further agitating Fever. She would stand, wet and frigid, trying to conceal her shivers but failing miserably. Each freckle of rain sent a quiver across her mottled flesh. While usually patient, this weather wasn’t doing Fever any favors, and she could feel herself eager to get to the point.

Fever was not built for this weather.

As she listened to the tall and shadowy stranger continue his plight, an amused scoff would emerge from her. It was only at the mention of the gods did her eyes slide back over to him, smiling, a chuckle soon to crescendo into a black-hearted laughter that would warm her bones.

If she had hands, she would have been wiping away the tears from her giggling fit. “I don’t give a damn what the Gods say,” she’d sigh quietly. “Spare me your lectures. Your Gods would spit on me, just like mine has.” With a curious tilt of her knife-like head, her jovial and communal demeanor swiftly metamorphized into a brief grimace of pain, and then shape-shifted once more into an unintelligible, cold expression.

When it comes to desires, Fever was unsure what she wanted – she knew she was determined to find her mother and break necks while she was at – but other than that, she was simply an enigma, a tumultuous emotion manifested, a hungry and gluttonous wraith, open-mouthed for anything that would temporarily satiate her.

But Fever was insatiable. She’d always want more of everything.

“Jarek, I have yet to find anyone who is able to satisfy my desires.” She turns her body towards him, the play in her words intentional, head confidently high as she bridges the gap between them – she wishes to come closer, almost chest to chest, curious if he would find himself tail-tucked and meek in comparison. Her chin tils up to him, aurum eyes narrowing in a frame of black, long lashes. “You wouldn’t be the first, Jarek, who’s come to me with fickle promises. And if it pleases you, we can pretend that I’m interested in whatever diminutive and dull whimsies you can offer me.”

The viper breathes out, hoping her breath tickles the stallion’s jawline. “I don’t wish for a bed and board, or protection from the wild – I am more than capable of taking care of myself. If you can’t tell, I’m thriving. The only thing you could offer me is temporary bliss – “she pauses, dramatically bending her neck to peek at his underside, before realigning herself with his path of sight. “And even then, I’m not quite sure you are equipped with the right tools for the job.”

A swat of her tail and a devious smirk crawling on that shameless face as she plays with fire.

“My name is Fever, and I am so eager to hear what you think I desire.”

@Jarek

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