In the heat of the moment Screech wasn't listening to her pleas with his ears; his body reacted to every jostle of her own, rooting itself temporarily in place. But out of all the things Screech had become in his short life (a failed warrior, a failed medic, a failed brother,) he would be tacking one more thing to that list — a failed lover.
He could not ignore her protests even if they were dwarfed by the give of her body. She did not have to demand freedom for long, for their youthful indescretion was over as soon as he'd made contact (or thereabouts). Screech sighed against her spine and murmured one exasperated plea of his own, You don't—you don't like it?
but she was resisting and he, well he was just confused about everything. Nobody had taught him this.
But it was over just as quickly as it had started. She pulled one too many times away, and his grip around her ribs was weak enough to escape. Screech slipped back, hobbled a bit, and was standing stiff-legged behind Sorina in the next moment. He nudged her hip with his nose in a rare gesture of fondness, but he was oddly silent in the aftermath.
Screech would never admit to being a sensitive individual. Not to anyone. Warriors certainly were not a soft bunch, and after everything he'd been through, the boy thought of himself as quite a shallow thing, an empty thing. It was a mask which would save him from heartbreak — but still, when she responded negatively to his hushed question, he felt the familiar sensation of lossand of hurt. It was deeper than he'd ever felt it before. Stabbing, twisting in the core of him.
He didn't hear her backpedaling after that; Screech reacted to her lack of kindness with his own. Her question was met with a frigid, No,
which he followed with a hasty nip to her waist. In truth he didn't know what to feel any more than she did, and he had enjoyed what brief contact there bad been. But her reaction spurned him. Screech was instantly defensive as he backed away from her, flashing his teeth and staring at the dirt. You should —
he started, but was curtailed by a hitch in his voice. He turned so that she could only see his empty socket then, unwilling to be the subject of her torment if she caught on to his true feelings - You, just... Just fuck off.
Although he didn't have as much aggression in his voice at this point, the chill was palpable. If she didn't leave now then Screech wasn't sure what he'd do, but he knew someone would be checking in soon and the dark girl would be at the mercy of the Ravenblood pack.
Edited to change some language; if he doesn't know about sex then he doesn't know to insult people re: sex!
The boy was done with her as soon as he'd dismounted, but hadn't known it at the time. Now though, as they both muddled their way through the situation and she harped on him endlessly, Screech knew. He knew that he had no place in his world for this wretched girl and the hurt that she brought with her.
She kept on talking, screeching more than even he thought possible, and then when he didn't respond he heard the click of her teeth and felt her narrow misses at his hind end; it was enough to make him swish his tail and pick up the pace, but she was persistent. He spun and snapped at her then, reaching for her face with his teeth — whether or not he scored her dark snout with fresh marks, he was grimacing and cutting her off verbally next.
Do you ever stop talking you fuckin' — you fuckin' shrew?
As that flew from his lips he felt instant regret but it did not register on his face. His one eye was wide and wild, and Screech was no longer cowed by his uncertainty. Stop following me. If you don't move your fat ass outta this forest then I will kill you.
A lie, but, he couldn't stop unloading word after word. The more the two of them lingered here and shouted at one another, the more likely it was that someone bigger and stronger would appear to drive her off — or he hoped that. Willed it.
This was a mistake. This happened, but it wont, not again, not ever. You get away from me or my family will rip you apart!
He launched himself at her then, regardless of the outcome of his assault, found the first opportunity and put some distance between them with some fleet footwork. He took one last look at her as he gathered a wad of spit in his mouth (mixed with blood maybe), and spat in to the snow. The action had a finality to it, even if it was a bit theatrical. After, he spun and took off running.