The Sentinels [m] gout dlo

Mature Content Warning

This thread has been marked as mature. By reading and/or participating in this thread, you acknowledge that you are of age or have permission from your parents to do so.

The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: conception

while her sister went to burn in the valleys, mireille could not tear herself from the sea.
eyes swollen by crying, she was fully transformed into a weeping creature, something from the underbelly of the tragic salt which had taken val.
her val.
she searched still for sobeille, who surely was his own. twice they had gathered into the heart-embrace of one another; twice he had been the only man to whom she ever returned.
voice broke on a sundering cry, and when she had finally come back from her sobbing, mireille found her flesh sweetened by spice-heat.
a betrayal! a — she did not want it. better that she was away from sapphique. leaden legs continued her search, grief and desire pooling bitterly in her gut.

the desert groaned and seemed to thunder, and it was enough of a disturbance to send drusk away, finally. he did not know of the swallowing of any kingdom; the land turned green, then white, and silence came to settle everywhere.

north. colder than anything he had ever felt before! even upon the mountain of the goat herders, where he had once thrived as a thief, the land did not become this way.
white and cold, and seemingly lifeless.

the trees walled him in to a maze, and like the bull of myth drusk went in every direction but the correct one to escape it.
he heard sobbing, he thought.
there was a warmth to the air as he meandered along one trail or another, and it lured him with sudden, tangible desire.

she was a candle flickering in his periphery. drusk brayed a sound of beasts, listening to his voice be swallowed by the snow, the shadow.

a man always found what he wanted. on impulse, on principle, mireille wanted to rush him, to drive him away. irritation was in her mien as she straightened and pulled her eyes from the sea.
he was large and shadowed in shades of deep bark, watching her with feral eyes.
the woman that was mireille grieved.
the siren which inhabited her body rose up gracefully and drew close enough for a circling, inspecting her offered man from many angles.
her emerald eyes warned him not to tease her. not to linger. she nipped at the air and growled, inviting his caress.

While much of his development had happened rapidly and without his own consent, the concept of sexuality was not one of them. If Drusk ever held such an impulse before it would have been misidentified as aggression, or fever, or any number of other things. He did not know why the glare of this woman made him possessive; he did not understand her own desire to be close while warning him in many wordless ways.
As she drew close enough for inspection Drusk bristled, snapping at her shoulder or her hip and sometimes her face, in the same throes of desire and defense.
What sort of dance was this? He grew impatient, lunging for her.

a snarl; shattering.
he came for her and mireille stood though instinct said to split his face jaw from ear; she stood for him, flicking her tail aside and widening her stance for his weight, pushing her hips back; he was a man. he would succumb.
grief compartmentalized for now as obsidian waited for this entry to sparkle pleasure as those others before had done. something tangible, she felt; something to which she might hold through the billow of her soul's pain.

The beast was only a boy, mentally. His body responded as a man's might, and as he covered her with the blackness and oak of his broad-shouldered body Drusk felt that possession swell with the rest of him.

The rut was something witnessed from afar, in the past: slave-men with their mutts, or their beholden coyotes. Drusk had a distinct memory of the men of the khal mocking one of their own number who had no women yet - and they had offered him a sheep!

This moment was different for Drusk for how intimate it was; like any battle between bodies, he wished to be the victor. The power he felt in these moments changed something fundamentally within him.

She mourned and he was oblivious, pushing the warm body in to the chilled forest floor and not letting her go free until he had done all he could, and then some.

the strength of his movements, his forceful insistence; for a time mireille existed in a space of liminality, where only the sensation of her body reined and she allowed herself to forget.
twice. three times. four; she did not count and it did not matter.
as soon as their bodies were loosed, mireille turned on her suitor, snarls garlanding her mouth. in his immediate weakness they soon had space between them, and the obsidian continued down the beachline, heart restored to its former grief.