Two Eyes Cenote cuento

@Legend

the seconds trickle down into meaningless minutes. he won't give khusobek the satisfaction of begging, but it's a cruel irony that he can hear water and yet be deprived of it.

the guards move on set rotation. he has studied their rhythm, but it's too soon to make conclusions.

to pass the time, soto counts the fissures along the wall.

A mink slinked in from the shadows.

A low head, and tail tapping softly her hind leg. Searching eyes that wandered the palace's darkest corners, and a fiend that found the crevices leading into the cellars. "Hello," was the whisper that broke through before the vision of her figure did. 

Dried blood ran into her lungs, as did the scent of Soto's who had sweetly fallen down her breath the same. It was enough for a smile to cast warmly on her face, blissful. Two legs appeared in front of the small opening that offered visuals to both the man melting inside the cell, and to the caverns on the other end.

Another whisper from a gentle mouth. Flattened ears, and yet seemingly unable to help herself from examining him on the other wall.

"Soto." And at the name, her tail wiggled between those dark legs.

he's up to two hundred fifty four, when a voice purls from the shadow.

the spiderling. soto detracts himself from the stone bed, noting the felid grace in which she rests just above him, peering down. he has to give props to the architect of this room -- they made sure every small facet reminded the captor the world looked down upon him.

she says his name, and he hears but does not see the wag of her tail. this was the recipient of his first gift -- he wonders, but does not hope, that it had some positive bearing. araña, he answers back, his name for the crooked thing that swims in his sights. still, she was a far more pleasant vision than some of his other visitors.

Soto was jailed.

By who was no question. The lingering prints of Khusobek that burrowed in the ground. Even with a faulty nose, the crocodile man smelled so strongly that it was distracting. She missed him then, and took the time to familiarize with the mazoi from afar by inhaling the many lingering scents roaming her. Soto's a more curious one that she wished to experience more of.

Resting to become low to the ground, her muzzle slowly draped into his enclosure.

Then, it turned and reappeared again with peccary meat in teeth. "Gift."

Keeping it still at her side, it was not handed yet. "For Soto." That tail thumped again with a singular tap. He was drenched in black and bronze hairs, with bright gold eyes. The imp watched them with reverence and wondered if Ra resided somewhere in the blood man.

a gift -- for him? why?

he asks himself if this is a trick of the captor; succor dangling just within tantalizing reach. a carrot's stick to freedom -- but he reads no deceit in the spiderling's eyes.

he sniffs the air curiously, his nose twitching as he worked from the various cave air scents any sign of poison. her tail thumps out of sight, rhythm bouncing down the hall.

the meat's not yet given, but soto imagines the taste in his mouth. por que?

The tilt of muzzle, eyes, the sound of shifting tine: all of it a song Legend had learned the dance to in order to piece together language. 

Why, what, who. Regardless, a question. Curiosity, or maybe an interrogating question. Distrust, uncertainty, or appreciation in some cases.

None of it would change her actions. "For Soto," said again, a tilt from her head.

The imp's paw lifted to hold up a single digit, paused, and then pointed at the meat. "How to say this? Soto language?"

she tilts her head to the side, eyes lit by the distant glow of the cavern. she repeats his name, and again angles her slim head.

she raises a paw, one finger held -- then pauses, indicating to the meat. he looks to it quizzically, but says nothing. she will either give it, or she won't -- gift, or a curse.

comida.

soto has had his share of both.

Each syllable was tasted with an intention of pronouncing each vowel correctly. "Co-mi-da." She searched the man for approval. "Yes?"

Comida. Or maybe it was a slur, insult, smear, or a bad take to trick into a foul word. But Legend repeated it nonetheless and seemed to not care of that risk. The danger of that, or what happened now.

Instead, no, a cheeky smile built on her mouth as her head lifted high. A cheeky giggle paired with it from the demon- araña. "Geeft."

Wriggling closer to the edge, the imp grabbed the meat and held it, and used a neck swing to launch it towards the mouth of the man. It was not enough to last, but for the night, it would feed Soto.

his ears turn atop their broad base as his language passes through her tongue. she tastes it the way one might adventure through sampling a new flavor — moving the word back and forth through her tongue. 

as she throws the meat, he catches it deftly. geeft, she repeats — a callback to their first encounter. 

soto places a heavy paw on the chunk, pressing his nose to flesh to examine every odor’s molecule. he finds no trace of contaminant — glancing to the araña once, he consumes it in one rough swallow. 

gracias. his gold eyes come to rest upon her, wondering — and bemused by—  her motive.

A man who did not speak their language. Or chose not to.

No inch of Soto remained unseen that was not the curve into his now filled stomach. Jagged nails, violent sun eyes. Thick fur. An appetite that ate starved even if not starving, and Legend's own devil eyes twisted into something more coiled.

Again. Again. Again. The woman wanted to toss more meat into the kennel and watch the cell man scarf down flesh again. By all means, Soto was theirs, Muat-riyas, Akashingo's, and that meant araña's. Hers. Khusobek couldn't take him from her! She could water him, feed him, take him on walks.

Then, a pout grew on that lazy, inky maw. Why was Soto there? As if the man could understand a word, the woman babbled on to herself. "Why here? How he end up? Khukhu drag him in?" And what could be a better nickname, also, for the mazoi? "Soso.." But Soso sounded more like a nickname for Soto. Lost for a moment, and then her eyes again centered back on the prisoner. That pout turned into a frown, a whine of a hum, and the yaret stayed overhead to watch. Pity, pity. Soto, Soto. Pet of a pet.

soto would always be hungry. it was what drove him, and in the end, it would be what ruins him.

he can sense the spiderling as she examines every part of him -- some might find such clinical inspection unnerving, but soto smiles and gives her all of him. it is the nature of his kind to be full of machismo and gravitas.

he shows her his flank, the muscling of his haunches. the groomed area of his nape. his scar-littered face, his mottled paws -- and finally, he shows her what he believes to be the showstopper: the malevolent virility curled thick and lazy beneath the hard tuck of his belly. eat it up, he thinks -- she might not like all of him.

and then she asks him a question that he has wondered all along. he does not understand her words, but the arch of her brow and the puff of her pout communicate a question, a vexation that cannot be solved.

feeding a man is the first step to owning his devotion. soto leans forward. ayudame. a statement that conveys help me, and i will repay you ten-fold.

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: Uhhhh gross

All of him. Their distance was barred only by the length of which the wall could separate their mouths. Soto could be beautiful if he wished to be. She had seen the curve in his back, the tightened muscles that wrapped around his chest, the ripples that formed in his flank. 

A mauled, torn face and muddied paws that could rake her into the cell and tear her at the limbs there. The demon watched his chest lead into his belly, down his waist, and the foul pride of a man's ego, barren to only her eyes. Her eyes only. 

A shadow shrieked to run into her pupils. Visions danced pretty in her head, and rattled their way into her pretty throat that then laughed pure. Vile.

The color that roamed his voice was olive.

Scenting his nose from whatever distance she could close, a smile finally played across her mouth. Then, a fantasizing nod that communicated where words did not. Wishing to bind the prisoner in her own flesh, or perhaps feel her own be torn apart from her skin. Yes.

too many emotions wall inside that doll-eyed stare for soto to be certain she likes the show; it's not until a closed smile graces the viper-thin angles of her features that he believes he's been understood. the twitch of her nose searches for his scent; he fans his tail so she might have all of it.

he would be all too willing to show her more, any time she desired it. her doe-like eyes simply need to linger a little too long on the curve of his belly - and he would give it to her to explore.

that was the problem with men like him - they thought with a secondary head guiding their every motion. even in jail, soto's thinking of ways he can fuck something.

 if this is the first of her carefully placed webbing, soto has wandered in unaware.

There was bile in her belly that wished to fall into the mans cell ground to see if the man would swallow it down so eagerly. 

To see the desperation, or the devotion, the faithfulness to sin and hunger. To see the intake of her own contents be fused with anothers. To see if the man might have vomited the rest of it back up, or spat it to the ground. To see if he would stomach it. To see just how much a pet could take before its mind slipped as far away as hers might've. 

Greed could be gluttony, and maybe all the demon saw now was something to take. 

Those fantasies did not get to play out. Instead, the lap of her tongue hit the air as the araña thought of how it could've felt to purr. 

Kitty cat. Kitty cat, Soto.

An excitable smile, all legs lifted and distanced the two of them. Her hind legs were faced the pit when Soto was left, and that dark tail taunted swivels to cover the heat of her underbelly: cowering that side of her away as if Soto could chase, but the hellhound was caged.

Goodbye, for now.
Yes.

the araña's parting gift's a metaphorical taunting kiss -- the lovely image of her shapely haunch and draping tail the last pleasing thing soto sees before the cavern grows dark.

he's left alone again, wondering.

he resumes the counting of the cracks upon the wall. two hundred fifty-five, two hundred fifty-six.

juarez would be here soon.