Noctisardor Bypass I think I’m doing alright.

Anselm could not put into words the firebrand of sensation that jolted through him; a mixture of burning electricity and sulfur that left his fur ablaze and skin crawling upwards from where Etienne had touched him. 

The scents around them were forgotten as a spark burned its way upside his leg like a long, unpleasant fuse — Etienne redirecting the deepness of the furrow and authoring a hidden sense of starved longing all with a single touch. 

It was so alien — so desired — Anselm could not contest with the firestorm of emotions that followed. He pulled his paw away with a sharp breath; guilt soon replacing the molten sense of awoken desire that coursed in his blood. Following in guilt’s wake was a festering sense of revulsion — not for Etienne, but for himself. 

He must be sick — he must be disgusting and wrong and stained some irredeemable color to want the unthinkable — to even look at Etienne in such a way.  Filth! Slime! No better than the grubs he ripped apart with each swing of his claws. 

 Anselm abruptly turned from Etienne with a choked noise. He placed his entire weight into his claws and then ripped earth from beneath him, flinging back each spray of dark matter with dark grunts that drowned out the unwanted urges in him, until his claws were blunted and bloody, and his breath came in heaving gasps that robbed him of any cognizance. If he could not catch his breath to think, he could not admit to himself what he knew was true.