Bramblepoint i take my whiskey neat

"good. i didn't ask for gentle." she answers with spoilt sweetness. 

her nose leads her to a tangle of violet flowers. yes. this was what she was looking for. wolfsbane.

with her teeth, she wrenches free the roots and finds his starving gaze when she straightens again. there is a tightness to his jaw, a prophecy of dark rapture that excites more than it cautions. men like this—they are the only language she understands. the only kind who have use beyond their breeding.

"i'm sure we will find use for that... intensity."

for this is only just the start. the first thread. she, the fruit. he, the rot who will make her bloom.

suyin turns to the nearest tree, front paws scraping a loose strip of bark. it's too stubborn to be pulled free. still, her tapered waist curves to meet generous, rounded hips as she rises onto her hindquarters. 

there's a faraway charm in her half-lidded eyes when she finds him behind her shoulders, "we can start here." a lazy purr, "loosen it for me?"

black banner curls behind her.