King Elk Forest born under a bad sign

An animal, quite clearly a predator from the way it moved forward with great conviction, appeared to scour the deeply wooded realm for something essential to him. He did not appear so hungry— as his gaunt and stilted frame did not seem too unnatural on him, further perpetuating an illusion of a passing specter. 

All of him, lank and plowing effortlessly forward, made it easy to assume him to be the manifestation of a hunting spirit; which would in turn make it easy to merely watch him pass through until he had vanished, as ghosts were want to do. He would vanish too, if onlookers remained onlookers; though he never expected as such, not after his (recent) childhood. Fortunately, Killua didn't often draw enough wonder after a second or two to have many encounters, so he was content with the stares, knowing that eighty percent of the time he was simply left alone. It might have been a hundred percent if not for his large paws, unceremoniously inked to each ankle, that often made him seem detached from the ground at a distance, gliding like mist. Something about that attracted weirdos...

The sky overhead was just as black, midnight and overcast; not a winking star in sight. He was easiest to spot in these witching hours, though even at a distance it was still most clear that he was searching.

The richness of these hinterlands were not lost on him. He moved through the forest with a slight jealous of the bounties of the forests, the glades, the rivers. The smell of prey was still strong, even though the night was dark. As far as he could tell, there were no terrors here, none that he would fear. The bears were growing fat and sluggish as the months cooled. The mountain lions were crepsecular, remaining on the mountainside. The packs were asleep, daylight creatures as they were. Only he was awake, a dark shade slinking through the elk-drenched forest, shadows tossed over him like a cloak.

But he was not alone. He spotted another wading through the night, paler than he, but no less comfortable in the dark. He paused, focusing his gaze on him for a brief moment. Miraak followed, wondering how long it would take for the man to be aware of his presence.

Not long, he answers with a slow turn, peering blandly at first into the shadows before he realizes that it is a wolf there, seized plainly in his view. He watches the black beast with unwavering attention, neither challenging his presence nor yielding to it. There is only stillness. Only watching. And waiting. He waits to see what the other will do, if he will do anything more, and if it concerns him. Those purple eyes transfix him, lure him, and Killua takes an unwitting step forward, hypnotized by a color he recognizes from his childhood. The skin of a violet...

He still doesn't speak. He just stands there: young, ethereal, and unsure. A fleeting subject. And he just waits.

He stopped as the wolf did, unblinking as he observed the man. Boy, more like. He was barely more than a year old. A child, but skilled. He was impressed.

The boy stepped forward, his eyes all but betraying his interest. Miraak smiles wanly. You are impressive, young one.

He cants his head at the sultry words— words meant to intoxicate and lure in the passive ghost— Am I? he implores with eyes brewing icicles, taking another tentative step towards the druid, inky nostrils extending to take in what he can of him. Killua does not appear afraid, but seems to hold a fair amount of caution regardless, as he beholds the haunting Dracula, and his hesistance does not keep the question out of his eyes: How?

He wants very desperately to know how he impresses a man who seems much more impressive himself, but his lips purse on words he does not feel are worthy enough to say aloud. Still, his needy eyes ask: How?

He spoke not with words, but his eyes. He was captivated by them; so expressive and pale. The boy was curious, yet cautious. He was a stranger, after all. He did not blame him for not rushing into conversation. The music of life was silence. He filled the Void with his own words, a harsh counterpoint. For one so young, you would think you would be awkward in your movement. And yet here you are, fluid and confident and quiet, He chuckled. Where I am from, we praise such things. I was raised to appreciate such dark beauty,

He never feels cautious for too long. He craves the attention, suddenly, and all at once he is convinced that if he gives himself to him, he will get what he wants in return. It isn't obvious what he desires, besides to hear the man's voice across the void, so he comes forward without asking— his ears press forward and then fall back, a soft, rumbling whine plays behind his sealed lips like an ancient siren's song.

Praise me! Appreciate me! his pale eyes beg as he slinks closer. Closer. Willingly, happily, coming into the spider's web. As he craves to be treasured and dominated— to be captured and devoured. He ducks his head, posturing in a way that invites the dark wolf to touch.

He didn't know what to expect from the male, who did not speak with his words but instead with his eyes, pleading with him to continue. Lavish me with attention. The boy silently said, canting his head to the side. Touch me. 

Miraak's head moved forward, his muzzle pressing against the boy's cheek gently, breathing into his fur before he tentatively licked him.

Swelling amethysts drew in, stealing away any fleeting desire Killua might have had to flee at the last second. He holds still, quivering, and whines softly as he feels the grim reaper's tongue kiss him tenderly. The sociopath is floored, feeling both in and out of control as he presses eagerly into the dark nape of his willing dealer of affection. His tail whips back and forth as he dares to use his own tongue against the skin of the man, tickling the lobe of his ear tenderly. "Please," he utters suddenly, low and strained as he craves more.

He could practically feel the moment when the boy submitted to him, and his tongue pressed firmer against him. His tongue moved from his ear down, slowly, to his neck. He only paused at the sudden sound, the gentle beg. His tail began to wag, a small smirk crossing his face. Please what? He hummed, his mouth lingering in that same crook, gently nibbling and licking inbetween words. Because I can please you, you just need to tell me how and where,

Please what?

Killua shivers beneath the man's tongue, caring not that the nameless is severely unknown. His pleasure outweighs the broad margin of danger, and he casts his instincts aside to bathe in the lavish attention he is being dealt. He wants nothing more, craves nothing else. A despondent and vile mother can do such things to a very needy, clingy child. His back arches, pressing deeper into the man's touch, and his body vibrates as a growl peels from his throat. He doesn't answer because he does not know how; his mind does not tell him exactly what he wants, just that he wants it, and that it is imperative he receives it. Satisfaction would come only when he has been given enough pleasure, enough pain, enough attention -- and it is impossible to gauge just how much that is before he gets it.

All the black-footed fiend knows, is that this gentle affection is not enough! He recoils slowly so that his gaze -- widening with mania -- might meet amethyst eyes imploringly. I can't put into words what I want— But it is you, it is you, it is you! Here, there, everywhere! You, you, please!

He was a total stranger, and yet so receptive and willing for his touch. He was almost dumbfounded by him, had it not been for the warmth the boy inflared within him. He continues his ministrations, licking, nipping, touching, until the boy began to pull away. Given the stranger's constant insistence he was surprised, until he saw the silent words in the boy's eyes once more. Miraak smiled, his eyes with the slow burn of lust behind them. He kissed the boy again, moving forward and leaving a trail as he sought his narrow hips. He slung a foreleg over his back, raising himself upwards and leaning his weight upon the pale wolf. This, He bit the boy's scruff, harsh for a moment before lapping the bite marks. Is what you want, yes?