09-02-2023, 03:34 AM
Do it, his eyes dared.
He could use the Ancient Power to throw her off. Nails ripping from his throat in the blast. He sensed it from Mikhail, the summons of power wrapping his soul, begging to be used. He thought about a lot of things he might do with those ropey threads. Things that the last time they were together Jaxen could barely contain, but now, he mastered.
In his gut, he knew Oriena wouldn’t crush the life from his throat, close as the cut of her teeth suggested she might. Her taunts threaded his blood hot, pushing the tip of his tongue along the ridge of his teeth like he may any moment thrust his lips against hers.
But though her whisper attempted to coax it out of him, retaliation did not spill. Jaxen was strangely motionless but for nimble fingers snaking their way around the stems of her other wrist. From them, he tugged her palm low, pressing it into the softness that presently was his dick.
“It excites me; you don’t.” He mouthed back, and a dismissive snort exhaled disappointment. When she released him, his face remained tilted from the shove of her finger, the ropes of his neck taut, the jugular exposed—tempting her to rip it out like he knew was in her nature.
Yet for all this glorious tension, blood wasn't spilled, and Jaxen’s shifting was smooth as the vodka glistening in that cup. When she perched herself upon the throne that was the barstool, he leaned around her body to capture the glass, and in that moment of closeness, the mask that was his expression lifted.
He chuckled with the amusement of sheer victorious twinkles dancing in his eyes. Replaced was the sinister posturing and dangerous game. His voice regained its usual merry tone. “Oriena, Oriena. Your buttons are so easy to push.” He cocked his head, reminiscent of the press of her finger shoving his cheek aside.
“Don’t worry. You still excite me,” and he dropped a wink as he turned to accompany Mikhail, seeking the promise of more entertainment downstairs. As he walked away, he tossed back the remainder of the vodka through to the ice he chomped, then all but deposited the empty vessel upon a random shelf along the stairs, and he waggled his fingers goodbye.
Or at least, goodbye for now.
Below was another world. At the threshold, he folded his arms over his chest and observed this surprising little kingdom. Oh he was going to have fun here.
And he signaled to Mikhail to lead on.
[[Modes were fine. But you get what you give. *grin.]]
He could use the Ancient Power to throw her off. Nails ripping from his throat in the blast. He sensed it from Mikhail, the summons of power wrapping his soul, begging to be used. He thought about a lot of things he might do with those ropey threads. Things that the last time they were together Jaxen could barely contain, but now, he mastered.
In his gut, he knew Oriena wouldn’t crush the life from his throat, close as the cut of her teeth suggested she might. Her taunts threaded his blood hot, pushing the tip of his tongue along the ridge of his teeth like he may any moment thrust his lips against hers.
But though her whisper attempted to coax it out of him, retaliation did not spill. Jaxen was strangely motionless but for nimble fingers snaking their way around the stems of her other wrist. From them, he tugged her palm low, pressing it into the softness that presently was his dick.
“It excites me; you don’t.” He mouthed back, and a dismissive snort exhaled disappointment. When she released him, his face remained tilted from the shove of her finger, the ropes of his neck taut, the jugular exposed—tempting her to rip it out like he knew was in her nature.
Yet for all this glorious tension, blood wasn't spilled, and Jaxen’s shifting was smooth as the vodka glistening in that cup. When she perched herself upon the throne that was the barstool, he leaned around her body to capture the glass, and in that moment of closeness, the mask that was his expression lifted.
He chuckled with the amusement of sheer victorious twinkles dancing in his eyes. Replaced was the sinister posturing and dangerous game. His voice regained its usual merry tone. “Oriena, Oriena. Your buttons are so easy to push.” He cocked his head, reminiscent of the press of her finger shoving his cheek aside.
“Don’t worry. You still excite me,” and he dropped a wink as he turned to accompany Mikhail, seeking the promise of more entertainment downstairs. As he walked away, he tossed back the remainder of the vodka through to the ice he chomped, then all but deposited the empty vessel upon a random shelf along the stairs, and he waggled his fingers goodbye.
Or at least, goodbye for now.
Below was another world. At the threshold, he folded his arms over his chest and observed this surprising little kingdom. Oh he was going to have fun here.
And he signaled to Mikhail to lead on.
[[Modes were fine. But you get what you give. *grin.]]