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| − | * - Back to [[GoldenCat/FifthMovement|Fifth Movement]]
| + | #REDIRECT [[ADanceOfAngels]] |
| − | * - Back to [[GoldenCat/DanceOfAngels|A Dance of Angels]]
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| − | == Diamonds and Shadow ==
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| − | <b>Iria</b>: A half-mask covered her face, a smooth white thing rimmed in long angelic feathers, but there was no denying who it was. As with Selina and Vorpal themselves, no double could have quiet captured the sheer attitude that radiated off the woman in white who awaited Selina by the gate. The servant who had been guiding Selina ducked away the moment the path to Iria was clear - after all that had occurred tonight, no one sensible would be present for the Captains first run-in with one of the Exalted.
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| − | Her outfit was one that could only be best appreciated from the bottom up. Elegant white shoes with high heels that accentuated her calves, their open toes revealing nails painted a glossy silver. Upwards, past exposed knees and strong thighs till finally the semblance of a skirt began. Barely more than a wrap of silver-white silk, it covered only the top half of her thighs, smooth and fluttering teasingly with each step. Iria’s long, immaculately shaped legs were set against the backdrop of dark cloth. A cape-like drape secured around her waist, it was dark amethyst on the inside and white with golden patterns upon the back. The torso of her dress seemed almost painted onto her skin. Shimmering silver-white clung to her belly, dipping into navel slightly and showing off her trim and athletic build. Further upward, it encased her breasts, showing only a teasing, tantalizing peek of pale skin, but clung tightly to their fullness and left no doubts to their shape. Secured to her neck by a collar, it opened against her collar bone into a four-pointed star whose lowest point nestled into the cleft between her breasts. Off her shoulders and gathered around her arms, a waist-length coat completed the outfit. Craft from thick, soft suede, golden buttons gleamed against it in the shape of tiny shields. Hemmed in snowy fur that wisped and shifted like white fire in the slight breeze, it licked against her arms delicately.
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| − | She had wore her hair up tonight, gathered into tightly bound knot against the back of her head, secured by flower-tipped pins and allowing for only one curled length of hair to fall free against her check. The Captain was glowing, her pale skin flushed fetchingly in the cold... and in something else. Her eyes were hooded and warm, but hard as diamonds behind her mask. She drummed long painted finger-nails against her forearm as the Dark Angel approached and then, apparently deciding the other woman was taking too long, came forward to meet Selina. Arm in arm with her husband, each step was a slow, luxurious prowl designed to show off her legs to their best effect.
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| − | Iria stopped only inches away from Selina and gave her a pleasant smile, regarding her evenly before she finally spoke. "Why exactly was I running into people fleeing in terror from 'those mad Exalted' on my way here?" she asked in a soft, neutral tone.
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| − | <b>Tiomen</b>: The man on her arm, undoubtedly her husband from the painting Selina had seen of the man, was tall and muscular. Dark to his wife's light, his skin was aged but not elderly and still firm. His wavy hair was the rare sort of icy blue one found few places outside of the north but age was starting to gray around his temple. A strong jaw, covered with a well trimmed beard and mustache, sat bellow a glossy black mask. He'd dressed for the evening in an gunmetal gray coat, buttoned to the waist and then left to flare open around his legs. White embroidery formed snowflakes around his wrists and clung to his shoulders and elbows like spiderwebs. The hem of a white vest peeked from under his coat and dark slacks clung to his legs.
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| − | He stood silently beside Iria, smiling apologetically for the first words that came out of his wife's mouth. He was use to this sort of thing from his better half however and took the time instead to examine the woman in front of them. Famous assassin. Chosen of a dark god. His wife had told him much about her...
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| − | <b>Selina de Windia</b>: The cat-ears were gone -- for now at least. The coat was back around her shoulders, and any dishevelment from the fights and meetings earlier was gone was well. Instead, the shadows subtly covered her like before, promising, entrancing, lulling one to be closer, hugging the darkened curves of her emerald gown and body, exposing a few others for eyes to rove over. The gem glitters at her neck on its artful setting, and her turquoise eyes outmatch it. No hint of the shadow lies within them...for now.
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| − | "Hmmm." She says with some amusement, voice quiet and flowing, allure not yet an active part of it but present nonetheless. "An altercation which was resolved, thankfully. Pay it no heed."
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| − | <b>Iria</b>: Iria's gaze was locked to hers, not roaming to admire the shadow-accented curves the Dark Angel presented. Not yet. As always with the Captain, business would come first. "I will take your word for it then and trust such altercations won't happen again..."
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| − | The hard glint in her gaze softened, her smile warming along with her cheeks. "I would truly be displeased to have this evening ruined."
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| − | Her head swung neatly towards the man beside her. "Tiomen, this is the woman I told you about earlier," and then back to Selina, inclining towards her gracefully. "Dark Angel, please allow me to introduce my husband, Tiomen."
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| − | <b>Tiomen</b>: Loosening his arm from Irias, the tall man stepped closer to the Winlandian. His heels clicked together and he tipped at her in a stiff half-bow. "Ma'am, an honor."
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| − | As he rightened himself, his cheeks bent into a roguish grin. "My wife has been expressing her opinion of you to me often lately. It's been a remarkable transformation in so few days..."
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| − | Behind him, Iria's eyes widened and then flashed. Tiomen grunted as the tip of a sharp elbow slammed into his back, but didn't break his smile.
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| − | <b>Selina de Windia</b>: Selina's first reply is kind of a mutter, though one loud enough to be heard by both of them. "I've already been displeased at it."
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| − | Then she blinks, and looks at the man, looking him over as she did his wife. They both look rather appealing, more so than most. So far, she isn't sure which she prefers. Perhaps Iria? She's had quite the thing for military women nowadays.
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| − | <i>...and that can be attributed to the Pale Angel, I am sure.</i>
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| − | ...And a few other people she's met lately. No, best not to think about that.
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| − | She bows, just a bit. Not too much -- people don't need to look at dangling fruits yet. Coming back up, she greets him. "Charmed. So the two of you are the head of the Boil's military."
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| − | <b>Tiomen</b>: "Oh heavens, no." He laughed, finding something deeply amusing in the assumption. "My wife holds that position completely on her own. And I doubt there is a man or god who would save me if I ever tried to claim otherwise."
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| − | Tiomen had a friendly face, but an intent aura. He was watching the Exalted woman closely, without making a show of looking her over. Respectful, but thoroughly enraptured attention from the corner of his eyes. It had been only a half-joke to say Iria's opinion of the Winlandian had changed so quickly. The night before, it had been difficult to make her speak of anyone else. Iria's mind, stubborn thing that it was, had been set on the black winged woman.
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| − | And Tiomen could see why.
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| − | <b>Iria</b>: "My husband is a... businessman." Iria explained, choosing the word carefully. She slipped her arm around his again, stepping up beside Tiomen. Stepping closer to Selina. The scent of cloying perfume filled the warming air between them, a space now little more than a single step. "Or was. We've yet to assess what remains of our personal finances. Too busy dealing with the city itself."
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| − | If his aura had been intent, hers was nearly overwhelming. Her eyes watched like a hawk. No furtive glances from the edges, but taking the assassin in whole. She didn't need to examine Selina more closely after all. The picture of the Winlandia in that gown had clung to the back of her mind the moment she had seen it her.
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| − | The moment Iria had chosen.
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| − | And now image had become reality again, in warm flesh and green silk before her. Iria continued to smile at Selina. Pleasantly, only the cusp of her hunger showing through. For now. "So you make it sound as though you've not had an enjoyable evening thus far. Something to do with those 'altercations' you mentioned?"
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| − | <b>Selina de Windia</b>: "It's gone from one extreme to the other, really." Selina responds, noting their intent, all focused squarely upon her person. Always a disquieting thing to endure...and at the same time, thrilling. "They won't ruin <i>my</i> fun."
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| − | <i>You want me.</i>
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| − | <i>That's fine.</i>
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| − | <i>Because I want <b>you.</i></b>
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| − | As before, when she had entrance Vorpal and the crowd, Selina feels that hunger. Not quite as overwhelming, but enough to be almost physically felt. Her appearance has not changed a whit...that would be too strong for them. Maybe.
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| − | Her voice comes out rich, sultry. Hopefully not laying it on too thickly. "But I could do with some more enjoyment."
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| − | <b>Tiomen</b>: Hairs rise on the back of his neck and his smile becomes a little less polite. A little more wolfish, like the old rogue he was. It had been a while, a long while, since he'd heard any women other than his wife use that tone with him.
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| − | At least, not during a moment he knew would only get him in trouble.
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| − | "Heh, entertainment is always easy to come by in such places." He inclined his head to the sounds behind her. Song, laughter, murmurs... silenced only temporarily by the unexpected violence that had broken out. "Surprised that you haven't found anything to keep you suitably distracted. There hardly seems a dearth of attention being directed in this direction."
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| − | <b>Iria</b>: "Shush darling." She chided Tiomen, her voice purring softly. "Perhaps miss Aine simply has yet to find something suiting to her tastes."
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| − | <i>And what are those tastes, assassin? Rumors say flesh and blood.</i>
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| − | <i>But your voice says otherwise.</i>
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| − | No. More than just her voice. There was a hot, violence air around the Winlandia. Iria was breathing it in and like the bellows across a forge, it stroked coals smoldering in her belly hotter for it.
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| − | "I've little love for this sort of public festivities myself." Iria said before Selina had answered her question, speaking drier, hotter words. "Master Kadel usually has a much smaller guest list and I dislike being made a display. Disappointing that it's not more private."
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| − | "I <i>don't</i> mind being a display for those of my own choosing." She concluded. Her body shifted slightly of it's own accord, hip rolling to the side, skirt inching higher. Her body conforming to melt languidly against her husbands. Nothing too obvious or flashy. Something meant only for the Winlandian to see.
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| − | <b>Tiomen</b>: "Not everyone shares your tastes, dear." Tiomen picked up naturally where Iria left off, keeping the words flowing constantly. His arm shifted under her own, wrapping around her waist. He closed his fingers over her hip and stroked it slightly, ruffling and drawing at the silk.
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| − | "What do you find entertaining Aine?"
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| − | <b>Selina de Windia</b>: "We could go somewhere more private." She says with a faint purr, looking at them. Such a display...and no action yet. "As for what I find entertaining..."
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| − | "When people chase me. Or are chased by me. When I reduce them to melted puddles of desire. If you want me," Selina replies with an undertone of flustered lust. "Why aren't you coming for me?" The voice is teasing, taunting, burning.
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| − | <b>Iria</b>: "And risk offending one of the Chosen heroes who saved our city?"
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| − | <i>And the one with the most erratic temperament...</i><br>
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| − | <i>And the most bloody rumors about her...</i>
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| − | Playing with fire only made it all the more thrilling though, didn't it? Iria's breathe quickened. Her smile drew into a razored line, the pink tip of her tongue caressing her lips slowly. "But if you're going to be so inviting..."
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| − | She'd kept it mostly locked away. Her hunger, a hunger her anticipation of this night alone had built higher than any black-honey words Selina could offer them alone. But the Dark Angel had turned the key and let it out.
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| − | Flushed to a golden glow, Iria slid out of her husbands arm. The space between the two women vanished, turning heated air into searing contact. Iria's chest pressed into Selina's, heaving against her with every slow breath the Captain took. Her skin was throbbing through the silk, a racing pulse that passed into the assassins body.
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| − | "Who am I to refuse?" Eye to eye, her gaze clear and she stood for a moment breathing in Selina's breathe. Her scent.
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| − | It was time to see if she still remembered how this part went. With a soft cluck of her tongue, Iria closed her eyes and leaned inward. Soft, moist, her mouth closed over Selina's own. She wrapped an arm around the assassins waist, a hand around the back of her neck - to make sure she could not pull back, even knowing that she wouldn't. As her lips parted softly, seeking out the taste of the assassin's tongue, the tips of Iria's long nails scratched against Selina's skin. Not hard, but just enough to leave thin steaks of pain; marks of lust and hunger.
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| − | <b>Selina de Windia</b>: Selina lets the woman lean into her, lets her grasp her, and lets her lips touch her own. And that is where she stopped following Iria's lead. The Windian returns the kiss, vampirically, almost trying to draw the passion out of the other woman as she captures her tongue with her own. Turquoise eyes locked with Iria's own, Selina's gaze is fiery in a silent, all-consuming fashion, promising things that are perhaps a bit too indecent to say.
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| − | And then she disengages, letting herself sense the press of Iria's body on her's, a faint, glistening bit of the other woman's saliva on her lips. "You need not refuse yourself." She replies finally, voice heavy with an odd vibration, sultry and dark and dangerous. Unknown.
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| − | <b>Tiomen</b>: As Selina broke the kiss, a firm presence imposed itself against her back, pushing between her wings. Fingers clasped against the Winlandian's cheek, stroking, coaxing her head to the side and then cupping her chin. Tiomen's dark eyes swirled behind her, ignited in dark humor and desire. "We don't intend to." He chuckled as his face grew closer, darkening the world before her.
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| − | He tasted pleasantly of gin. <i>She</i> tasted addictively of Iria. Tiomen's lips were dry and hot compared to the softness of Iria's moments before, the faint prickle of his beard scratching against her skin.
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| − | But he held true to his word, by not holding back at all. A passion more subtle than Irias, a hunger less ravenous than Selinas, but one that smoldered with it's intensity. He put a hand upon her thigh and made her leg shed it's skirted cover, an experienced palm easing up the back of her leg.
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| − | <b>Selina de Windia</b>: She does the same to Tiomen that she did to his wife, the kiss seeming to suck the very air out of his lungs as she presses him through it. Body curving into the cup of his palm as he moves it up her thigh. If they were going to hunt her, she'd give them a dangerous, appealing prey.
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| − | <i>I'll feel them up soon enough.</i>
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| − | She breaks the kiss, once more. Eyes burning, flaming, passionate. They are much more entertaining once the ice is broken. But no possessive talk...not yet.
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| − | "Somewhere more private, perhaps?"
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| − | <b>Iria</b>: Iria was watching all the while, her eyes shimmering with devilish glee as Tiomen kissed Selina. Her breath was still coming fast, fighting a losing battle to calm after the assassin's thirst had drank them empty. The feel of a shudder passing Tiomen's spine only confirmed what she'd known the moment her lips touched Selina's.
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| − | <i>I made the right choice.</i>
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| − | Leaning in eagerly, she kept the assassin pinned tightly between a soft warmth in front and a muscular hardness behind. Iria smiled up wickedly as her face sank away from Selina's own.
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| − | "Mmm... soon." She murmured as kissed slowly down the assassins throat. Her thigh caressed against Selina's own, the eased up between them, pushing folded laps of silk deep into the cleft between her legs.
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| − | "We're going to a room in the mansion," she spoke against Selina's neck in between nipping caresses of her lips, a whisper barely loud enough for Selina to hear. Not a request. Not even an order. But a statement that brooked no argument. "There is something there I'd very much like to show you."
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| − | <b>Selina de Windia</b>: Her pale gold hair pushes in between her back and Tiomen's front, and Selina hopes it's not getting too disarrayed. No matter, she can fix it later.
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| − | <i>Much more will be disarrayed soon enough.</i>
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| − | "Hmmm...I'll be looking forward to that." Selina purrs, letting Iria feel the vibration in her throat as the other woman kisses it. And restraining her hands, restraining them. How hard it is! She sates the desire to touch them by simply running one hand up Iria's back. From the base of her spine, under the coat, to nearly the base of her neck. Just the tips of her fingers, and with a light touch. But a touch that speaks volumes, with how she does it.
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| − | <b>Iria</b>: Her back arched in feline ecstasy, shivering delicately under Selina caress. A throaty purr spilled out of her, Iria's shoulders contracted back as it trying to capture that caress between them. Her body shifted forward sharply, bending to rub herself luxuriously against the assassin, her whole body moving in a long, needful stroke.
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| − | And then Iria laughed huskily and muttered something. Not even she was certain what she said, but nipped the assassin's neck one last time and slowly eased off of her. Iria was faintly a mess already. Her flushed face glistened with a fine layer of sweet. Strands of hair fell loose from her bun and plastered to cheeks and she tried a moment in vain to brush them off. But then why should she worry about her appearance now? It would get far less refined soon enough...
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| − | "Come along my dear." She said and it might have been to Tiomen, if her hand didn't close tightly over Selina's arm. "We shouldn't waste the night."
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| − | <b>Tiomen</b>: "My dear wife is right. I think perhaps we've provided enough self-gratification fantasies to fuel the minds of our little audience for some time now." Tiomen muttered in bemusement, watching them both from above Selina's shoulders. He wondered how long had it been since he'd seen Iria like this, but then it was an obvious answer.
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| − | <i>Never.</i>
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| − | Tioman had never seen her so inflamed before, certainly never by another woman. The effect it had on her was undeniably arousing to behold. The hand that had traveled Selina's thigh moved itself to her arm instead, wrapping gentler yet than his wives, but making no less a claim of it. "Let's not let your anticipation wait any longer. We should go."
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| − | <b>Iria</b>: "<b>Now</b>." Iria agreed with finality, pressing up tightly against Selina as she clutched her arm.
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| − | <b>Narrator</b>: The door swung open quietly as Tiomen turned the key. It perhaps said something about the planning they'd placed into the evening that they'd managed to secure a room for themselves ahead of time. A beam of warm red light issued out of the door way as it cracked open, washing over Iria, turning her pale gown into a thousand shades of fire, an only too fitting reflection to the way the air sizzled around her.
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| − | They'd nearly carried Selina up to the mansion between them. If the intensity in Iria's stride did not clear other guests from their path, she showed no hesitation to simply throw them out of the way. She had what she had come here for. Nothing else was even worth consideration. But now that they'd reach their goal, Iria abandoned the Winlandian's arm to be the first through the door. Tiomen smiled in turn, standing patiently in the hall and motioning for Selina to follow her in.
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| − | <b>Iria</b>: Iria was already sitting on the edge of the bed, her coat slipped off and left casually on the floor behind her. Several low-lit lanterns painted the room in ruddy hues. It was a large room and a very large bed, one that looked as if it had been intended more for thirteen people then three. Perhaps it had been. Iria didn't know. She didn't care, beyond that it gave them a lot of space to explore.
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| − | One leg cross over the other, the lantern light glowing off her pale calves, she leaned back onto her arms. Her spine curved to make a fetching display, pulling her gown even tighter across her torso, showing off the taught lines of her belly, the fullness of her breasts. Sultry eyes watched the Winlandian. She slid her hand across the green velvet sheet beside her, smoothing out the wrinkles before she patted it invitingly.
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| − | <b>Selina de Windia</b>: Up there, Selina shows a different facet. Downstairs, she was more slinky prey, dangerous but subservient. Now, she is as looming as the other woman. But not quite as rigid. Her chest rises and lowers gently as she takes off her own jacket, letting it fall over the back of a chair, slinking over to Iria and sitting on the bed beside her, where indicated. But letting it be known by every mannerism she possesses, that she's only doing it because it's the most convenient place to sit.
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| − | "Am I dinner," She asks them both, eyes full of turquoise heat. Her voice drops to a hot whisper. "Or dessert? I know what you are."
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| − | <b>Iria</b>: Hanging before them off the foot of the bed was a painting that claimed almost the entire wall. More a mural than art, so large that the edges swam in shadow where the dull lantern light could not reach them. But the figures central to the piece was clear and the face of one undeniable in it's likeness.
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| − | The Iria whose gaze peered down at Selina in warm satisfaction was younger woman than the one sitting beside her. Like the woman of the present, she was flushed with want and radiated a predatory hunger. But unlike the Iria beside Selina on the bed now, she glowed with some manner of satisfaction, brought to her clearly by the young woman who knelt before her, golden hair spilling over Iria's lap. Her arms were tightly bound behind her and a leash stretched up from her neck to Iria's hand.
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| − | "Hm." Iria laughed in her throat, shaking her head at the other woman's posturing. Her manner had changed as well. Outside, her hunger had crackled bellow her skin, blazed in her eyes and her touch. But now it reflected back at Selina as a <i>mastered</i> thing.
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| − | "That was from almost ten years ago." She implied the picture with a nod of her head. "That little girl was part of a party game, the reward meant only for the victory. And I won." She plucked the rose-pins from her hair, letting them slip from her fingers. They chimed like bells as the tips struck the polished tiles and rolled away. Iria's long hair rustled as it tumbled out of it's tightly bound position and she shook it out behind her.
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| − | "My city burned a few days ago. Nearly to the ground." She spoke calmly, unhurriedly removing the small gemstone studs from her ears, these too dropped to the floor.
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| − | "My men were torn to pieces." She unfastened the collar around her throat. The cloth of her dress slipped down, but clung tightly to her breasts, tantalizing revealing only a little more than had already been shown.
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| − | "My life was nearly taken." She undid the knot that tied the long drape to her waist, plucking it from the bed and tossing it to the wayside.
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| − | "But I won that too." Iria concluded. One after the other, she kicked her shoes off and then drew her legs up onto the bed. Twisting to rise onto them and face the Windian, she kept an arm bared across her chest, stopping the dress from falling. Not until she wanted it do.
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| − | "You are not dinner or dessert, Aine." Her arm fell and the gown with it, tumbling in a coppery pool around her waist, pouring into the space between her legs but not quiet hiding the lacy edge of dark violent undergarments against her hips.
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| − | "<i>You</i>," she hissed softly, looming closer to Selina just as the Windian had to her. A pale shadow above her with eyes that glowed in victory. "Are my <b><i>prize</b></i>."
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| − | <b>Selina de Windia</b>: "Prize." Selina tastes the word on her lips, , eyes running over the older woman. Oh, she will enjoy this. And with her husband alongside...the thoughts make her shiver. "You have earned it."
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| − | And then Selina really does laugh. A low, devastating, throaty sound that fills the atmosphere of the room with tension of the most mercilessly sensuous kind, holding it on the edge of a knife. Vorpal and Moon got this from her...few others.
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| − | "A <i>prize</i>!" She snorts, and her eyes light the room within her gaze from ceiling to floor like turquoise lightning. "The Scarlet Empress is dead and where are her kin who seek to hunt me? The Lover Clad in a Raiment of Tears is ascending and where are her agents who seek to control me?"
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| − | As Iria did before her, she undoes her dress, letting it fall about her to the waist. The red scar on her stomach is bare to her two partners. "I am strong, commanding, deadly, <i>irresistible</i>!" She gloats, the gem about her neck glimmering in tune with her eyes. Her voice now radiates a supernatural lust, desire. Telling them, on some unconscious level, that this is indeed their reward. "I am your <b>prize</b>, yes."
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| − | And then she moves forward, some of her hair falling in front of her face, just enough to obscure the light of her eyes as she snakes an arm about Iria's waist and pulls the woman on top of her. Inviting, commanding, submitting, entrancing. Her voice soaking almost in the full weight of her otherworldly allure.
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| − | "<i><b>Come</i></b>."
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| − | <b>Iria</b>: A prize, <i>her</i> prize. Say whatever she want, Selina was her's the moment the assassin stepped into the room. Who was on top, who was in control... it didn't matter. It had never mattered. Even less now. Iria had what she wanted. And now had far more than she expected.
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| − | <i>Yes.</i>
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| − | Iria fell, helpless to resist the pull of Selina's arm, not wanting to resist. Baring down against her with a snarl of desire, frustrated at not already being sated, grabbing where ever she could to try and pin the woman down and simply take her.
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| − | She ached. Oh heaven above she ached for it now, every spot on her body that could twisted into a tightly throbbing <i>need</i>. Need to be touched. To be kissed. To be filled. <i>Anything.</i> ...gods, what had this woman done to her? Iria moved to slide breasts already dewed with perspiration against Selina's own and wondered again, what had this woman done to her...?
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| − | But the insatiable, animal part of her that had been awakened, that ruled her now didn't care. The emerald light radiating from the Abyssal suffused her eyes, a pale reflection of that overwhelming desire. Another kiss but nothing like the first. Iria's tongue battled Selinas more than danced with it, her fingers tangle themselves through Selina's hair, clutching oh so tightly as she panted into Selina's mouth.
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| − | | |
| − | <i>Yes.</i>
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| − | Straddling her leg, Iria's hips move, the motion rubbing her own thigh into Selina even as she begins to buck, needful of sensation. More sensation. Higher, each rock of her hips inching her up Selina's body. Until suddenly her knees pushed into the bed on either side of Selina's head.
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| − | | |
| − | Eyes closed, arching until she nearly tumbled backwards, Iria scooped up another handful of beautiful blond hair and pulled the face bellow her up to that terribly burning and painfully empty place.
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| − | | |
| − | <b><i>Yes.</b></i>
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| − | <b>Tiomen</b>: Clothing trailed behind him in one unbroken line, shed off him like a serpent throws off its skin. Light both red and green battled across his chest, colors of hell inviting him to heaven.
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| − | | |
| − | Tiomen was more patient that his wife. It was the virtue he always thought he held above her. He could wait. And thus far he had.
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| − | But there were some things no man could endure with patience. The voice of the Abyssal washed over him like black tide, drowning out thought, will, patience and leaving only desire in it's wake. The sight of his wife, desperately seeking release against the other woman, only heightened the sensation. They had paid him no attention, but he needed none perform his role in this. The sight before him would have been enough, even without the dark need the Abyssal had evoked within him.
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| − | He'd have their attention soon enough.
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| − | Strong hands gripped Selina's ankles, pulling her closer to the edge of the bed, pushing her legs apart. Like a worshiper before a shrine, he knelt before the edge of the bed and bowed his head. Breathing in the sea-like scent of her, letting the heat pulse against his skin. And then he brought his face closer and in the language that best suited that warm temple, he prayed.
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| − | ----
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| − | * - Back to [[GoldenCat/FifthMovement|Fifth Movement]]
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| − | * - Back to [[GoldenCat/DanceOfAngels|A Dance of Angels]]
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