The moon called her. Porcelain face tilted upward in its cool light, the smoke from her cigarette drifting up and around her. Curly blonde locks fell loose around her bare shoulders, the feel of the wooden door frame pressed against flesh comforting. It was cold, yes....but she felt no chill. The cafe was quiet this evening, affording her these small, pleasurable breaks in her singing.

The night. By no means does it have more sway over him that does the day, and yet he feels more comfort in it, the darkness, the shadows, the time when most fear to tread for not seeing the evils that lurk in its ebon folds. And he...he is one of them, oh yes. The assassin feels nothing one way or another...but that part of him that is still discovering the new of this life thrills in that knowledge. His feet wander, neither part caring where they lead, and yet both for different reasons. Drawn as a moth towards a sole beacon of light in this darkness, a small cafe, he spies the girl in the entrance smoking her cigarette. A step into the light reveals him, tall and dressed in black to match the darkness - t-shirt, jeans, boots. The thick, unruly shock of hair in disarray on his head as always, and every inch of his skin visible - save for his face - is covered in strange, crawling, seamlessly smooth black tribal markings.

She caught movement out of the corner of her eye, but she did nothing more than lower her hand to her side, over the curve of her hip. She had chosen a simple, black dress for her attire this evening, of crushed velvet. The feel of it beneath her fingertips was distracting and her hand darted away. A voice called her through the doorway..."You're on, toots." A dark scowl crossed her face, transforming her innocent features into something darker. She stubbed out the cigarette against the wall, and turned to go back inside. She stopped, though, her hand on the doorway. Soft, dulcet tones drifted through the alleyway, her voice as sweet as honey. "Come inside, if you'd like."

So many things noted in those few moments. The assassin - cool, detached, calculating as always - watches every facet of movement of muscle and skin as she turns. To one so familiar with death and all its ways, it is no difficulty to see this is one that has killed before, and at the same time the newly discovered - and discovering - watches that hand as it slips down along the velvet. A hint of that one can be seen in the slightest of smiles curving his lips, a twist of them that is at once delighted in the simple discovery and at the same time almost...predatory. The darkening of her features is noted by both sides ass well - one with uncaring indifference, the other with a sort of dark glee. The potential for chaos and bloodshed, violence to revel in. But more than anything what captures his attention - what draws him closer - is that voice. Musical, sweet and alluring. The blank features show another hint of that same smile, only now adding equal amounts of pleasure and curiosity to the mix as he moves forward, stepping into the cafe. Rather than move for a seat, however, he finds himself a place to lean against the wall, the crimson eyes following every movement of this new discovery. She had slipped onto a small stage, in the center of the room. There were several people in the small room, in various stages of studying. Hunched over books, notes, cups of coffee, pastries. All were nodded with a single, sweeping glance of narrowed eyes. They alighted on the odd one, who had accepted her invitation. A quick twitch of her lips in a smile. A waitress passed by, and Alice stopped her, leaning over to whisper in her ear, and gesture to him. She straightened once more, bowing her head. A quiet hush came over the crowd - even the most studious among them were paying attention. She lifted one slender hand outward, as if in supplication. A sharp, indrawn breath, before her voice filled the room - lilting, sad....The words were ancient, Greek. In that moment, she seemed another creature entirely - innocence and softness, and yearning.

The waitress, in the meantime, approached the stranger. She had on a small platter, a tiny cup of espresso and some delicate looking pastry. She cleared her throat, quietly, to catch his attention, and in a whisper that sounded coarse in comparison, "From Alice..."

For a long, long moment, as she begins singing, he is...enraptured. For a moment, both sides - the cold and cruel and uncaring, and the ever-curious and discovering, find a common ground as that sweet, lovely voice lifts and fills the room. Truly it can be said, in that moment, that music hath charms to sooth the savage beast...as well, it seems, as the not so savage. The language is unknown to him, but it doesn't matter even the slightest - he doesn't, he feels, need to know what the song says.

Until, that is, his listening is interrupted, his attention drawn away. That side that has been newly discovered, newly freed, for just a moment, entertains several dark, dangerous thoughts. Everything from incinerating her where she stands to simply reaching out and snapping her neck, or else conjuring a blade and eviscerating her, the crimson eyes nearly burning as her entrails slip out coil by coil to the floor while she gapes in horror, then screams. It is a fortunate thing for the waitress that the assassin is the dominant half, who has no problem killing and yet knows when a death is wasteful. Still, the waitress can see that dark, utterly terrifying rage for just a moment in the demon's features before it is smoothed away by the emptiness, the void of emotion that is the colder half. Without a word, he takes both the cup and the pastry before turning his attention back to the girl - Alice - as though the waitress had simply ceased to exist...and in fact, for him, she has.

As most untrained humans, especially those who were too engrossed in their selves rather than their surroundings, the waitress paid no mind to the danger she was in. Her thoughts were on the tips she had collected, the dishes she had to wash - inconsequential nonsense. Food delivered, she slipped back towards the kitchen with the lumbering gait of someone too long on their feet. In the barest moment that he had looked away, Alice had tipped her face upward, staring at the ceiling as if it were open sky. Unshed tears in her eyes as she continued to sing, the tone of a lover lost, of pining away in solitude. The song came to a quiet end, as her hands clasped in front of her. Before applause sounded, she launched into another tune, this one a lullaby. Her arms cradled, as if rocking a small child as she sang, her expression one of maternal caring.

The espresso is tasted as the first song ends, and the look of shock on the face of the demon is another genuine sign of the inner child, as one might refer to him. It's gone an instant later as he drains the cup with gusto, a look of simple delight shown on his features. Likewise the pastry is devoured with the same delight and surprise at the contrast in taste. And yet both are forgotten as the second song begins, that voice cutting across all other sensations as it fills the air once more. This time the beauty of that voice captures one part of him, just as it had before, and yet at the same time there is another part that remembers that dark look from before, and marvels that one with such a murderous glare could sing a song so full of such longing and heart.

The third song in the set began as quickly as the second had ended. It was much livelier than the others, her voice rippling across the room as if filled with laughter. She clapped her hands sharply together, settling into a swift beat that others in the room took up. At a point in the song, she stopped singing, and began humming, her feet in their sharp little boots taking up a caper. She spun around the stage, golden hair flying as she clapped her hands in the air. She finished the song with a stomp of her foot, and a low bow. Though the place was not filled with many people, the applause was genuine. She stepped from the stage, smiling at the few who dared approached her. Closer observation would show that it did not meet her eyes. She moved in the stranger's direction with slow, regal steps, trying to dislodge the few persistent followers who spoke eagerly around her.

Despite the lightening of the atmosphere with the third song, he does not take up the beat, only moving long enough to set the plate and cup down on a nearby table before finding his place against the wall, the darkened room making him only just visible, and the most visible of all are the crimson eyes as they watch her every movement throughout this last song as well. He is no empath - there are no true demons that are - and yet it is no great feat to see that her smile does not touch her eyes in the least as she bows and comes off the stage. Still, that voice captures both sides, even in a song of joy that - ordinarily - he might have found annoying, at the least. Even as she makes her way over to him, trying to lose her fans, he makes no move, a slight smile of amusement tugging at his lips that could have been either half of his strange mind...or perhaps both.

Finally, she managed to sooth the last of her fans into returning to his studies. Fingers raised to her temple a moment, gently massaging as she stared at the ground. Her body slowly stilled, the only indication of life being the minute rise and fall of her chest, the small tic of pulse at her throat. She seemed to be thinking about something. A frown pulled down the corner of her full lips, as the same waitress approached her. She spoke softly to the other woman, even laid her hand on the other woman's shoulder in what one might have assumed was an affectionate gesture. She glanced up at him again, the look in her eyes a quiet tempest, predatory. When the woman stepped away, she began that slow trek in his direction, finally close enough to look up at him. She had no compunctions about entering his personal space, standing close enough that the barest shift would have her bare arm brushing his.

She tilted her gaze upwards, amethyst looking with ruby. Her words slipped upward, just loud enough for him to hear over the bustle behind her. "Thank you for coming in."

Just as she has no compunction entering what most would consider their 'personal' space, he has apparently no compunction about her being there. That body, its pale skin seeming as hard and unmoving as though it were carved from marble, does not move away from hers. Of course, he moves no closer, either. Both halves of the whole watch her with those crimson eyes, and a hint of curiosity and, yes, a certain amount of predatory interest shown within their depths for a moment as he looks down at her. He is not given to thanking anyone, for anything, and yet even so, when he speaks again, his words are not completely insincere. "Thank you for inviting me." The voice is low, soft, with its own smooth, musical quality that might be called charming to anyone hearing it. There is the hint of a smile playing at his lips at the tempest held just in check by her eyes, the predatory nature that the others had not seen that he so easily recognizes from having seen the same in his own, often reflected in the eyes of his victims. "Your performance was...fascinating."

She stiffened as the waitress cleared her throat behind her. That dark scowl passed over her lips once more, hidden by the low light where they stood. Teeth bared a moment, she turned swiftly, inadvertently brushing against him. She gave the waitress a cool look, but took the offered drinks quietly. A few soothing words were enough to send the other woman away with a pleasant smile, though the falsity in them was palpable. She turned back to him, offering him another small cup of espresso. The way her fingers wrapped around the cups - despite the heat, the faint reddening of her skin as it obviously hurt. She waited for him to take the cup, before sipping from her own. Direct, and to the point:: "I am finished for the evening." A subtle invitation in her words - not sexual, no.....a challenge"

The brush of her skin against his would bring to note two immediate sensations - the first, that his skin is near as hard as the marble it resembles, and just as flawlessly smooth, and the second, his skin is warm. Not just warm - hot, almost feverishly so. This time there is only a subtle flash of that earlier displeasure, easily suppressed by the cooler head prevailing. He does wait perhaps a moment longer than he should have to take that cup from Alice's grasp, noting that she holds onto it despite the obvious pain it must be causing her. Interesting...almost as if she likes it. That predatory interest shows in his eyes as he takes the cup and sips from it, a slight curl of his lips as he tastes the espresso again, that flash of pleasure showing in his expression for a moment. When he does speak again, though, the musical voice is not so detached, but more...intimate, heated. Not sexual, no, but a return of that challenge. "You don't appear to be finished. And I am not even close."

A slight tensing of her muscles, enough to bring her closer to that heat. Her own flesh was as soft as any human's, pliant....inviting both the soft caress and cruel touch. She flexed her fingers, palm held outward. Reddened skin, obviously burned from contact with the cup, lost its color as quickly as she handed the cup over. Again, that subtle movement of brushing her fingers down the velvet of her dress. Honeyed tones seemed thickened as she spoke again, as if something dark had gripped her throat. "A moment. Let me change." She didn't wait for his answer, merely stared into his eyes a few brief seconds, before moving away, into the crowd once more.

Even as she is turning away, those fingers, that feverish touch, reaches out to brush the ends of his fingertips across that softness of skin, the single stroke enough to leave a burning line of heat across her shoulder. Not a burn, no, just a subtle reminder of that warmth of his. That simple, childlike curiosity, just to see what she would do, to see what it felt like with a purposeful touch. Another temptation following it, to follow and stop her, to let her know that there is little need for her to change...but another curiosity takes over, borne of patience. A want to see what she might be changing into, more than simple, idle curiosity. And so it is that he settles back against the wall, the crimson eyes watching her as she vanishes into the crowd once again.

The touch did not last very long, but it was enough for her muscles to tighten beneath the tips of his fingers, and then, relax utterly. She stole a quick glance over her shoulder at him, eyes full of curiosity, before she was lost in the press once more. A simple storeroom behind the bar, out of sight, held her things. When she returned, she wore a pair of dark jeans, closely fitted. A pair of boots, obviously worn, but of good quality. Her shirt was long, buttoning straight down the front...It was a dark purple, a soft linen. She seemed to marvel in the texture, fingers tracing along one arm, as she sought him in the crowd once more. She stopped next to him, head tilting upwards once more, as she placed surprisingly gentle fingers against his heated arm, soaking in the heat. "Will you follow me?"

The crimson eyes follow every movement, from the time she leaves to the time she returns. When she does lay her hand on his arm, she'll find that the earlier impression, brief as it was, is a lie - the muscles relax this time near as soon as her hand has been on his arm for a mere instant, rendering them more pliable, if not wholly soft. The heat, though, remains. The crimson eyes remain locked on hers, despite the wandering just enough to see her hand stroking the linen, taking in her fascination with the feel of it, a slight smile appearing on his lips, before he finally answers. "I follow no one...but I will consent to walk with you."

Appreciation flickered through her eyes, and she turned for the outer door. She kept her hand on his arm, fingers splayed against the heat. She touched his skin much as she had touched the fabric of her clothing - it was a new sensation, one she unconsciously was indulging in. To all other eyes, it seemed that she was merely having someone escort her home, the darkness that fluttered in her breast hidden by a sweet, innocent face.

In the stillness of the forest, the silence - a single noise.....Her soft, quiet chuckle. Eyes fluttered, and she gasped, sitting upright. The dark bruises written on her throat by his fingertips slowly disappeared, revealing naught but smooth skin. Fingers flexed as life returned, wiping away the blood along her thigh to reveal, once again, pale flesh, unblemished. She smiled sweetly at him, though the sweetness was tempered by the darkness in her eyes. "Would you like to try again?"

He looks down at her, the crimson eyes widening just the slightest bit in surprise. "Well, now...aren't you the interesting little creature." He looks down at himself, and the blade still planted in his chest, reaching up to pull it out with a rather wet, almost sucking sound. Just as her wound had healed, so does his a moment later, and her blade is flipped into the air with the skill of a consummate knife fighter to land blade-first in his hand before he tosses it at her. There is a solid-sounding thunk as the steel sinks into the wood not a millimeter from her ear. In the same moment his blade flashes back into existence with that same flicker of flame, a long, wide, wickedly curved and very sharp blade, but instead of making another immediate assault on her, he watches her with that same intent, predatory interest. "Would you?"

"Without hesitation..." She had not flinched as the knife hit the tree. Instead, a slender, blood slicked hand reached upward, yanking it from the wood. She gathered herself to her feet, moving with a lithe dancer's grace. She looked at the blade in her hand, and the one in his with a single raised eyebrow. Feet shifted in the leaves, hips tilting. She licked her lips slowly, lifting her head to look up into his eyes. Fingers of her free hand curled inward in a "come hither" gesture.

His lips curve upwards, that same predatory smile, the fire showing in his gaze as he shifts the knife in his hand, settling lower, his grace not that of a dancer but that of an assassin, almost catlike, a deadly dance indeed. There is no hesitation as he moves with that same sudden swiftness, the scythe-like blade sweeping in for her abdomen this time, the air whistling softly as the blade parts it, seeking soft flesh.

She opened her arms as he came, stepping forward into his blade. A soft gasp as she felt it enter her flesh, stopped only by his discretion. Her hand swept inward, her own small blade driving at his side. Blood for blood. Her head fell forward, against his chest. It was almost a sweet gesture, except for the dark, insane laughter that escaped her lips. "More...."

There is a snarl on his lips as he feels her blade pierce him deep, sliding between ribs. His own stops in mid swipe as he feels it find flesh, but only just long enough to twist and be yanked upwards towards her ribs, even as his other hand comes up to cradle her head against his chest. The gesture is nearly as sweet as her head laid against his chest, almost an embrace even as that blade viciously slices through skin and sinew and organs beneath. "How much more?" Pain shows its evidence in his voice from her piercing of him, and yet the tone is more pleased than angered.

She gasped, her face twisting to meet his gaze. "As much as you can give." Blood dripped from her lips, yet she turned to press them against his fingertips. She drove the blade upward, before her hand slackened. Already, the wound he had inflicted sought to knit, tightening around his blade. She shifted, pressing the whole of her against him as she drove his blade deeper. She did not fall, although the porcelain beauty of her skin took on a deathly pallor.

That hand at the back of her head drops down to encircle her waist to pull her still closer as her blood flows over her hand. Feeling her wound closing around his blade. Another twist, vicious and cruel, and he drags the blade to the side until it slices out of her, a hiss falling from his lips as he feels her blade move inside him, softly grunting as he holds her up.

She dragged the blade forward, to open him wider. It was slowly withdrawn, her hand falling to her side. Any other creature would have fallen to the crown, mewling in pain as they died. She stood on her own feet, not even quivering with the loss of her blood as it trickled between them. The flood would soon ebb, and stop completely. Her ruined shirt fell gaping along that side, revealing the knitting flesh slowing sealing itself.

The blood that seeps from his wound is, surprisingly, like hers, red, though quite a bit warmer. Reluctantly, it seems, he lets her go this time, kneeling as he sets her on the ground. The crimson eyes widen a bit as he sees the wounds knitting closed, bringing a slight smile to his lips. His own wound in his side knits closed only slightly faster as he lays her on the ground and kneels next to her, fascination plain in his features. "A most interesting creature indeed." His voice is soft as he watches.

She laid on her side, head cradled in her hand. She brushed her hand down her side, fingers tracing long lines in her own blood. It was another sensation, another feeling. A smile on her lips, softer than before. She watched him heal, her fingers reaching out to trace the line where her knife had once been. Her skin had cooled quite a bit, the loss of blood evident in the paleness of her flesh. She didn't speak, simply stroking his side.

"You could have stopped me." It's not a question, and he doesn't seem to be particularly interested in the answer as he kneels there, not backing away from that touch. In fact, he shifts, almost as though to give those seeking fingers better access, even as he reaches out with the hand not holding his own blade to trace that heated touch along the line his own had taken - across her abdomen, up just to the sternum, then down and across, a touch that is, strangely, almost tender, particularly given that those hands had just killed her twice with cold, cruel callousness, without any hesitation.

"Why would I want to?" She closed her eyes, head tilted as if she were listening. Her fingers tightened against his side, sharp nails digging in. "Abryrdan...." She teased each syllable from her tongue, rolling it around as if it were something sweet she wanted to savor. She sat up, slowly, twisting so she sat cross-legged before him. Her fingers never left his side, nor did she move in such a way he would have to move his.

He moves as well, that same lethal catlike grace turned to a simpler task as he settles into a seat across from her, like her moving in such a way that her fingers will not have to move from their place, a smile of more definite pleasure shwoing on his lips as her nails pierce his skin. "In my experience, humans tend to avoid the painful. Alice." Her name spoken so that every letter seems to be caressed by lips and tongue as his hand moves up to trace the line of her neck, fingers very deliberately dragging across the front of her throat where he had not long ago crushed the breath from her body. "You are not a demon...nor an angel, despite what many might believe." He grins slightly at that."You are...different."

She tilted her head back, offering her throat for his further touch - be it soft or murderous. "As are you...." She pressed her hand flat against his side, feeling his warmth through chilled fingertips. "Still warm...." Her gaze trailed across his arms, studying the shifting ink there, before moving to his face once more. "What brought you here?" There was desire in her quiet voice.

He leans subtly into that touch, that pressing of her hand into his side, feeling the chill against his own heated skin. The desire heard, and there is slightly more than a trace in his voice, mingled with traces of fascination as he deliberately misconstrues her question in the first moment. "You brought me here." That slight smile on his lips and a dark chuckle in his voice. "But before that...it is a long story."

Her laughter echoed quietly off of the trees, tinkling like a bell. It was a sharp contrast to the look in her eyes, as her nails suddenly dug into his side. "She didn't send you, did she?" Her voice was suddenly darker, desire laced with tinge of fear. "I don't want to go back." Amethyst eyes narrowed, nails pressing hard enough to break skin.

He doesn't draw away from that press of nails into his side - quite the opposite, in fact, he leans into them harder, letting them pierce his skin and draw blood. That slight smile shows its predatory edge again as the crimson eyes flash. "I come on my own, under no one's orders. I don't even know who you speak of."

His words did not drain the tension from her limbs. Instead, she shifted her legs so she knelt, head slightly bowed. Fingers squeezed hard a moment, before stroking lightly, slickened with his blood. She lifted her eyes to his, porcelain features ghost-like in the low light. Lips parted, as if she were about to speak again, but thought better of it. Around them was silence - not even the rustlings of small creatures - until the wind stirred the leaves.

Heated fingertips move still along the lines and paths his own blade had taken...which is still in his hand, come to think of that. He doesn't seem inclined to let it go, either, at least not for the moment. Fingers move slowly along her ribs until they find the sternum, finally sliding down over her stomach. His own hand flattens and presses against her abdomen as he leans slightly closer. As the wind stirs the world around him, the eyes move from her to look around them for a swift second, before returning to contemplate her lips for a long moment.

Her skin would seem almost icy beneath his fingertips, albeit flawless and almost temptingly soft. Her eyes drifted close, her free hand drifting toward the blade. Fingertips would brush along the flat, almost lovingly towards the hilt. Pink tongue darted out to lick her lips, unmindful of his inspection of them. She drew her hand back, resting against her knee, fingers restlessly stroking the fabric of her blood-soaked jeans. Sensation....and she smiled.

She slipped away from him then, kneeling before him. Her head was slightly bowed, blonde curls tangling, stained with their blood. Her hands rested against her knees, trembling visibly. The rest of her was following suit, little tremors that wracked her small form. She took a deep breath, one hand reaching forward to rest against his knee. She lifted her face slowly, her eyes flashing as they met his. There was confusion there, laced with need, darker than any that had come before. The words slipped from her lips, almost before she could stop them. "How shall I please you, my lord?"

For just a moment, there is a flash of anger in those crimson eyes, not unlike one might see from a child when something it's been enjoying gets taken away and it doesn't know why, until she speaks. The words, the posture, the attitude, even the trembling are all perfectly familiar. After all, once, it had been him kneeling much the same before his own masters, speaking words not dissimilar from hers. The anger fades as quickly as it comes, replaced with heady desire and need that echoes her own, that musical voice full of it, deep and dark and wanton, unsympathetic and full of challenge at the same time. "You are not my slave, Alice, nor would I want you to be. Do what pleases you." He takes her hand from his knee and reaches out his to her, a clear invitation,should she be willing to accept it...

When at first he began to speak, she had dropped her eyes away from his - until she heard what he was saying. "What.....pleases me?" Her head tilted to the side, and her eyes slipped tightly close, as if she were considering. Without looking, her other hand touched his, accepting. She linked her fingers with his, and leaned forward. Eyes opened slowly, a challenge echoing his own, before she crushed her lips against his, hungrily. While she kissed him, she slid back into this lap, straddling his legs.

There was a brief moment that he thought perhaps she might turn away, until she took his other hand. Even as she is leaning forward, moving towards him, he is pulling at her hands, and the fierceness, the sheer hunger in her response nearly catches him off guard. Even in spite of this he is already responding, returning that kiss, his tongue finding and tangling with hers in a fierce, sensual dual, his arms slide around her to pull her roughly against him, his hips already shifting to move against hers, that hardened shaft pressing in between her legs, finding the heated core of her that contrasts so sharply with the rest of her still-icy coldness. His hips move in longer strokes each time, sliding along in increasingly slippery excretions until he shifts and, with one long, rough thrust, unable to resist anymore, he is inside her, plunging into her to the hilt.

As his hands release hers, she buries them in his hair, teeth grazing his tongue. So focused is she on devouring his lips, that the sudden shift of his hips brought an almost comical look of surprise on her face. Body tensed, until that final thrust. She gasped softly, head tilting back so she could look into his eyes. Her legs slid up and around him once more, each sensation as she shifted causing her to whimper. A soft touch to his face, before her lips were at his again.

Even as her lips find his again his arms are moving to completely encircle her waist, pulling her tightly against him with intense strength, the muscles under that marble-like skin hard and tensed, the grip nearly enough to drive the air from her lungs as he grinds his hips roughly, relentlessly, and yet slowly against hers, his lips meeting hers in that heated kiss, that iciness of her skin, if anything, that much more arousing for its chill against his own.

She reveled in the strength of him, arms wrapping around his neck as she pressed tighter against him. He seemed like molten heat within her, spreading upward through her core. She trembled, her hands grinding their own rhythm, meeting his and driving him in deeper. She broke the kiss, looking into his eyes once more. There was longing there, that predatory gleam. She shifted her arms, darting inward to bite him hard on the shoulder as slow shiver took her.

He sees that predatory light in her eyes, met by the same in his own as his hips find a rhythm against her own driving in deeper, seeking to penetrate as far as he can go before drawing back and suddenly thrusting forward again, his arms tightening further as if he's seeking to drive the breath from her lungs. That hard bite is met with a growl of pure ecstatic pleasure as her neck is left exposed. The opening taken advantage of as he leans in to sink his teeth into her neck hard enough to draw blood, his fingers clawing at her skin as he pulls her harder against him.

She found enough breath to moan against his skin, tongue lapping as she drove her teeth in deeper. Fingers trailed against the back of his neck, nails digging in hard, as she bucked against him. Fire raced through her veins, as she suddenly she clenched around him, silk-clad steel squeezing his shaft within as she broke her bite enough to growl something in Greek. She licked her lips clean of his blood, feeling suddenly dizzy with it all. She pushed against his shoulders, turning to whisper in his ear, "Lie back..."

It is a testament to his excellent self-control that he doesn't explode within her as she clenches, and as it is his teeth sink in slightly deeper into her neck with the effort of holding back, relaxing and lapping up the blood from her already-healing wound with a low, growling moan. As she pushed against his shoulders, he goes willingly enough, his arms loosening to let him lay back, though his hands don't leave her skin and his eyes stay fixed on hers.

She settled back on her knees, trailing her fingers lightly over the tribal tattoos that covered every inch of his skin. A look of uncertainty passed over her face. Such sweet innocence, contrasted by the various stains of blood that covered her milky white flesh. She rocked upward, and then down once more, driving him completely within her. Head thrown back, the ends of her hair just barely brushed against his thighs as she found her slow rhythm, slickened folds making him slide deeper within.

The sensation is pure pleasure, his back arching as she drives down on him, his hips rocking up against hers as she settles down on his length, drawing out a long, low moan from him, his crimson eyes never leaving her as she moves. Her rhythm once again finds him matching it, driving his hips upwards at the same time as she settles down, his fingers digging into her flesh hard and pulling her down with swift suddenness as he seeks to drive himself even deeper into her silken folds.

She leaned forward, arching her back to drive herself down hard against him. Bracing her hands against his chest, nails digging sharply in and downward, she moved. The hard slapping sounds of flesh against flesh, the sudden bruised look of her inner thighs was testament to how hard she rode him. Another gasp rose from her lips, as her body tensed, another wave of pleasure rushing over her her. Amethyst eyes met his, the challenge met, and another offered.

That challenge acknowledged and returned as he sits up again, pushing her off of him for a moment, slipping out form under her and moving behind her, settling there on his knees, keeping her standing on her knees as he moves and slides into her from behind. Those arms wrap around her torso, one over her breasts, the other over her abdomen, and he once again pulls her back against him, driving himself deep into her silken, slickened folds as he holds her upright, her back pressed and molded to his chest.

She lay her head against his shoulder, turning her face inward to his neck as she gasped in pleasure. Sharp nails trailed down his arms as she seemed to melt against him. Lips trailed along his throat, whispering his name, tongue dancing over his pulse, before she bit there, hard.

He leans into the tongue dancing at his pulse just as she bites down hard, drawing a sharp gasp and a low growl from him as his hips jerk forwards harder to ram deep into her, the arm at her waist tightening sharply to pull her hips back hard against his, savoring every sensation painful and pleasurable as he tries to bury as much of his hard, throbbing length into her as he can, almost seeming to punch into her with each jerking motion of his hips. The arm around her upper torso loosens and his hand slides over her breasts, squeezing, fingers digging into her flesh, before that hand moves up to her throat and wraps around it, squeezing slowly tighter.

Each thrust of his hips was met with a grind of her own, driving him even deeper. Teeth buried deeper, and she tasted blood. Tongue slowly lapped over his flesh. She was trapped thoroughly by his hands, the feeling of his hand about her throat sending her crashing over the edge once more. This time, her cries were made hoarse by the slow squeeze of air from her throat. She drove herself unmercilessly onto him, teeth seeking flesh once more.

He's meeting her thrust for thrust, that slapping sound of flesh to flesh louder, faster than ever as he pounds into her deeper with each thrust, each move forward jerking her hips back onto him with the arm around her waist, feeling himself throbbing deep inside her harder with each thrust, The whole time, that other hand is tightening inexorably around her neck, until finally her air is cut off as he keeps punching hard into her from behind.

A final moan cut off as he squeezed her throat. Her whole body trembled as she crested over and over again, soaking them both. Fingers tightened in his arm, nails digging in and dragging upward as she fought against him, driving him harder into her. Silk-clad steel clenched his shaft with each entry, even as she began to weaken with lack of air. She fought to keep consciousness, eyes locked on his face.

His eyes remain locked on hers, each clench bringing him perilously closer, closer to that final climax, and yet he doesn't let go of that grip on her throat, her air cut off, even as he relentlessly rams himself into her depths, burying himself deep into her again and again, grinding his hips in hard, rough circles against hers, swirling his length inside her as though he is trying to feel every last part of her insides, trembling against her, her name said over and over in low, growling, whimpering tones of desire and need, pushing himself right to the brink.

One hand reached upward to stroke his cheek as she climaxed one more time, her entire body shivering with tension. Back arched as body attempted to struggle against him, though her eyes were filled with powerful need. Her lips slowly shaped his name, faintly blue, as she finally stilled against him. Her heart fluttered once......twice....and then fell silent.

That final climax does him in, and just as she is fading he cries out her name, his hand on her throat tightening still further, pulling her hips back violently to meet his as he explodes within her, his hips jerking hard against hers over and over as he pumps his seed inside her. By the time his climax fades, her heart has stopped, and his hand relaxes at her throat. Still, though, he doesn't let her go, nor do his eyes leave hers for an instant, his arms wrapping around her to hold her cool body against his, his grip now almost tender as he waits, his eyes fixed on her face as he remains inside her.

Her eyes remained on his, eerie, as they were glassed over in death. It took a little longer this time than before - from the loss of blood, and exertion, she had weakened. A few long moments passed, before finally - a single beat. And another. Bruises formed darkly around her throat, then faded from view. Finally, she gasped, amethyst eyes coming to life all at once. She blinked a few times, a smile slowly twisting upward. She ran her fingers slow up, along his cheek, as she breathed weakly. Cold lips pressed against his, shivering as she felt him still inside her. Finally she broke away, "Abryrdan...." she gasped, her eyes hardening with desire. "Again...."

That shiver is felt, the beating of her heart starting, just as he knew it would, and as her lips press against his he returns her kiss, the hunger taking over again. He had been fading inside her, but as she broke that kiss, seeing the desire in her eyes, her words spoken in that honeylike voice with just a touch of hoarseness, it takes no time for him to harden inside her again, the tender grip on her tightening again. At the same moment his hips move, jerking forwards, the arm around her waist tightening with that same sudden strength and pulling her hips back to his with, punching his length deep inside her again, piercing her to the core.

This and all preceding posts taken from live RP with Alice Darling.