Raging Like a River

by **Laszlo** on February 17th, 2012, 5:19 am

His head was pounding, a tightly wound ball of pain throbbing in his left temple. Every breath he took echoed in his head, and it felt like there were needles pressing against the backs of his eyes. It forced tears to well up in the corners of his eyes, though by the way the fluid temporarily blinded him and clung thickly to the skin on the bridge of his nose, the hypnotist suspected that it was salty blood, and not salty tears. The unlit stairwell was dark, however, and Laszlo was more or less certain that a human would be blind to his macabre weeping. This woman wasn't human, but it was also unlikely that her race lived underground and, as such, had the Symenestra's keen eyesight.

Laszlo felt the cold edge of a knife graze his skin through the fabric of his pants, which thankfully slackened as she freed the part of his anatomy that had been aching for esape. As he felt the touch of her hand, an electric shock raced through his entire body and elicited a groan into her neck.

"Nngh…" His knees weakened, and his clawed hands grasped at her body more desperately. This was certainly more preferable now than earlier, when she'd first made him acquainted with the round of her knee. "Perhaps you could pay a manual apology to my 'favorite pair'." Thoroughly distracted by both pain and pleasure, Laszlo couldn't afford a single thought to his destroyed trousers, or even remember which pair he'd put on that day. The Ethaefal only stumbled against her, his long fingers feeling down her body until they found her waistline. For once using his tapered claws for intended destruction, he reciprocated by tearing through her own clothing. His weaponized fingertips then reached between her thighs and began to gingerly make themselves more appreciative of her attentions. This didn't last long.

"I hope you don't mind the stairs."

With his sharp nails digging carelessly into her arm, he threw his weight back to force her away from the wall, his already lacking strength sapped by his Overgiving. As she fell onto the steps, he staggered to face her, sinking to his knees in front of her. Laszlo leaned forward, placing his hands on the steps and hovering his body over hers. Despite the pounding in his head, he thirsted to feel the bitter tingle of djed coursing through his tongue, or burning in his eyes, but he no longer had the concentration to force her thoughts. She was already at his disposal anyway.

The Ethaefal paused there for a moment to consider the blackness of Naama's eyes. His wet tongue rested against one of his aching, elongated fangs. There was no love in her unusual gaze, and there wasn't any in Laszlo's violet stare. There shouldn't have been. Yet it was here at the precipice, of all moments, when he thought of Abalia.

I love you, something in him wanted to say to her, the stone-eyed woman. She would laugh at him and this would be over, so he didn't. He pushed himself briskly forward instead, digging his claws into the wooden stairs and growling into her hair. The pounding in his head didn't stop, but it became easy to ignore. The metallic taste of blood was heavy in his mouth, but it was forgotten as he kissed her. The torment of his existence was all but gone, for the moment. Why, then, would he be thinking of her, or love, at a time like this?

by **Naama** on February 21st, 2012, 6:26 am

It was laying atop a staircase, the sharp edge digging painfully into her back while a stranger, more importantly a spider, made loveless love to her that Naama began to realize how utterly unreal this all felt.

Her cries were carnal, the knife having long clattered to the floor. I'm just another common whore, she smirked inwardly, a tawny hand rising to clutch at the nameless one's shoulder, every motion just another explosion of agony in her back, but how sweet it soon became.

"You're bleeding," She breathed absently, an unoccupied hand lifted to smear it away. She wouldn't ask for his name, not after it was done, nor any day after. He would be a shade to her past, just another faceless pawn in her own savage pleasures, whether he incited it or not.

After a long pause, Naama slid out from under him, groping for a piece of cloth, "I hope I didn't intrude on a woman's property," She commented, then motioned at his face, "You should get checked, though who am I to know if spontaneous bleeding is common among your kind?"

by **Laszlo** on February 21st, 2012, 7:21 am

Laszlo rolled to the side, sitting himself heavily on one of the steps and leaning upon his arm on another. Satisfied and panting, he hung there breathlessly for a moment as he gathered his wits again. He could feel the blood wet and drying on his face, tightening on his skin. Naama had noticed it, but it hadn't seemed to bother her much. He wiped at the blood on his face with the back of his hand, leaning back to inspect it.

"It's nothing," he muttered bitterly, spitting a spray of red onto the wooden step, just inches away from his face. His shins ached terribly; the angular steps had pressed into the bones of his legs, and he hadn't really noticed until after he'd finished with her. It was worse than the pain in his head, but that had mostly faded by now. His own voice was still echoing between his ears, as if he were thinking and speaking the same thing at the same time. He wasn't sure if that was the Hypnotism backfiring or just his own disorientation. "I'm just an idiot. Come on." The false Symenestra pushed himself to his feet, embarrassingly exposed now that Naama had ruined his pants. Worth it. "There's a tub upstairs if you want to bathe and clean that off you. You probably don't want my blood all over you, either."

Perhaps their rutting had been loveless, but Laszlo wasn't beyond some basic courtesy. She was still a person, after all. Probably. Lately the definition of that word had been getting a little muddled. Standing to the side, he'd allow Naama to pass him before he followed her up the dark stairway. "Careful." Letting her go in front of him was half out of courtesy, and half making sure she wasn't going to be breaking anything else on her way to the wash room.

"There's a basin and a stove. There's still some water left in that cask." He showed her into the room, which held a lone bathtub, a large, moonlit window, and little else. Leth's radiance poured in through cloudy glass, well enough for even the average human to see well. Laszlo's face was positively scarlet, particularly around the eyes and mouth. Naama wasn't faring much better, though much of it was draped around her neck like a gruesome shawl. "I assume you know what you're doing. Don't break anything, please." He paused, hesitating before retreating into his room for a new set of clothes. "Unless you want that to happen again."

Laszlo wasn't entirely sure he had the energy for another round. On the other hand, just thinking about her cries in the stairwell was already beginning to rejuvenate him.

by **Mirage** on April 27th, 2012, 7:30 pm

The Truth Within the Reality

Laszlo :

Naama :

The Truth Hidden by a Mirage :