Lechku and Nechku: Darkscape

Goddamn it. Was he somehow twisting into her thoughts, or was he just that damned good at guessing? Something naggingly tells her that it's the first, which nearly infuriates her. He has no right. Anything that goes on up in her head was hers and hers alone. This anger shows in her expression just barely, but she keeps it subtle, knowing very well that the slightest wrong move or expression could hurt Dakarai.

She takes a shaky breath, calming herself. "No. Actually, I can honestly go without knowing," she insists, a hint of desperation in her voice as her eyes long on Dakarai's expression, sincerely concerned.

This was so very much her fault. She should have told him to stay there. She should have tried to come here herself. She shouldn't have bothered him. If she'd done the right thing, Dakarai would still be sitting there, carving away. This was so, so, so very much her fault.

A fond, soft chuckle surfaces from the fallen angel, him turning his smile toward her, letting it grow to a grin, revealing the lengthened tips of vampire fangs in the corners of that smirk.

Her expression darkens briefly at that small grin, needing no extra hint in order to notice the wicked canines peeking through. Well, that could explain a thing or two. Of course her dreams would allow a vampire-type character to seem as though he was reading her mind. That made sense with many of the little pieces of folklore she had read. Not that this comforted her, of course. Hell, it was a touch more to worry about.

His eyes seem to light up at the edges, brightening the leer, before letting his eyes drift closed, left hand's fingers tracing as if absent-mindedly down Dakarai's left arm.

Very slowly, he turns his head back to face Dakarai's back, blue lips parting, seeking the back of his neck, locking around a fragment of skin, placing a kiss against it, which causes Dakarai to utter a soft, reflexive: "Damnit." It's a breathy two syllables. His eyes squeeze shut.

She can't help but cry out when she sees the winged creature's lips duck out of view, aiming for the back of Dakarai's neck, but she quickly swallows the sound, choosing words instead. "Don't! Ah... please, stop. This is unnecessary." Her eyes are as pleading as her tone, although she does seem slightly... ashamed? Begging doesn't seem to come naturally for her.

A soft rustle of feather pierces the silence, his left wing shifting slightly, or perhaps simply touched by the hint of a breeze. Eyes still closed, seemingly ignoring Liz's plea, a second kiss finds itself at an inch of distance to the previous spot, off to the right. The gesture seems bizarrely gentle, as though he were handling a particularly fragile rose with bare hands, both cherishing and possessing it.

Her jaw clenches as she watches, feeling ridiculously helpless, and a hideous amount of guilt twists her expression into something miserable for a few seconds. "God, I'm so sorry," she breathes almost silently, the sound quivering with fear for Dakarai, mouthing the words more than she whispers them.

Her voice gains a touch of volume, although it's still surprisedly hushed, as she takes a very hesitant step closer to the two, one hand actually inching up to reach out for Dakarai before realising what she was doing. No, no, no. She wasn't going to get him hurt. "Why won't you just let him go?" she asks, voice prodding, losing a bit more assurance with each word.

Another kiss finds the side of Dakarai's neck, lingering tantrically for long moments - causing the captive to glance back at the wielder of the knife nervously, evidently unsure what to make of this... fake affection. His lips are drifting across bare skin further forward as she asks her question, lips having been gradually receding from those canines.

The motion seems to halt for a moment, his breath ghosting across the skin of Dakarai's neck, causing the hairs to raise subtly. His eyes roll back open, gaze shifting toward her, catching her at the very corner of a sideways glance, otherwise unbudging. "Make me an offer."

Her eyes narrow slightly as they meet with his, although they contain little fire and even less confidence. His comment obviously catches her off guard; she seems to come to a mental halt for a moment, completely at a loss for words, unable to think straight, thought frozen. An offer? Ridiculous. She had nothing to offer. Honestly, all she had on her were the clothes on her back, and those certainly weren't worth a Dakarai.

"I... ah..." she struggles, gaze breaking off from the winged vampire's and darting to the misted ground, as though it would help her to think. "I honestly don't have much that I can offer. I... I have myself, and that's really all..." Her voice fades, and she suddenly considers this. Would she honestly trade herself for Dakarai? Hah. Again, no fair trade. She certainly wasn't worth a Dakarai.

His teeth still paused above that neck, he remains immobile as if to consider her words, before that smirk perceptibly widens - and he slowly stretches, left arm sliding to grip the knife held against the lad's throat in a manner allowing no rebellion, his right freed up, hand coming to rest against Dakarai's right elbow for now.

"Give me your hand," he instructs, his hand opening to her like a flower to sunlight, palm upturned, extremely delicate fingers looking more alien than human, but with the beauty of grace. His voice is almost a whisper - but it causes Dakarai to utter a choking noise, his gaze fearfully locked on Elizabeth. "Don't," he recommends, those eyes wide, unable to stay precisely still.

Her own right hand raises briefly, gaze locked on the delicate, pale fingers of the vampire, but she doesn't move to place her hand directly in his. Instead, she raises her hand to her mouth, one knuckle lodging itself in her mouth so that she can nibble on it, torn. There was no way this could end well, but she'd gotten them into this, no? It was something she had to make right.

Finally, she removes her knuckle from her mouth, blue gaze rising and locking onto Dakarai. Despite his recommendation, she can't help but be further fueled in her decision; it was not right for him to suffer because she dragged him along. "Dakarai," she whispers, forcing a pained smile. "It's alright. This is just a dream anyways." It's obvious that she's saying this just as much to convince herself as it's meant to comfort Darakai, but she closes the distance between the winged man's hand and hers all the same, gently resting her hand in his.

His thumb folds gently against her hand, the side of it brushing in a gentle caress across the back of her hand while he locks her gaze - before abruptly, the spidery fingers scurry toward her wrist, locking around it in firm grip - and he yanks the hand down as though to force her to her knees or to fall.

Her hand had tensed in his gentle grip, and again, the young woman was nibbling on her lip, already wanting to be anywhere but where she is. Gentle grip or not, it was obvious that she was still terrified of him... and then the gentle grip was gone, replaced by a vicious tug, causing her to squeal in surprise and stumble closer a few steps.

His actual intention abruptly becomes clear as her fingertips brush against the fabric of Dakarai's crotch, causing him to reflexively tense, a single note of protest surfacing from him, only to culminate in silence once more. The fallen angel's gaze is boring into her as though trying to hypnotise her into obeying, as though trying to force her into being unable to look away.

Another soft sound, this one more of a whimper than anything else, is issued when she realises where her hand is, although she dares not look down to confirm this. She's already invading his privacy with her touch; she won't do the same with her eyes. Instead, she wrenches her gaze from the vampire, directing blue eyes to gaze into Dakarai's instead. Hers are apologetic, guilty, so very sorry. This was not what she'd intended.

"I suggest you work convincingly with your fingers," the black-winged one remarks in a whisper, a rumble surfacing from him much akin to a purr. Instead of granting her the courtesy of partial restraint, however, his hand drifts away from hers, stroking up across the back of hers with tantric lightness, up her arm to height of her elbow, before finally detaching and leaving her to force her own will into acting in compliance with no aid from him.

The young woman's jaw drops a little, briefly overwhelmed by this command. "I... I don't understand the point of this," she breathes, shaking her head side to side before looking back up to the vampire, eyes narrowed and so very confused. Her fingers do no such thing, instead just barely leaving them where he left them, grazing the bulge of Dakarai's pants so lightly that it was as if they weren't even there.

In silent response to her refusal and stuttered protest, the blade at Dakarai's neck presses further against his skin, shifting slightly to sink into the sensitive flesh. A blood-red line appears to her vision just under the blade, though it is lethargic in leaking blood, too shallow to be truly damaging.

"Oh, Darakai," she whispers, sympathy pain quivering in her voice as her eyes follow the small, beaded line of red. Her left hand raises half-way, obviously intending to reach up and gently wipe the blood away, but she decides against it, not knowing at all what the winged horror could possibly do as punishment for that.

The hand quickly lowers, and she mumbles, slightly angry and most horrified: "I still don't understand." Even as she does so, her right hand moves closer, gently cupping Darakai through his jeans. She closes her eyes, as though doing so might allow her to block out her own actions, as her thumb traces along the the outside of the bulge - even this small movement seems labourous for her.

Dakarai's eyes close, evidently finding his situation equally unbearable, feeling discomfort overwhelm him, the touch feeling alien, bizarre - certainly not pleasurable right now.

The demon, meanwhile, places a gentle kiss on Dakarai's neck once more, his own eyes narrowed to slits, watching Elizabeth's attempts with other senses, his gaze seemingly locked unseeingly on Dakarai's collar bone. A moment later, he rumbles, lips vibrating against Dakarai's neck as he does: "Convincingly. I daresay I don't have a lot of patience."

She grimaces at his tone, opening her eyes long enough to shoot him a surprisingly spirited glare. Irrational, ridiculous, sadistic... even so, she had already been made well-aware of the fact that he was in control of the situation, if only because of that fucking knife. Oh how she wished Dakarai hadn't had that knife on him... then again, oh how she wished they hadn't gotten in this situation to begin with.

Trying not to let her irritation and fear out physically on Dakarai, her fingers snake upwards, attempting to be enticing, teasing, before reaching the waistband of his slacks. Swallowing all hesitation, her fingers unbutton the pants, doing their best to be... convincing.

A soft, breathy gasp surfaces from the captive, a line of terror running through him, perhaps in surprise at how easily she had been brought to act this way - his weight shifts slightly, though to most part, he remains still, his own gaze fixed on the dreamcatcher design before him.

Dakarai's gasp catches Elizabeth off guard, and she jerks her hand away from him, possibly assuming that she had perhaps hurt him. The girl's wickedly inexperienced, after all - her movements are more out of a desire to survive than out of knowing exactly what will be effective. Her hands returns relatively quickly, though; again, she moves out of a desire to survive above all else.

The vampiric fallen angel peers almost idly across Dakarai's right shoulder as though to inspect Elizabeth's progress, a wicked smile surfacing as he sees her behaving herself so well - even if that made the situation far too benign for his liking. But he wasn't going to kill the boy after implying he would spare him if she complied - he kept true to his word. He had nothing to hide. The truth was so much more interesting. Of course, he had so much more control over this dream than the petty knife in its crudeness - perhaps it was time to help Elizabeth a little, just slightly, have their mutual victim come to partly enjoy this particular torment. On the other hand, her struggling was so enticing.

Her fingers don't delve too deep. Instead, the young woman is ridiculously shy about it, doing little more than dipping the first two knuckles of her fingers beyond his waist band. Instead, she drags her fingers back and forth, mostly stroking the skin on his abdomen, perhaps convincing herself that she's 'teasing' the poor boy. That's a terrible and obvious lie, though; the gentle quiver in her hand is enough to imply that she's simply too terrified to do much more.

The benign silence seems to persist for further long moments - before abruptly, the scene changes, motion seizing the demon's shape - a shriek fades into a horrible gargling sound as Dakarai's head is wrenched to the side, toward and against the shape blade, slicing through his skin, shredding into his left carotid artery. Both arms of the demon swing around, shoving him roughly to the side like a discarded item, blood gushing forth from the lethal wound at his neck.

"Fresh out of patience," he hisses, his wings curving toward her slightly as though intending to clamp around her to enclose her.

For a split second, she remains silent, numb, as though not completely understanding what had just been done. That's amended quickly, though, and some sort of brutal mixture of a scream and a sob escapes Elizabeth, eyes wide with utter horror. Her hands quickly move to Dakarai's throat, as if hoping she can close the gaping, mortal wound, but the winged beast is easily able to push the blood-gushing body out of her hands, blood making her fingers slick.

"Dakarai!" she screeches, voice shrill and choked, and attempts to leap for the body, viciously trying to push aside the thick and pitch-black wings that block her way. The horrified girl repeats the name several times as she claws at the wings, ignoring the smearing blood and thick scent of it in the air.

A strange malice seems to radiate from the creature, pulsing off him as if in waves, his arms spread slightly, legs in half a crouch - and a moment later, his weight crashes against her bewildered shape, hands snapping to seize her wrists and slam them down against the wooden branch below them, above her head, pinning her on her back.

She collapses to the ground, chin and knees and everything else slamming into the branch below, immediately tasting blood; accidentally biting through one's tongue will do that, after all. She cries out, the sound some animalistic mix of fury and sorrow, and writhes beneath the winged man, clawing at the branch in attempts to crawl away. Her struggles are wild and vicious, even as she cries out, almost sobbing: "No! No! Get off me! Let me go! I can still help him, please!"

He hisses - having no issues with her struggles, even though she would have thrown him off long ago were this a physical battle - past clenched teeth: "This is my lucid dream, Elizabeth." He pronounces each syllable of her name individually, sharpening the edges into a truly serpentine representation. "I decide what happens. If I want him to come back as a zombie and violate your body, I can do that, too. Don't prompt me. Stay still."

Slowly, her struggling fades into nothing more than some weak attempt at stretching her arm far enough to reach Dakarai's body, face wrenched with much more emotional pain than anything else. "I can fix it," she whispers before letting out another choked sob, tears starting to stream. She could fix it, if he'd only give her a chance...

Eventually, she manages to cough through her new tears: "And no, no, no! This is my dream, and I want to wake up now!" The girl twists viciously to the left, and even she's not sure if she's trying to roll the winged beast off her or if she's trying to awaken her sleeping self. Either would be a liable solution, although she'd prefer the latter; then she could wash herself of this, forget about it all as soon as possible.

It is then that something seems to snake like a helix around her wrists, binding them against each other above her head, its texture slightly leathery, having that part stickiness and part smoothness to its touch. As his fingers loosen their grip, it tightens about her abruptly, pulling her arms into half a stretch, placing a slight strain on her shoulder sockets. His left hand rests its palm on the wooden branch beside her, resting his weight against it, sitting mostly astride her shape with the way his weight is pinning her lower half. Right hand free, he moves it up to her hair, fingertips sliding from her forehead across her scalp, seizing strands of hair to hold her head still and keep her from thrashing.

"What..." Something twists around her wrists and pulls them upwards, leaving her in slight but inescapable discomfort. She squirms, despite being pinned down quite thoroughly by the winged beast's form, only to have her head pulled back a touch, leaving all of her immobile but perhaps her feet. Even then, she does writhe slightly, as though there's some possibility of squirming her arms out of the thing holding them up or managing to roll out from beneath his weight. "Goddamn it!" she half moans, half sobs, voice exhausted. "Why can't I just wake up?" Her blue eyes, half-lidded, close in attempts to again find a way to force herself into consciousness... or perhaps a new level of unconsciousness. Anything that would get her away from this freak.

A strange calmness seems to enter his demeanour again, the aggression of moments ago as if utterly extinguished - as if unthinkable, even. Still, his fingers remain in her hair, the pressure of the grip throbbing softly against her scalp. Inhale. Exhale. The struggle is over. His weight shifts against her hips slightly as he raises his left hand off the ground, moving to brush at her left cheek with the back of the same, gently letting his knuckles trace her cheekbone.

The sudden lack of aggression in him is no relief to her; in fact his sudden calmness terrifies her. After all, wasn't it only a matter of minutes ago that he was tenderly kissing Dakarai's neck? No, no, no. This wouldn't do at all. "Don't touch me!" she hisses viciously, attempting to wrench her head out of the reach of the man's gently stroking fingers, disregarding the hand that's tightly twisted in her hair. "G'off me! Keep your hands to yourself!" Again, she's thrown into another fit of rage, trying hard to kick her legs up from beneath him, hoping to maybe hit a wing and get some sort of pained reaction.

"Tch," he remarks, remaining perfectly calm. Her legs are thrashing out beyond where they would do damage, his wings lifted well off the branch, out of her kicking range, the rest of him at height of her hip or above. Keeping his right hand curled in her hair, he watches her expression warp under influence of the broken emotions, feeling her despair tingle up his spine as a pleasant emotion. Head still gripped, he leans forward, his wings rustling softly as gravity realigns the feathers, blue lips hovering near hers, inquisitive eyes latched onto her face, his left hand extending index and middle finger to brush their tips across her lips.