Lechku and Nechku: Darkscape

The rhythm adopts a certain irregularity as though he were trying to catch her off guard with the sensations, as if he wanted to trick her mind into letting go entirely to dissolve into a moment of pure pleasure, in which nothing else would matter.

The gentle kiss persists, doing nothing to make it easier for her to resist - there is nothing unpleasant about it, with the sole exception of it being a kiss from him. Inhale. Exhale. A tremble runs through his shape as her hands find his back, the thin, smooth fabric of his black shirt easily shifting under her touch.

The loss of exact rhythm makes it much harder to move her hips up against him in time with the thrusts, and attempts to do so simply end in a constant pressure against her clit, a constant flow of delicious pleasure that dulls out almost all other thought. Long nails find themselves wrapping around the folds of his shirt, digging through fabric and into skin as she pulls up against him, relishing the contact.

Again, her tongue brushes against his, and it doesn't stop this time, dancing pleasantly, timid not because of shame but simply because she's something of a mousy creature by nature.

The ferocity of her sudden embrace of the situation surprises him - pleasantly, though, at least for now - and the motion of his kissing pauses as she pulls herself against him, before he resumes the kiss, twirling his tongue against hers, a certain harshness added to his demeanour, like a hunger, his thrusts adopting the same change in mood, the thrusts into her coming with more force, the grind of his hips becoming slightly more apparent, circling the sensation across her inner walls, spreading it through her.

Mentally, she attempts to justify her behavior. Things had already gone this far, and escape was obviously no option, so why not enjoy what was left of this? Hell, perhaps positive reactions from her would make for a better situation for her afterward. After all, she still had no idea what he'd do afterwards... hell, she didn't know his name, much less anything else. That alone was able to work up some twisted guilt in her, but the guilt was quickly dissolved by the sudden power behind his thrusts, eliciting a low, wanting sound from her.

Out of habit, her own lips move down, and she attempts to nip at his bottom lip, simply animalistic reflex.

If he's bothered by her attempt, he does not show it - he doesn't draw back from the nipping, letting her teeth find his lip, obviously convinced she won't bite down on it enough to cause bleeding, that her actions are no longer motivated by desire to get back at him for this violation.

He's indeed correct; her half-nibble, almost-bite is merely an action done in a fit of ecstasy, and quickly after, her lips move back up, pressed perfectly against his, tongue flicking across his lips.

His left hand snaps up past her right shoulder, spidery fingers sliding into her hair, seizing the strands of her hair, pushing up against her head to deepen the kiss. Purpose seems to dissolve itself entirely into carnal desire, or at least mimicking thereof, his thrusts into her continuing without that their strength wanes. Is he really enjoying himself? Can someone with so much control derive actual physical pleasure from sex?

Her head lifts off the ground, firmly cradled in his hand's grip, and she cooperates, soft little whimpers and moans coming from her with every few of his powerful thrusts. They escalate slowly, her fingers raking along his back, eventually pulling his shirt up enough to where her nails are digging directly into his skin. Her back seems to tense into a constant arch, and it's clear she's terribly close to some explosion she's never shared with anyone before.

Wrapped around her mind as he is, he almost feels the coming cascade of pleasure like his own, losing himself in the sensation of the myriad of her emotions, the hopeless tangle she's lost herself in, relishing the control he has over which of them is at the forefront of her mind currently. His right hand drags slowly up from her rear, sharp nails dragging up along her spine, though their movement is slow, the hand half-trapped underneath her weight, only able to move at all due to her arching shape.

Impossibly, the kiss seems to persist; and his body is seized by a soft tremble, it, too, lingering, as if he were perhaps close to release as well. Yet, it is all in their minds - and his mental landscape is one focused on control. He was going nowhere unless he wanted it.

Her entire body shudders at the long nails raking up her back, the skin so very sensitive to absolutely any sensation. Thighs tighten around the leg between hers and her arms pull tighter still, hips moving viciously in attempts to pull him as deep inside her as she can. The repeated ramming, the pressure against her clit, his mouth so hungrily enveloping hers, his hands locked on her back and in her hair... it all overflows within her, and she cries out, fingers digging viciously, entire body tensing in one abrupt moment of complete release. She twitches against him, body shaking, and the pleased cry fades into an ecstatic moan, so very satisfied.

Triumph. Relishing the moment, he continues his thrusts, only gradually slowing them, proving a frightening level of control over his own desire - it might as well be non-existent. Something about the swirling tongue in her mouth seems almost mocking, as though he were teasing her for being so 'easy' - and it is with fake gentleness that he pulls from the kiss and the darkness melts from her eyes, letting her see his face, a light smirk tugging at those blue lips, his nearly black eyes swirling with demonic life.

Her body continues to quiver, his continuing thrusts prolonging the following waves, until she simply fades into a fit of spent exhaustion, body relaxing and lowering to the ground. She doesn't need his help to suddenly feel the shame kick in, though, as it arrives, uninvited, in great waves.

Her kiss stops before he pulls away, and even though she can feel light against her closed eyelids, she doesn't bother to open them, knowing that doing so will give her a direct view of the man that she just... completely submitted to, despite every moral fiber of her being, every unwanted aspect of him, the... god, he had killed a man. God, Dakarai's body was feet away. God, god, god, god, god....

He keeps his length inside her for long moments even after his thrusts subside, lingering within her like an evil spirit. He's let go of her hair by now, his left hand's palm pressed flat against the branch supporting them, his right still slid against her back, though the fingers of it are once more spread out in a fan, simply as if supporting her shape.

The dark, gritty voice lances through the silence: "And I didn't even have to manipulate you." Ooh, ouch.

The muscles above her thighs clench wickedly, as though uselessly attempting to push him out. She grimaces at his words, turning her head to the side and clenching her eyes shut harder. She can't physically close them tight enough to block the tears in, though, and they seep through the corners of her eyes, vicious lines of salt and water escaping and making their way down her face. God, what had she just done? How had she let everything important just slip away from her for that?

Revoltingly, his lips brush against the corner of her right eye, tasting her tears, tip of his tongue touching her skin briefly. His shape resists her attempts to push him from her, lingering within her for further long moments, before slowly withdrawing from her slit, bringing his left hand down to hold her hip in a gentle but firm grip, pushing her down slightly to detach from her shape with a sound that just seems sickening to her now.

She twists her head further, trying so hard to avoid the slick and now disgusting touch of his tongue. As soon as he removes himself from her, she jerks her shirt down and attempts to pull away from beneath him, wanting horribly to crawl around him and grab at her pants, desperate to get herself as close as possible to the state she was in before she came across him in this horrific hell of a place. Every part of her feels rancid, and she knows fully well that despite the hours of scrubbing and boiling and scathing she'll put into herself will do nothing to get rid of the tainted feeling.

Finally, his hands slide against the branch, coming to rest with their palms to the sides of her hips, pushing him energetically to a stand. He's still mostly clothed - unzipped trousers notwithstanding. Stood looming above her, he tucks himself back away almost absent-mindedly, his gaze latched on her shape, lips upturned in a wicked smile.

He doesn't move to stop her, knowing, like her, that it would stay with her - perfectly content with that, the sparkle in his eyes betraying the sadistic lust that spawns. His wings spread to his sides, stretching into a beautiful display of obsidian feathers. Black heart notwithstanding, he looks gorgeous, as if delicately crafted into porcelain.

Tears still drip down her face, and she no longer bothers to keep her eyes clenched shut, needing them in order to navigate the thick tree branch. She stumbles past him, half-naked, and grapples for her pants, clumsily slipping into them as quickly as she can, as though she's trying to hide something he hasn't already seen or thoroughly explored.

As she does so, she chokes back a wicked sob, catching a glimpse of Dakarai's limp form so close, so cold. If nothing else, that is her greatest shame, and she lets that weigh heavy on her, dropping to her knees and wiping away at her eyes as she continues to cry, silent save for a few body-wracking sobs. She will never forgive herself.

He chuckles darkly, gaze following her as she passes, his shape twisting to allow it, smirk growing as her sobs become more apparent, rushing through him as a twisted form of pleasure. He presses his lips together to a thin line, enjoying her pain silently - it's so much more intimate than the sexual encounter itself - and something touches her mind, a fleeting thought, reminding her that she had wanted to wake up... and Dakarai's shape vanishes as though he had been a flame, extinguished, and the world around her fades into the darkness behind her eyelids, just slow enough for him to flaunt his control.