King of Warriors

                    ❛  You  are  letting  your  inflated  sense  of  IMPORTANCE  to  me  get  to  your  head. ~  ❜        Sole  digit  gently  PRESSES  against  the  tip  of  his  nose,  smirk  TUGGING  corners  of  her  lips.       ❛  What  makes  you  believe  I  would  miss  YOU,  hm ? ~  ❜

              For @bellatorumrex

           “He isn’t here right now.” Here, where passion makes even the smallest things seem quite lively, though they themselves be dormant, or entirely inanimate. The surfaces of all things bear his warmth, conveying it naturally, be it the airy bodies of shimmer casts through stained windows, or how every piece of flora dances with wind’s gentle grace. It’s his home, or his second or his third, but it isn’t abandoned by his presence, isn’t unloved or ill-cared for, nor is it left without any sign of his eventual return. It’s one of the numeral reasons that Joseph finds comfort here, idling after duties to tend to things for his Guardian, to lay down his affections in repose’s embrace - for if he hasn’t anywhere to place them at all, it may well drive him mad for all his heart’s ache. 

             “Is there something I may do for you in the meanwhile?” The bow of his dark crown is languid, a tip of his spine forward to greet while lips upturn. “I am his Disciple. My name is Joseph.” 

           And he's rightfully stalled in his own approach now that the Angel covet and sought out was obviously absent par well-felt aura still enveloping this place whole. So the King waits and watches and all but narrows eyes for a margin just, at the unknown presence in his confidant's realm, now so sure filled with something far else [ a soul of a mild behaviour, a very faint ticking of the clock somewhere in the depths of his mind, explaining, explaining--- ]. "So I see." And that something that after a few breaths taken would make him move and sway and wander around this well-known, well-worshipped Eden. "Not quite. As not always when I set foot in here, I am to search for something specific."

    The  whispering  of  a  voice  beside  her,  ADVISING  HER,  she  wonders  if  they’ve  noticed  that  something  more  INTERESTING  is  happening  already  [  BUT  STILL  SHE  INDULGES  THEM  FOR  THE  TIME  BEING  ].  How  often  do  they  think  that  they  serve  an  actual  purpose,  when  most  all  things  are  merely  being  repeated  within  such  a  SHORT  amount  of  time. She  can  only  keep  it  up  for  SO  LONG,  a  hand  dismissing  them  as  head  turns  away  with  pursed  lips,   &   it’s  effective  enough  to  send  them  into  silence.        ❛  As  of  now,  I  do  not  need  your  reminders.  Know  that  I  shall  ask  when  I  do.  ❜        She  states  it  plainly,  receiving  a  ‘Yes  Your  Majesty’  in  response  [  THEY  SHOULD  KNOW  THIS  ALREADY,  SHOULDN’T  THEY ?  ],  letting  the  matter  slide  for  now.  Lowering  her  hand,  she  makes  to  move,  only  to  stop   &   catch  sight  of  the  armored  man  that  watches  her  closely,  enough  to  have  light  frown  mar  her  features,  having  to  turn  back  on  her  command   &   inclining  her  head.        ❛  That  man——–  who  is  he ?  ❜

    It  gives  the  smaller  man  beside  her  a  start  ( humorous  that  his  mouse–like  appearance  seems  to  accurately  represent  his  demeanor ),  making  him  cast  his  glance  over  at  the  looming  form  of  the  man,  a   name  quickly  uttered  forth  [  ALONG  WITH  A  TITLE,  ALTHOUGH  NOT  INTERESTING  ENOUGH  TO  KEEP  HER  ATTENTION  ]  before  she  speaks  to  the  figure.

                    ❛  You  there———-  Knight  ————–  do  you  intend  to  stand   &   stare ?  Or  perhaps  you  would  prefer  to  become  part  of  the  DECOR ?  ❜        A  subtle  motion  with  her  hand,  glacial  gaze  shifting  aside  slightly  before  it  fixates  on  him,  COLD   &   HARD..        ❛  I  expect  the  common  decency  that  you  introduce  yourself  before  me.  ❜        It  goes  without  saying  that  he  was  at  least  BOLD  ENOUGH  to  stare  at  HER  to  begin  with.

       @bellatorumrex

          And how audacious had he not been? Following that call of attention, that rise of another to power while himself [ hidden in the shadows, but still serenading about it ] had been powerful from the start. A story buried in the depths of chiming veins, a face that now - by comparison to others - would call for arrogance, for knowing of his rank. Beneath the Queen's own whose court he had made to attend. Beneath her just, of course, but who was he to not still make himself known? It's amusing enough that there had been so many little souls watching his own towering figure [ they whispered and murmured, and were silenced with the deep and shining blue of untameable eyes ] the moment he had made to stand and lean against a marble wall, watching that show with calm, with leisure cross of arms. Observe the very human audacity: that had so many deliver their personal rights, laying their Kingdoms in front of a Goddess of War - amusing, truly, that she were to even catch his interested glances at all.

          To command him. To call for him.

          And he was swift to follow orders resounding around the endless hall. Swift enough, to make to move and stand before her [ how he was near devouring everything and all in his shadows yet once again ], wasting all but seconds fluttering and whisking by before his own grand form makes to kneel before her own magnificence and power.

          "Vlad III. Drăculea." Voice fitting of such a marvellous design would resound around them in the way name falls from his lips and silences [ drowns the whole room into shivering anticipation ] every little heart that had formerly budged and writhed in silent fear of their own leader. Now to be accompanied [ unknowingly, for fate was such a fickle beast to tame ] by one of equal danger, of a perilous pulchritude all but ringing out to her. "I may very well become your decor, if you so truly desire it, your Majesty~" He's bold. He's tempting just with these few syllables alone. But he does not lift himself. Does not lift head if not provided permission---

                              ' Where are you leading me~? '

                                                  ' You will see. It is a suprise~ '

                              ' Tempting~ I do hope it is not too 'scary'~ '

     Mindless rushing through thoughts. Through memories. Through possibilities torn asunder and dragged out from deepest desires and the ideas that a mind as old as his own could only create. But was it sure a creation to behold? When those mingling concepts would turn into reality and bring to light what he had to have surely promised in the dying hours of a long-gone day. It would be a lie [ yet once again ] to say, that the Count had not meant to carry off a formerly lost soul [ now so obviously brought back to him in another era ] for quite a few ticks of the clock they had spent in delirious chatter about this or that. The very opportunities presented by so sure unlimited powers to satisfy the very wishes whispered breathlessly between night and days, mending and melting into one another.

    It's just as much favourable, that today he had decided to undertake questioned and laughed about secrecy, drawn out to lead her off and away, halted just by her movements to nestle against him, to cling to him wholly and allure and tempt [ all to be discarded with the same smile, turning darker and darker - a little bit wolfish to behold, brushed aside by the next moment his eyes would blink in beguiling, flickering fires ].

                              ' You know what happened the last time you merely whisked me                               away in the middle of the base~ '

                                                  ' Oh, but I do. So isn't it quite amusing for you to                                                   have me perform such again? '

                              ' You know me well, maybe they manage now to reach and find me~ '

                                                  ' I doubt so~ '

                              ' Now, mon chéri, you underestimate our powers, truly~ '

    Teasing animals. Beasts released from their cages, prowling around one another to find and to find [ the smallest openings ], to sink teeth into smooth skin and refresh oneself upon the luscious feel of power running through singing veins. It's all the same and only conveyed as a feeling by ice to clash with fire. Colours of such chilling beauty that would remain only locked upon one another. For whoever desires, whoever wished to separate, mere danger and perilous aura, veiling them both and binding them together would wash over anybody who just dared. How was it not easy enough to feel such radiant prowess to devour whoever wanted to come too close, just whole.

    And that laughter that fills his ears as much as his mind does drown out any sound around them that was all the more enough to have abilities beyond recognition of human capacities rise around them and throw unfortunate souls wandering past and watching [ watching and wanting. wanting to be in either one's place, how would they not love to live the same life. such fools, all but cattle for the slaughterhouse ] into eternal darkness for a few moments to behold. And as soon as this had happened [ cacophony of screams of terror all but barely rising to their ears ], it changed. It changed. It changed like a dream. A fantasy, the creation of each other's delirious minds, to bring before eyes something never seen.

                              ' .... What---? '

                                                  ' Surprised~? '

                              ' ... Where are we? '

                                                  ' A place where they will never be able to reach you~ '

    Colours of shades and hues to appear to the eye like they should never become. Soft and light. Yet the darkness illuminated past all delight. An ocean that opens in a spectrum of violets and greens, for the air around them, the sky above, had not a single shade of blue to call their own. Silent, this place was all so silent. Nothing else past any breath that could be taken in: to steady a heavily beating heart. To calm a racing pulse. No other sounds to behold, in mindless wonder, what one would believe there may be made to indulge. And ever more the eye opens to see, with those fluttering lashes kissing darkened skin, and finding themselves wondering wordlessly [ so surely breathlessly ] anew. Asking and questioning, how such an event could even be called in the slightest to be true. And it was enough of a moment's notice when wavering hold skits past strong arm that had fastened around her waist, wishing for herself to be left free. To loosen his hold and be allowed to wander, in the mindless, endlessly ticking solitude of a world that never a soul had witnessed before.

    Oh no, she knows. She knows that this monster, this beast that would be quite so tame in her grasp in seconds and hours to be shared, had caught sight of a numerous ones in all those dwindling hours, melting like sand streaming through the aperture of an hourglass, endlessly to be turned and turned - so that hours mean days mean months mean years [ and still, anymore, mean nothing quite at all ]. Oh yes, he had seen a countless of them in only the short time she had been alive unequalled [ alive for this time, when mind rattles to create another memory ]. And had still made to bring her here. To experience with childish wonder all but guided by stronger grasp and iron lead [ and still so gentle was his hold ].

                              ' How far... are we away from Earth? '

                                                  ' A distance nothing can count. '

                              ' So that means---? '

                                                  ' Another reality. Another dimension of life. '

                              ' ... How insane~ '

    So after what appeared to feel like every little grain of sand trickling past cracks of fingers, the very same ones spread apart, fingertips to brush along the fine, light feel of what is supposed to be so similar to wheat, corn, any of those little creations humans sought to refresh themselves upon, and now presented in such deep and dark and otherworldly, brilliantly shining dark royal blue. She touches it with a simple curiosity, for it felt like a mixture of the finest velvet and the softest form of silk. Soon enough moves to pluck out one of those long strands, twirling it in inquiring hand and letting it wander over whatever exposed plane of artificial skin she were able to reach. And playful just, after that initial feeling of hysteria, would she smile and simper and let the little plaything trail along the Vampire's strong cut of jaw. He could have reached for it.

    Mean to hold it.

    And sure all but returns that pleasant curl of lips, to behold in the numbing silence of an all but laughter, breath and touch filling the sky.

                              ' Why is it so silent? '

                                                  ' I don't know. This place does not hold any sound. '

                              ' But I hear you. '

                                                  ' Truly? Or is it that I speak in your mind? '

                              ' Petit Coquin~ '

    Wide and unbridled and so surely untamed. Like their own own souls running through endlessness of ever-changing colours, here and there set with a glimpse to shine and yet shyly flee and recoil into the nothingness of glowering darkness. Nothing had ever reached this place before, and reaching it would all but remain a dream engraved into mind in colours dulling over time. They know and know it just as well, that their togetherness would rob everything from their shine.

    Had they not danced in the surrounding soothing cadence of a world that was their own to feel? Moved through sands of eternal darkness, glimmering in the shining lush greens whenever feet were to touch and form were to playfully kneel. How oftentimes, these moments shared with a monster like no other just to behold, in the silence of a world of glow, in a world that no one else would be ever told about. How oftentimes, one may want to wonder---

    [ When would he just devour her whole? ]

    ---and still brushes it away, like the waves that drag and tease and playfully tug around their ankles - for they only have themselves to truly care about. It was oh-so-real.

    Quivering  softly,  a  TWITCH  of  muscle  felt  beneath  his  fingertips [ subtle,  but  most  definitely  THERE ],  involuntary  on  her  part  although  grin  paints  across  her  features  as  she  COVETS  all  that  he  is.  How  many  to  have  called  him  a  MONSTER  in  his  past  [  obvious  that  it  has  yet  to  CHANGE  ].  Her  body  not  only  responds  to  his  touches,  to  his  POWER,  but  to  the  thought  of  mercilessness.  Eyes  glinting  ferociously,  obscured  only  when  lids  fell  to  administer  that  teasing  KISS  against  soft  lips  of  his  [  HE  COULD  RIP  INTO  HER  THROAT,  LEAVE  HER  TO  BLEED  OUT  IF  HE  SO  WISHED  ].  

    He  is  a  MONSTER,   &   she  loves  the  fact  [  brutal,  untamed,  vicious  ].  Nose  bumps  his  in  a  haphazard  attempt  to  capture  another  kiss  before  settling  to  merely  having  face  hover  before  his,  tasting  his  breath  on  her  lips,  humming  pleasantly  to  herself  with  fingers  tightly  threading  through  his  hair,  nails  lightly  scraping  against  the  nape  of  his  neck.  His  ‘ PURR ’  sends  a  thrill  through  her,  settling  within  her  in  a  sweltering  HEAT. 

    No,  he  does  not  SHARE,  but  neither  does  she.  Whatever  could  threaten  to  compromise  that  which  was  HERS  would  pay dearly,   &   many  in  Desperado  knew  that  she  played  no  GAMES  when  it  came  to  such.  He  is  no  different.  Whoever  would  decide  to  find  reason  to  COMPLAIN,  would  soon  be  left  without  the  ability  to  do  as  much  [  a  lesson  taught  through  VIOLENT  MEANS  ].  This  is  what  brings  that  rolling  chuckle  to  pour  from  her  [  honeyed  voice  that  sings  with  a  venom,  tempting,  ENTICING  ],  tongue  darting  out,  running  over  top  lip  with  the  opening  of  her  eyes,  staring  into  the  vampire’s  fire-ridden  gaze  that  would  clash  with  the  haunting  winter  of  her  own.

                  WHAT  WOULD  SHE  DO ?

    What  all  would  she  do  to  ANCHOR  that  beast  that  so  silently  threatens  to  burn  [  a  blistering  flame  that  has  already  SCORCHED  her  ].  A  pause,  as  if  DEBATING  the  answer  that  she  could  give  while  keeping  her  eyes  level  with  his  without  averting  it  even  in  the  SLIGHTEST,  seemingly  interlocked  in  a  silent  battle  that  tests  whether  she  would  look  away  or  not  [  oh  she  wouldn’t,  she  could  have  been  burning  from  the  inside  out   &   she  would  STILL  have  yet  to  look  away  ].  It  only  relents  with  the  seeking  out  of  her  throat,  lips  running  across  the  softness  of  that  synthetic  flesh   &   nerves  FIRING,  sending  pleasuring  waves  throughout  her  body.  Willingly,  she  exposes  more  for  him  to  lay  claim  to,  nearly  shivering  in  anticipation  for  that  KISS.

                                                       WHAT  WOULD  SHE  DO ?

    He  could  own  her.  He  could  destroy  her,  bit  by  fucking  bit.  Tear  her  apart   &   leave  her for  dead,  drive  her  goddamn  MAD  until  she  knew  nothing  else  but  him  [  nothing  too  far  from  what  she  was  accustomed  to  ].  Hot  breath  rushes  from  plump  lips,  grip  in  his  hair  TIGHTENING  with  the  noticeable  quickening  of  pulse   &   the  subtle  response  of  her  body  held  TIGHTLY  within  his  grasp.  Lips  part  in  mute  LAUGHTER,  chin  angling  downward  as  her  mouth  brings  itself  to  his  ear  with  a  low  whisper.   

                                                               ❛  I  WOULD  LET  YOU  FUCKING  RUIN  ME.  ❜

          And what would she do? Held by the beast that could tear her apart? Pry her open to see inside, to gaze upon that beating heart [ caught attention, heavily singing stream of blood, to raise curiosity more and more ] and claim it for his own. Have pumps release themselves, one - two - three, before crushing it to dust, to measle reminders, so that even a life as beautifully crafted as this one, could be ground to nothingness by iron hand. It's nothing that they both do not know - it could be considered [ marching around attentive minds, brimming with possibilities ]. Could be the final claim upon what was his. His. Only his alone to have. Wasn't she just the same? Holding so close, in reverent greed, what would be her undoing in remarkable state? Laughter and chimes. The purring sounds of deceiving smiles, it was all that could drive them utterly, completely mad [ mad, mad, have they ever been anything else but? how delirious. how ludicrous! he wanted more ].

          So when he reaches for her, she does just the same. Mirrored and picture-perfect, hands sinking deeper into flowing strands of hair, gripping it so tight, he finds himself so easily grounded in the here. And all that they speak, and all that they think [ he could crack open her mind, without even touching the pulchritude of crafted masterpiece of a skull ] was a whirlwind of disasters, entangled like tainted pieces of yin and yang. Meant to be. Longing to be. And with the way, her words would resound in the otherwise finely still of choking air---?

          Was he to be damned, if he acts on it? [ For that pretty little thing, it was all her wish. All her will. ]

          "Ah---" So he sees. And speaks it not. And all but smiles, with curve of lips, with rows of teeth. With the shining hellfire's blaze that fades out into the smouldering values of darkening blood. So he told and promised [ but was it enough? enough? enough! ]. "Very well, do you want to see more of me then?~" What else would there be to behold? The moment the warrior announces words of grave opportunity, the sound itself was surely void of any echoing hall. Nothing anymore, but the standing air. Nothing anymore, but the feeling of time trickling away, being thick and palpable as if someone could reach for it to keep it in their grasps and make a mess out of something fleeting, never meant to be graced by single fingertip. His question is as endlessly void of the darken timbre in smooth feel, as the room around them---

          ---had been swallowed whole, by the neverending velvet of a sheer ravening darkness.

          It all had happened in the blink of an eye. In the breaths they took, deeply inhaled, passing past his lips that were embellished with words erupting with nothing but sincere interests, and would all but paint the smoothness of an arch with little marks of timid red. Soft and tender. Opposite to the crashing feel of nothing but tangible blackness. The total absence of any light. Corruption of the wicked, in its purest, its completest shade. And so the Vampire allows it enough, that she could at least see him - if nothing else.

@vantrece  ♡~

          And in the tingling surrounding of an overarching world, fading into reality from deepest, darkest shades of void shifting towards the blinding brightness of shimmering lights - where was he? And where would he be? Where would he go to? Sitting in it all, like the King of every eternity. Lax and unmoving, with legs to be crossed, carelessly slung over one another, arm propped up upon what could only be rest of chair, lilting and chiming the world’s recess of despair. Like high on a throne, while a throne was to be made from the shadows devouring them all and once again: winding and turning, creating endless loops, turns and twists, of intricate designs from times long gone and all the kingdoms he’s ‘refreshed’ himself with.

          He sits there, in that living breathing mass of his own greed and avaricious desires. Sits there and daydreams, as if dreaming, after all, was the freedom’s worth and peace of entangled, ruptured, destroyed bits of mind.

          So hears her, once anew, calling out for him in softened sing-song of delicate and sweetened voice. Glorious, honey filled, thick and radiant ready waiting to smear across his lips, where her breath was yet to reach his whole. He could have felt, in that never-ending whirlwind of emotions and feelings long ago since thought be dead, could have sworn that they were real, palpable, and still a dangerous threat. The high King, lonely and forlorn, on a throne of crowds dead to his feet, meant to be forgotten, meant to be cursed - and still a shining light, luminous and sunken before his knees. So the warrior, in these twitching, changing brilliant tics of light, all they coil around in pictures of wonder and as if they had been made to her whole delight. It’s a delirious sort of ludicrous back and forth - reaching for a monster, ready to devour them all whole, and desiring just so easily, to cradle him to her breast [ for he was hers, hers, all of this, this whole dark kingdom - she was the Queen to reign above it all ].

’ Où est mon loup? ~ ’

          Where was he just? So close in grasp with fingers to wrap around this or that shape of skin and still feeling like a hellfires beautiful inferno burning and burning while she all but wanted to be scorched to ash, awhole. Sitting amongst smouldering fires, in depth’s blackness and void, created by a ravenous and greedy soul. He smiles when those words had been meant to reach him through the mind-numbing expanses of his cradling power, snaking and slowly enveloping her whole. And he awakens, to see a smile, magnificent, illustrious painted upon lips he desired to claim as his own again. Where is the wolf? If he’s not trapped in a cage. Not trapped by a leash, turning tight around his neck, tucked upon and pulled ever close.

          Where is he just? “ Ice et là ~ ” Right here, right in front of her - and still so far gone does he appear. Still reaching out with the warmth of hands, feeling, seeping, deeply embedded shattering the shadows that so playfully keep her chained to his very soul. Shackled, like the pretty little life always would want to be, so very close that all he breathes and tastes, was simply and whole him to be sunken to his knees. He couldn’t help the laugh, the smile, just when he snaps with long fingers right beside their heads and everything of those cruel little nightmares chasing themselves back and forth in a room of endlessness would tumble down and disperse in a million little flickers, and leave them to the beautiful pulchritude of a grand hall’s polished shine. It’s quite quaint, is it not?

          How he could close the world in a single palm, and offer it wholly to her to be devoured?

          Could have it split apart. Could have laid a million, a billion to her feet, worshipping her grace, her person, like the Queen of them, she was meant to be.

                                                 Christmas-Present for Whitney [ @vantrece ] ♡♡♡~

          Distinguishably inhuman - his very own ways to mingle about with mortality. The inclination of holding no care for himself. The very sorts of playing own game [ with victory unattainable ]far too dangerous to not be accounted for anything less than perilous darkness.

          And how she desired that fact so dearly. Playing with him, no matter which while [ as if he was only possible, the perfect partner to tease her back ], a delirious little dance and in such moments and days – it would drive them even higher. Higher, spiralling endlessly higher. With each passing moment’s of time where mortality’s worthlessness would call upon their aid and still find none the like but their mutual interest in seeing the world burn, enact by each other’s hands [ oh, how delightful it not truly was ].

          It had been quite a fight [ laughable truly, for him nothing was even remotely tempting ]. Exclaiming itself, in a frantic aftermath. Oh, the very moment’s passing time that came after wash of power would finally abate - would assuredly die down.

          But never truly fade.

          It’s a new form of picture that unfolds before far too attentive eyes. Before those that took in and in, wanted to feast upon those that were such truly unattainable, and only had eyes for one another in those haunting few seconds where hundreds, thousands, of enemies, had been brought to ruin by the very sweep of one broad and powerful hand. The Vampire had not bothered to heal those slight lacerations [ his mind, it was quite tangled after carnage ], leaving a few splashes of blood to drip and trickle down his knuckles, coating wrist and finally, suitably – embellish the otherwise charred and unrecognisable floor. Splatters, slightly, to be of a fine film upon the burnt ground. Whatever attack that had obliterated solid surface, it scathed himself not at all. The scratches, the flowing crimson, a beautiful spectacle unfolding before cowardly eyes - as there was only one person [ one to his mind ] daring enough to approach and not flee [ oh, had they not tried it as well? desired it just in the same breath sweat would break out in numb and chilling fear? ].

          Only brief seconds the Vampire gave towards shining wound was when his hand had been graced, caught and long fingers of cool touch to torn skin, made to lift it up nearer to scrutinising gaze. It got nothing but a mild snarl from the male – the grace of fingertips, in moving so gently over cuts and splits, catching descent on artificial texture, but still – there was this smile on lips – with feeling that [ yes ] such blood of his was hot and the slight sting present. He smiles as if he had devoured hell. And was about to spew out a hundreds of a different demons, laying them to his Queen’s feet in a reverent way of adoration for her bravery. Her pride. Her joy and make the world a chaos living disaster [ as the both of them were meant to rule ].

          It’s interesting [ with all they hide from one another ], that his mind would mingle about with those unexpected pieces of the past [ oh, surely enough, Mistral would learn about it ], while his voice’s soothing tenor would growl and threaten. Would have her pinned down right before him, right in reach of a beast that could tear her to shreds.

          How often could it not have happened in the past?

          How often had she not teased him to bring an end to her very self and how willingly, openly, wanted and desired, had the pretty little cyborg not thrown herself in open jaws?

          It’s quite the same, in moments just like these. With the slithering mass around them, like a maelstrom similar’s paradise, coiling in a snake-like way, to tempt and charm them both. Those that stand and still, and wanted to move [ wanted to be in places destining their ends ], wanted to be like him - like her - how daring they just were. Her hand that curls around his wrist. The other meant to have the monarch open up his own, to have long fingers spread apart and show, and provide the whole spectacle - the streams of blood to gloriously coat pale skin whole. She laughs as well, as if the sounds that fall from snarling lips, meant little to nothing for her sanity. That sanity that wanes more and more with the subtle sound of a returned purring growl, with eyes of chilling blue that would clash with heavy hellfires flaming in peril.

          The air, it suddenly so feels, turned suffocating in simple ticks of the clock. Rising, to a warmer and warmer feel [ what a strange little illusion, were they not caught up in the middle of a winter’s snow? ], near unbearable to breathe in, by heavy armour donned by those around.

          Why could they not tear their eyes from them?

          Even knowing that on a whim, either of those warriors would take them as a price?

          Could not tear those seeking gazes, lusting with a different want [ they were scared, terrified, and ached for more and more ] from the way those rivulets of boiling crimson, was now set to plump and softened lips. The way she kisses each knuckle anew. Leaves another form of sting, of heavy breathing pain, set beneath bent and torn ripples of skin. She had broken that contact of eyes he sought so thoroughly with each breath that threatens a chiming ring into her ear [ offered to him, as if waiting for sultry whisper to fall from lips - and nothing else those sounds of heavy danger were for them ].

          She’s set to rile him up. To get more out of a man quite like him. More and ever more and how surely and deliberately greedy had they not become, wanting to hold each other’s last bating breath, in the delirious spirals of unknown pleasures [ how the Count would truly make her scream tonight. would have her worshipped in utmost delight ]. There hasn’t happened anything past the subtle grace of lips over each and every slightly open wound.

          But it was enough - so that all changed the second it took for him to breathe.

          Changed with the heavy bite of anodyne when her tongue soothes the open cuts. When her grasp tightens upon his wrist to keep him in place, her fingers slightly holding harder, to help the warrior from closing fist anew [ he was compliant by an inch. expectingly waiting for another twitch of a whim ]. That slight gracing fever running beneath pale of skin. The way those small trickling pulses, feasted upon, licked up and away, with each pulsing beat of a heart she so truly delights herself upon.

          He might have just made her a bit too interested in his powers. Might have made her desiring all that was coursing through tall and monumental form, and keep for herself as greedily ready provided as he only sets her to behold. It’s an interesting little encounter. An entertaining back and forth in finding what boundaries there were still to cross [ none, none at all, he would give her his all, like she was his completely to devour ]. It was enough to leave a burst of energy to push back and away each and every single soul that lingered about instilled panicking arousal.

          It was enough to have her laugh. That low and soothing cadence set to the depths of her throat that chimes out in a beautiful serenade only for themselves to observe [ nobody else would ever know about the intricacies of their songs ]. She’s shivering with the might coiling around them in endless waves, and shivers just with the same set of fine and light trembles she blinks away with those lidded eyes and softened smile when her head does tilt and lift, and she finds herself anew reborn.

          How beautiful does it not look? Each and every moment that had been used to lick up darkening slivers of crimson from his hands, she would lick - in the same motion riling up a slumbering beast - her lips that begged for a subtle and still claiming kiss. How desirable was she not for all those that were drowning in a monster’s chaos, with how they would be pressed to the ground, writhing and turning themselves inside out [ how dare they think they would have won. for only both those that hold the reign, would decide who would get out with their measle rests of life ].

          Had decided, what was now here and right in these ephemeral moments.

          They could lay eyes upon something of monstrous pulchritude, and beg and plead and pray for it to be the last thing they ever encounter, they ever behold, in the gracing allure of a single monster’s prey.

                 “Visitors besides myself would be of no detriment to my stay, even so. But I appreciate time to spend with you alone in confidence, good king, as it is so rare that I have abundant time to apply myself as such. I have missed looking upon you quite in that way…” And such is the endless sort of love Shamsiel was born to give. He treasures all things with a similar passion, and gazes upon all that has made this man grow into the grandeur of a king with deep, fond eyes that pierce their way to the heart of him. He sees far beyond the vision of the monarch’s present mortality. He smiles at the warmth that resonates from within him each time they look upon one another at the end of another of the prince’s long and unfortunate absences. That faith still shines proudly from the king upon each return, stronger than the last, living long and well with this disciple of his that he regards with his sweet eyes, sweeter smile, and his kind hands that settle their palms to shoulders spread broadly beneath his kindly touch. The king rises until they are almost out of reach, until he towers over the cherub’s smaller, golden form and he is made to lift his chin to smile in that face with no less dignity or pride because of it.

               “I would not doubt that it has. It has been a very long time since last I were here with you, at least in human moments–has it not? Oh, now surely I do look forward to seeing how the horizons of your literature have grown.” And so they walk. They wander past watchful eyes both knowing of his person and not, but all of them knowing exactly the unspoken commands their monarch has in mind for the evening that sprawls out beyond them. Shamsiel’s mouth curls in quiet joy for the entirety of they stroll to newer places promised by his disciple–to the refreshments scattered elegantly in every which direction in patient wait for the indulgence of either man. The prince only coos with a humbled pleasure at the sight, moved by the courtesy of the gesture as he always is, now he helps himself daintily to a seat, and to a single drink once has nodded his thanks to the king stood only heartbeats away. “You are good to me always when I visit your kingdom. And I am always grateful for that.”

               Compassion gentles those earthen eyes of his anew. The drink that kisses his throat leaves him sighing with the relief of such human indulgence, needed or otherwise, and his gaze is left to flutter with an earnest curiosity to and fro around the walls that eclipse them in comforting privacy. When he looks upon Vlad again, his head bows forward just so, a question springing to life on his lips and their tender smile. “How do you fare? And how have you been since last I were here? Though I might watch from beyond your time and space, I…cannot always watch so closely as to know all that has happened and all that has been felt. You will tell me, now that I am here…?”

          And how any and all move the moment they come sauntering through. Experience this or that little tidbit that has changed upon the grandeur of a castle his revered guest has not set foot inside for a time endless to the mind and even more endless to one life that is destined to be as short as the monarch's own. He could have asked and questioned but makes it stay away and behind for just a few heartbeats longer until finding comfort in the excellence of a library unmatched to any other to and fro. He's pride-filled upon this very collection. And holds even more pride upon showing it to the one worshipped phantasm of a man that finds himself such comfortably at home once they had been left to themselves and alone again. Once all of his servants had dispersed towards corners for a night. that would be filled with shares stories and explanations of this or that little tale sung amongst men everywhere inside that Kingdom of his.

          "It is so very long for a man like me. Even longer thinking that you might miss me one day when you decide to speak and seek me out, and yet I shall not be here, might have passed in a different land." And those words, as soothingly spoken they find themselves when towering figure seats for an own place of comfort across from his angel's own, could be taken this - or that specific other way. Left free to be interpret. Left free to find an interpretation, while his face and voice and the melodious hum of acceptance towards meat and drink holds nothing of sorts of darkness void. Nothing of the ever-dawning realisations, picked up and torn apart, left to be scattered to dust behind them for just a precious few hours more. "But alas, as of by now, we always managed to be with one another when the time does fate it as such. So I truly believe, it shall become itself like this again, your Highness." He's content in the presence of someone so much grander than himself. In the presence of something that had come to 'protect' him more so than he ever assumed it would happen in the times of hardships and torture---

          ---never forgotten, and always to be kept in the forefront of his mind.

Of course. Their tug-of-war could not merely end there with simplicity or with obedience. Carvel is only shielded from any newer irritation by his great expectations of nothing less than this outcome in particular. The rebuttal when it comes is anticipated, greeted with nothing but those cold, feline eyes that come very close to the colours of dismissive in their study of the soldier’s face and far broader physique. That gaze of his will come to a halt not even upon the other man’s eyes, but somewhere just beyond him–perhaps to the door behind that he had moments ago barged through. Looking through him the way Carvel looks through all people here, now and always–the General seems to contemplate something within himself before he turns back to his paper in hand, and the next one behind that.

“You do not listen to reason.” He elaborates with an easy shrug. “And you are heedless to discipline. It is not discipline that will tame you. Muzzling a thing like you would make you wilder still–though make no mistake, my so-called leniency does not mean that I intend to allow you to continue doing as you damn well please.” For it was not discipline that had tamed him either. There is a like-mindedness here that the General is certain he can depend upon, knowing this man in the way he had always known himself. They are of the breed that does not fear superiority in all its superficial kinds. Respect to them is earned. Not imposed. Not commanded. And they do not respect each other yet, oh, not quite yet–but there is something special to their similarities that makes Carvel the closest thing to a suitable handler of something so tempestuous, having already been such a storm himself. He knows that, of course–almost with a stroke of humour buried under his wintry facade, he knows that this tempered, hidden wildness is precisely what his visitor is hoping to glimpse from him.

“Must I amuse you like one would some errant child? Use up your energy so you don’t have enough of it remaining to go causing mayhem wherever else you wander off to?” A scoff, chiding and low. His pen is laid back upon his desk with a resounding little click. The General’s fingers come to a pause, laced beneath the point of his chin as those piercing, indifferent eyes bore their way into the soldier’s face. “It feels almost like that to me. Though knowing one like you…it may well be that you want an example to follow. They put you in my care for a reason, though for a reason that has not been demonstrated to you yet. And why would someone like you settle for having no real understanding of that which commands you?” Unblinking, his stare lingers heavily upon him. “If your reason for pestering me is so you might put myself and my abilities to the test, then I advise you just say so. That would at least be a reason I’d be more inclined to humour than you merely storming in here looking for nothing more than someone to play with you. You can leave my office if the latter is really all you are looking for. I do not ‘play’ with my subordinates for no good reason.”

          And the soldier is very well aware of the multiple reasons he had been placed beneath this particular 'owner's' care and would strive to dig out the truth from it with each and every well-placed allure of a disobedience the other man was just so eager to silence, even though words would chime out to proclaim an indifference settling like beautiful mask over elegant face. It's quite amusing to behold - quite entertaining to harken upon this or that little whisper and murmur that sings itself through halls. Echoes from walls. Finds itself easily announced when just dug a bit deeper to unearth truth. The beauty of this particular one was of striking pulchritude. How quaint to think that he had climbed quite so high [ and how the soldier's mind wanders aimlessly, tricking himself into desiring to see any scars littering slender form ].

          "That is true, I do not." For he only listens to power. To those that could lead and bring their people to glory. Disastrous a lot of his former 'employers' had been, and as pernicious, they had been disposed of not by the soldier's own hands [ not always ], but by their own stupidity to go against warnings well-perceived. A tactician, of skill unmatched and reputation, shouted, was the polar opposite to the disastrous tempest swirling in the depths of Vlad’s core. He could play a game, play it to perfection. What matter those that never had the ear to listen? What matter those he could have overthrown by time foot was set outside to greet a dawning day, leaving behind an endless masterpiece of carnage and war? It's all long gone and still - this one was different. That is, by then, the main-reason Vlad was here and listening and scratching at the door that seemed in need to stay closed off and shut. "I listen merely to rule. To those that can lead with iron hand, and still do not forget their roots. A many I have 'served' before, they have not found themselves in the mind to remember that also they, - they had been on the ground. Licking dirt and barking up their master’s hand." So he speaks and sighs and all the more seems soothed by it.

                    - @vantrece  ♡~

          And countless little things would wander through his mind, laying eyes upon a vision unlike any other. A thousand small ideas that drawl and drag themselves from left to right, shaken off and away, to never be spoken by tip of tongue, no never be announced by lips to tear into a smirk hauntingly beautiful, with the beauty of the world to lay itself thickly upon their shared silence. And their shared common entanglements finding this or that breath shared in all but delirious encompassed desires. It's a sweet togetherness, honey-like in its luscious dream-filling state, with each and every shift to elicit warming sounds, heavy on the ears, even more heavy on senses like touch [ palpable tingling delight ]. On the tongue, for even a breath would coat evenly with all these little droplets of temptation. On the eyes, that drink in subtle motions fulfilled like a rehearsed play of perfection, rich before the monarch's eyes.

          As if watching a predatory cat stretch and lounge. Watching and feeling and hearing each nook and cranny to be placed picture-perfect puzzle-like against his own resting grandeur of physique. He's playing with the very thoughts of a capturing cradle. Wanting to hold her close. Pull her in even tighter against him - but diminished of a subtle idealised thinking, when hands stay poised at his side, long fingers of one of them to twist and tangle in soft fabric beneath his palm. Holding tight, for he wasn't permitted yet to hold tighter another desire of his own visualising itself with mellifluous sounds right before the burning hellfire of gaze's explorational drag.

          As if each and every one of those little blinks, would tear her apart and open.

          Make sure that eyes do bear swiftly, deeply into her souls. With the pleasurable tingling satisfaction, dragging itself along his skin, igniting heat boiling deep in the monarch's core. He wanted else. He wanted more. "Are you so shy today, mon chéri~?" The voice that drawls itself as honey-sweetened poison along exposed line of his collarbone, enough to have the one entity commanding any and all power, growl in reply to what was an obvious taunt. A mockery in ridicule, generous and soft, underlined with how her dress [ that little piece of fabric she wanted last they were out ] would shift the littlest bit higher and higher along leg brushing itself between his own resting ones. "No, just waiting." Waiting for what? Mind does rummage around the question and finds no answer past raise of eyebrow explaining such.

          She tries and tries - and finds nothing else. Pouts with that pretty mouth to be downturned, playful and light and surely melodious to an ear that has only known war and masterpiece outcomes of screams and pleads [ from all of them, and how she pleaded for more in ways such far taunting, tempting - a little minx in his grasp, for he doesn't need to grasp for her at all ]. "How mean~ You shouldn't hide these things from your Lady~" That lady of his he covets with a power unlike any else.

          That Lady, teasing him with a voice of eliciting sounds, reminding him of beings of long-lost tales [ still witnessed, he had seen it all ] like a siren to sing for a man to come and stay. To be devoured whole in glancing too far into the beauty of chillingly shining eyes. He couldn't help it when towering physique limbers beneath her. When rest is found more comfortable and those eyes to clash beautifully with her own, would close defiantly to get her to offer him even more. More and more [ greed was his sin, he wanted to get lost in sensations so rarely commit to ].

          Getting lost in a world that was such simple - that the overwhelming amount of stimulation made him growl just for the idea cling to his very soul and being. The same way her body clings to his own [ perfectly, as if being made for one another ], upon the questioning hum that leaves towards the otherwise empty air, soon to be filled when construct finds itself understood. Finds itself delighted upon and taken up with her hands that begin to travel along the pieces of exposed skin. Not much, by now, far too less still. Small it was the gap in between layers of fabric, black of shirt such tightly wrapped above his pale skin. Clashing colours of their own [ she was eager enough to steal one of his attire, Mistral's favourite, so he supposed for it was embellished by his scent ].

          And the muscle twitching, lining beneath unscathed tissue, would slowly twitch in anticipation, when one slowly moves into the other, explored and ground into mind anew like a map followed closely, attentively, to find a way to hidden treasures. Each hum and croon, tilting him this and that way [ how surprising might it not be for the beautiful woman, that he would lay tame in her hands of belying gentility? ]. They would want to tear any else apart. Would want to only be with one another, extinguish world of uselessness to make it their own in neverending reign. And still, still just, does Mistral take her time. Rousing like no other, with the sound of buttons pried apart [ one, then two ] and the silken fabric pulled from skin obscured before. It's another form of captivating work.

          To see anew, what was already known to his partner whole.

          To feel anew, what was held in arms times and times again.

          That breath taken lifts his chest against hand placed palm flat above his heart. The even beat in consonant play, all underlined with similar sounds. Sounds of throaty rise, purrs and coos, and all those noises chased out from him in the darkness of a voice that could swallow whole who dares to be captivated with mind and body alike. And wasn’t the warrior not such truly captivated in these few moments like these? With the subtle sound of a melody, rising inside his lover's breast. It was a form of self-stimulation, giving own body and mind up to another person and trusting such completely [ even though they never do ], to get lost and forget and ignore personal wars. Ignore all those little moments for the dulcet fervour of something as simple as being pressed close to warmth and weight, erupting fires still kept caged behind closed eyes.

          Evocative was this very harmony. Delicious tearing chant of velvet material beneath Vlad's hold, until tendons limber once again when Mistral watches, waits, and traces along them taunt in the fine line of feeble wrist. How a man like himself could be such truly powerful and be a sonata of repudiating fragility all his own. [ Don't believe it. Don't believe it. He will eat you, eat you whole ]. It's enough for her to subtly laugh. To have that tingle of notes spill into the sudden quiet of their delicious togetherness [ he's so pliant beneath her grasp to loosen himself up again ], as if the conductor of their pleasant orchestra, had drawn to climax all of single instruments of their own. Said laughter, as it fills the monarch's mind, makes Vlad opens eyes to sight and visuals of pleasure. Opens all of him up just afresh, like another word that breathes itself between them. Just right in front of her lips, claiming his in the perfection of a honey-taste sweetened kiss. That single word, replacing all but a thousand others, follows soon.