flowers on the razor wire, I know you're here (part II)

((RP MODE))

Once the wandering lad awoke, he apologized, and I told him it was no matter. He said it was, that he came in to talk, and then I discovered why. I curled my legs on the green sofa I'd been sitting upon, he curled up in the middle of my gold pentagram rug, and began to ask me things. At first, it was wandering talk, talk of his life, talk of mine...talk of my first memory, which was of fire, and fear, and he told me I would be drawn to these things lifelong, that they would, eventually, spell my doom.

I didn't entirely disagree.

Our conversation turned less subtle, began narrowing in on a certain goal, and we talked of things, of perceptions, that humans plainly do not have.

I called him to account on this, and he told me he was a succubus. I derided him, saying, I knew of an incubus, and of their chosen prey, and that succubi, being female, chose the opposite in turn. His eyes lit up, and we were off and discussing my incubus.

Without thinking it through clearly, I told him much. Of love, and loss, and confusion...of my attraction for the incubus from the first...I said he had hair the color of spring roses, and the lad only nodded, saying most incubi--at least those he'd known--had red hair.

But later the conversation turned. More came out about his past, about his life, about a wife he'd loved and lost. On his wedding day, he said. He said...the incubus was responsible for ruining his lady wife. I told him he'd like as not been, depending, though there were other demons who may have done the deed....and then I described the incubus in question. And he went pale with fury.

He said, before he turned the conversation, he wished to slay him, and I fear I've played into his hands in this. If aught harm befalls the incubus...I will have a hand in his downfall, and I fear that. I do.

And then the morning spun out, pale blue light becoming gold, pale gold light becoming sun-soaked blue, mist burning off from the hills behind my tree. He asked me to join him on the bed. And bit by bit, what sounded like a very dangerous idea, with what he'd said of his nature...began to seem like something I could have, and walk away safely from after.

This may have been a mistake.

We spoke of his nature. I do not know his race, other than human-seeming, but he spoke of his eternal hunger for female flesh. Somewhat akin to that incubus, and I told him so. He regretted it in himself, this desire to consume, and yet his thoughts turned to me. He asked...for contact. I thought about it. I acceded, and joined him on the bed.

Just contact, he said. I came clothed and shod, curling behind him, and he sighed, beginning to relax. It was...very nearly innocent, for a span of time, and then...he turned, in my arms. He held me fast, and began to strip the clothes from me, biting me, drawing blood here and there. He held me bruisingly, I could feel the pads of his fingers sinking into my flesh, and I began to pant from the pain of it.

His mouth moved over me, across my skin, licking, sipping at me from small nips, drinking me in. I couldn't think, my thoughts growing hazy, as if I was sinking into honeyed darkness, his mouth sparking sensations of utmost intensity. And then the game changed again.

He rose behind me, voice growing deep. He said, "Resist me," and bit at my shoulder, teeth sinking deep. And I began to struggle in truth, sprouting curving dagger-claws, raking down his flesh, snarling, hissing, as the cat within rose to the surface, fighting to escape.

There was none. He pressed within me, hands seemingly everywhere at once, and I cried out in as much pain as desire. His mouth moved over my skin, mobile, heated, seeking, biting bits of me away from spine and sides. I writhed in his grasp, desire rising even as I fought to free myself from his clenching grasp. I wondered anew at his nature...and knew he had never been the innocent he claimed.

It was battle, as much as lovemaking. It was the desire to escape, and the desire to give in. I fought him, I fought to hold him. Such conflict. So many wounds...

...but at the end, he pulled away. Unfulfilled, he pulled from me. He said he had to leave. While I was still marshalling my thoughts, curling around him, reckoning the damage he'd inflicted....he pushed himself from my bed and left.

Half of me wants intensely to seek him out again.

The other half? Wants to run from the kingdom and never hear his name spoken another time.

He scares me.