#◈ WE ARE THE HOUNDS OF HEAVEN THE BLOODY DOGS OF WAR [D.o.G.]

[gcldfanged]

“What's with that look … ?” Tone is low, rasping with teasing lilt. Sharp nails are barely touching, tracing the air which bends around the fine carve of Jae's jawline, causing a tangible thrum, a tension not entirely due to the residual pulse of energy bleeding from teasing digits following ( almost caressing ) the line of his flesh. They hum, in approval, leaning forward; invasive, infringing, the boundaries between them once again tested and tried— But when did they matter before? Sloan smirks, smug, shaded lenses slipping low along the bridge of their nose, their eyes shimmering eerily. “You gonna claw at me again, kitty?” They mock, “Or… You gonna gimme a purr?”

He drapes himself artfully over the nearest piece of furniture, all lean wiry muscle and elegant-limbed yet also displaying an ease with which he exists within the space- Within their vicinity, their quiet yet dominating presence, taking up the full scope of their shark-eyed field of vision.

Full lips curve into a puckish bow as his monolidded eyes fall to half-mast. The assassin still exudes a wordless satisfaction that seems to emanate from every pore, minute gesture, and visible body language that is on open display- Borderline exhibitionist in it's shameless sensuality.

It's naked intimacy.

Inviting, yet untouchable- Contrary and playful. Truly cat-like in the way he offers himself up on a gilded tray to be languorously stroked and attentively plied with affection, keeping himself but a hair's breadth from their reach.

Only his fellow bulgae would pick up on the way his spine arches, how he bares his slender throat for their fangs and the expanse of his belly for their waiting claws. The barest shiver that traverses his lithe form, seizing the very air from his lungs as a willing captive, an anticipatory frisson that plaits itself into every branching nerve singing with frightening life within his body.

The way their name can only slide from the rasp of his tongue, barely audible if not for the closeness, a prayer whispered from an open and bloodied maw.

Honed talons extend in raw pleasure, sinking into the plush cushioning of the chair in a white-knuckled grip, the energy similar to releasing mounting pressure from a maintenance valve. As ever, the focus of his single-minded obsession is a frighteningly gorgeous beast: their tenacity, loyalty unto death, a thrilling creature displaying such unearthly economy of movement that it's very existence is a warning to the other beings prowling the underworld. Nature's way of saying 'do not touch, do not approach, do not attempt to consume' and otherwise.

It's a lewd display, to open his mouth like a passive space to be filled and thoroughly used, tracing the slightly forked tip of his prehensile tongue along the underside of the offending digit. Implanted gold incisors graze their color-enriched skin so featherlight, its non-presence haunts and lingers like a lonely ghost.

There is comforting awareness of the trust that remains implicit between them, connecting them to a shared past where they existed as a predetermined set- Two arabesques perfectly joined. They are more than mere ‘instincts’ molded and shaped to their basest role and function. This is a surrender, his earnest capitulation to a force of nature hewn from ivory bone and wrapped in sun-kissed flesh.