#basically it's id on steroids :soft smile:

[rafent]

[ 𝐂𝐎𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐑 ] [ // joining the bandwagon ehehe ] It came out of nowhere, but maybe by now Lord Rafal had come to expect the unexpected from his erratic Hound. Maybe he noticed the flicker of devilish eyes when he tilted his head to rub soreness from his shoulder, exposing the shadow of muscle and the pulse of a life-giving artery beneath pale, paper-thin skin. Maybe he saw in the split second mischief turned ravenous that the next second would slam his back against the wall, wrists pinned beneath Griss' calloused palms, grinning fangs inches from his jaw.

His breath was warm, his voice a purr. "Let's give 'em something real to talk about."

He couldn't leave his mark last time, but this time the dragon wasn't getting away without it.

𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐄𝐒 — COPPER: sender bites receiver hard enough to draw blood cw: 𝒻𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓀𝓎 (slightly gory) imagery

Griss, maestro of Excalibur and Nova, with all wicked authority over wind. For a single unclear heartbeat, Rafal thought his magic responsible for the breathlessness felt, only to realize that it were air being denied by impact. The product of maniacal eyes and familiar hunger with only seconds left to prepare. He grunted with discomfort at the unyielding surface crashed into, and designed to meet this development with heated protest, until closely his knight hovered. Warmly and very noticeably.

"Ever and always, your bizarre ideas of merit are beyond understanding. What purpose is there to inflating false rumors to new heights?" The column of his throat with every ounce of challenge angled to grant access nonetheless, pale new frontier unveiled in all ways. Bright gaze piercing. "It matters none to myself. I do not care for the eyes of others. I care for yours upon me."

'It matters none to myself.' But it did matter - it should matter. Gradlon run to extinction, they two among the last of their respective kinds, these facts were mercy for the god and follower deemed odd by any point of Fell view. What god would stomach the rebellion of his own tool pointed against him, what other tool might enjoy its brazen autonomy? Never in history had apostle sunk teeth into devil and adorned him with the stamps of his molars.

Never had that devil enjoyed it.

Pinch then pressure. Struggle was mere affectation, reality slumbered in the pleased low groan; the instinctive squirming between two grips. "Ah—you—" Snakelike hiss sizzled between his teeth at the cinch of pain—pleasure? pain? both?—pulsing hotly at his neck, aware that like this death even for the mightiest dragon was not far.

Visceral visions flashed unbidden, like prophecy, like daydream without control, like iced blood stirred to boil and age-old instinct melted from glacier. Should Griss advance his whims and choose to tear and maul, there would be no stopping it. Only Rafal's hand clapped with futility over the unceasing red geyser, only eyes shot wide with betrayal over his stolen pieces, two to three clambering steps traced backward before he met the end of his resistance. White and pink seen in new light; tender fleece mangled without recognition by so many wolflike teeth, throat turned inside out like all of Rafal's secrets stretched out for display. But that didn't happen. Did he want it to?

"That's enough!" He hadn't meant to shout, hadn't meant to shove, but he hadn't noticed doing so either. Fingers traced the 'innocent' raised welts of a love bite, feeling, sensing, confirming nothing amiss save for coppery slickness. Nothing inside on the outside. But Rafal chased his breath and dimmed his bizarre excitement, the over-loud drums of heartbeat pounding everywhere from temple to ears to chest to—

. . .the dragon swallowed hard. Curse this mortal coil.