#cunning fox and cruel wolf pairing

[dramaaddict]

THEM

[luxiero]

Disobedience.

“Disobedience, in the eyes of anyone who has read history, is man’s original virtue. It is through disobedience that progress has been made, through disobedience and through rebellion.”

— Oscar Wilde

Perhaps the most Machiavellian thing about mankind is his disobedience; mankind is cunning, but not convincing. Outsmarting one is not to outsmart the all, and there lies danger. Perhaps the most treacherous part of you is also your disobedience to me; 

My personal little brat to tame. It is when you misbehave like this that I have most fun, you see. It is joyous to completely destroy you. I soar to Valhalla with each cry from your sinful lips when my palm crashes down on your ivory skin like that, unblemished white turning crimson as the Devil through your cheeks and I force you to look at me. I force your tear-stained, maleficent, cunning eyes into mine; there is no match.

Be a brat all you want, my sweet taste of Lucifer's liquor; I will tame you now, and I will tame you again. 

My personal eventide vice. It is when you behave like this that I have the most fun, you see. It is enrapturing when you so carefully annul me. When such sweet strains of pleasure escape my ungodly lips what fits of great mania and quick-eyed lust bask in your smirk. Ardent hands so vehemently travel past silken skin and like needle to flesh, leave behind traces of red; desperation escapes in pearls through my eyes and I use its sharp sting to hone the fangs of my heart while you force a glance, unbeknownst. My sins and I joined ankle to ankle and wrist to wrist, knelt before the knees of your broken confessional where I so obediently ask for amnesty. Yet, profane voices continue to utter their untamed musings and I am reminded that cunning cannot be chained. Tame me, time and time again, my seraphic taste of absinthe, you seem to have forgotten that outsmarting one is not to outsmart the all. For it only becomes easier to disobey when you so devoutly obey my deepest fantasies.

It is the defiant heat dripping from your lips, paired with such cruel smirk that has me delirious. I ought to pull you apart, kitten; bone by bone, limb by sweet limb. Watch the scarlet perversion tone our entire reality for the nightfall's everlast, knowing so that all I do is quench your thirst for discipline. 

How unruly you have become, all but innocent dove of mine; was that purposeful? And how am I expected to resist and repel the yearning to undo you whole? I shan't; for your form and silhouette were made for my hands and mine only, fingers curving around marble pare and tender flesh sufficient to bruise, blemishing you on pure violaceous hue, loitering amaranthine traces of my reach.

Is it the daring tempest dripping from my lip that has you so deranged, or the way my delicate body effortlessly slithers between your hands, so serpentine? Fingers curved like a scythe around ivory skin, hysterically devouring flesh, driving my mind into a state of pure ecstasy. Break my very  bones with your heavenly glare, tear me limb by limb, mutilate my very being and bathe me in your garnet filled craze till your fervent appetite has been fulfilled. Phrases of passion disclose its ethereal bliss into my ears, laced with your obedient antiphon, I choose to do nothing more than play the innocent dove, the pure lamb led to slaughter while the depraved and bestial wolf within sits silent. Hungry. Craving. Yearning. For nothing more than bruise and blemish. How compliant you have become, all but vile fox of mine, answering to the very command of my voice; how terribly easily you have fallen into addiction, quenching my thirst for discipline; but I am still famished. Filled with the waters of seduction, my appetite only grows with your touch.

My personal eventide vice, as you call for me, but the blindfolds hide me from you; how you wish to see me. Like the beat of a drum, I hear your heart thrum for me in time with the fastened pace with which you inhale, exhale, lungs filling and deflating, breathing in the need and exhaling fears. There is no wavering, no staggering vacillation to overcome, power overflowing sins much beyond carnality. My soul counterpart, half of me, my fulfilment. Thirsty hands for you, mewls cascading from your lips, a saint and a savior—handcrafted by God, forfeited by the hands of your creator.

I care not for who's forsaken you, I want you; craved lust hasn't ever felt as dulcet as with you, Sacrosanct songbird of mine. Should I keep you caged within the confines of me, should I lull you into slumber each night? Shall I brand you my own into perpetuity? The timelessness of the feeling of your skin against my palm dips into my soul and it is my antidote, alleviation to all affliction. I never have sufficient amounts of you.

The sweet saccharin taste tinting your mouth from mine has rendered you breathless, has it not? Tell me, for I crave; tell me, for I ache. Won't you tell me now, my sweet devotion? I desire, drip and burn, ablaze with drop after drop of the poison I've elected to reign me, ruling every single inch of my body as his towers over. Completely unmade, I encounter a mirror carefully placed above me, fixated to the ceiling where I can see the entirety; the whole scene, a mess of tangled sheets and tangled limbs, onerous need of devouring each other, heavy breathing echoing. My hair, I found, is scattered over his chest and without any ado he flashes me the most gracious smile I have ever laid eyes upon. Just like this, I lose me. It had been a battle, you see; but I would have never succeeded. I would have never quenched my thirst for him, a wink of his doe eyes causing tremors at my very knees and I can swear for a lapse of moment in time that I will fall. I don't.

My sweet rose, plucked of thorns, oh how I wish to see you. To consume your divine innocence, to watch as the red wool of passion, pulled over thy eyes, blind such silver-tressed mendacity from you; yet, mundane blindfolds hide you from me. The very beat of my mortal heart quickens at brief glimpses of the pestilence that has overcome you. You stare, awestruck, my skin reeks of thunder at the faintest lick of your fingertips. Like candlelight in wind, I hear your heart waver. Billow and bend, with each and every deviation, my lungs fill with morsels of your beloved words. A nicotine irresistible. My soul counterpart, a servant to my blessed sacrifices, my glorious sin. Appetent hands reach for you, Sanskrit boils in your veins, holy fire, hell fire left in kisses between my thighs. Silver-tongued hymns cascading from your lips, a saint and a devil—handcrafted by God, stolen from the very hands of your creator. I care not for me who has so easily purloined you, I hunger for you; craved lust hasn’t ever felt as carnal as with you, half-devoured Venus of mine. Cage me, clip my wings, but you shall never confine me. A breath of everlasting sensuality, skin against skin, our corrupted souls dancing as one. 

I never have sufficient amounts of you.

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