#this is uuuhhh lowkey nsft but not enough for a readmore

[hawksblooded]

↣ ITS RED AND DEADLY BITE. //@swordluck

IT CLOSES BEHIND HER like a maw, the door to Anri’s room snapping shut quick as an arrow sprung from a bow. Alizebeth, briefly baffled, holds up her hands in submission. “Oi, what’s with the-” Immediately the knight’s hands close in around hers, pinning her to the wood. Blue eyes run the length of her jaw, up to thinly-pressed lips, and past her own to glance upwards. The hunter’s head tips along with Anri’s gaze to a humble wreath she likely crafted with her own hands - a beautiful little thing woven with evergreen branches, and at its heart a small sprig of mistletoe, gleaming bright and red-berried in the verdant circlet. “Ah,” the hunter smiles, and before she can say more the strong jaw she exposed with her tilted head is warm with the other woman’s mouth. 

The knight presses into her, entwines their fingers as she does so. Her lips trail the length of Alizebeth’s neck, lingers on a small scar. There’s ale on her hot breath, ale and that sweet taste of her own that the hunter finds so fascinating. “You’ve had too much,” she states, and for only answer Anri’s voice thrums against the soft skin of her throat. “Mmmmaybe.” The knight parts her companion’s legs with one knee thrust between them, wobbling as she falls from her tiptoes.  “Or maybe not,” she smiles. “Now come here.”

The hunter, all obedient dog, bends down, their interlocked hands lowering to her sides as Anri stretches up, closes the distance. Mouths hover briefly before one another, parting in anticipation. Alizebeth remembers it now, that expression of focus as they walked through the forest to the village where they now stayed, the knight plucking leaf and twig from bushes and trees in their journey. Where did she find that dreaded poison-fruit, that deadly berry that apparently spoke of love in her faraway country’s tales? Even she herself did not know. All she knows is that it hung prettily above her head, turning the hunter into the prey for one brief moment.

And the kiss Anri plants on her lips is just as brief, leaving Alizebeth hanging, mouth agape. Her broad hands tighten around the knight’s. “Now you’re just teasing,” she growls, leaning further to steal more of her companion’s sweet breath - but she leans back with a girlish giggle. “Maybe! Or maybe not.” A hum escapes Alizebeth’s throat, a rough and needy noise. Anri’s pretty smile runs along her scarred collarbone, down to her chest left bare by the deep neckline of her blouse. She nudges at the cloth with her small nose, trailing nibbles as she goes, tracing the curve of a breast she uncovers with deliberate patience. The hunter’s heart beats steady beneath the soft flesh, its rhythm quickening when Anri licks the dark bud that marks her chest’s peaks. Alizebeth stifles a groan. “You…” Anri doesn’t bother with a response, doesn’t need to - the hunter’s hips buck into the thigh pressed between her legs, and that is goading enough for her to give her nipple a quick bite. She can feel the muscles tensing in Alizebeth’s body, feel her hands tighten over hers. 

She knows she’s not really in trouble, not yet; why else would the hunter let her pin her so, like a caught animal, knowing fully that her raw strength was greater still? Alizebeth must be in a playful mood herself to let Anri tease at her so. But all good things run out. They must. “I’ll make you regret this, Anri,” she speaks through a barely held-back moan. “I will.”

Anri looks up into amber eyes, her cheek still pressed to the hunter’s breast. She pouts, the expression quickly turning to a smile when she asks:

“Do you promise?”