#tsk tsk that's just feyd. perpetually smutty

[nightmarefuele]

Esk inne.

It.

Feyd-Rautha tongues his incisors on the idea of being reduced.

He would follow the voyeur: he lifts his naked knee to begin the pursuit, flexors rolling already through the arousal of the hunt—except that this great, stinking throat beats for him. Chants like the rings of home. Layers and layers of bleached white bone on Giedi sing with wilder voices than this. Uncle has amassed such lovely lickspittles.

But prettyyy; those beetle eyes in the brutal shell of his face gloss over appetite-heavy;

The black metal stench bears him a woman.

An unholy vibration in his throat. With it he's left women on Giedi crying.

na-Baron's shoulders roll the same way her creature sinew speaks; the roof of his mouth wets the floor; his eyes go dripping down the height of a beast in the cage of breasts, a breastbone. He almost laughs. The rustle of stone under his shifting feet—no closer, just near, just teasing—does it for him. He answers a thick impulse to lift his new gift and cup it in his hand.

The tooth smears his palm like grease paint. Feyd-Rautha stands so very still. His arm then slouches, the tooth dripping, while his second presents its ink.

His fingers tickle the open air, giving the blood a shine.

Tell him tell him tell him.

"Vorhal drameino? Esk inne gravadeot? Esk inne drokani?"

The dark's creatures beg of them all and what hands remain begin to beat. Banging. Bashing against the caves throat in a thunderous drumroll of a calling. Even the fingers, once severed, crawl to life, inching like worms of the forest to rejoin the hands they have been parted from.

"Is it one of us? Does it belong?" She finally says.

Fingertips continue to glow like dappled stars of an envious sky, hidden beneath mothers womb. Within. They bash and bash and bash until they cannot take the beating anymore but must continue on anyway. The air is tainted with the ichor of spilled blood. Blackened. They mash, mash, beatings weaker until they have abandoned what strength is left and sit broken and bloodied on the cave floor. Bone melds with blood. It all smells the same. The beating is no more.

Something monstrous has awakened in its wake. It shakes even the strongest stillness interwoven into Maura's being. A glance into the depths behind Feyd and she steps back, speaking with urgency now. "It must fight. It must live. It's birth has begun."

She disappears into the dark as if rejoining her true form. Even the hands find what little strength of self mutilation remains to drag themselves into the dark with her. All that remains is noise. Clicking. Razor sharp on stone, but what shows itself is soft and holy and not been seen in years.

A woman. She appears from the depths, flirting the shadows edges, the back of her hidden but the front is white and bare and glowing with ethereal luminescence. She is almost holy. Almost. Her hand reaches for him, but her eyes are straight again. Unfocused.

Dead.