≡ if i beg if i plead

now dance, fucker, dance

man, he never had a chance


She is vicious, carnal in her wanton desire and subtle pleading, her heartless craving of him and taunt to draw him forth, but he remains statuesque save for the vibration of his larynx, deftly enraptured with an irritable growl, resisting in every tense contour of his fibrous body. Her desire, lustful in each beat of her dead, black heart, serves to fuel his fury, to tempt the beast of his despise, his innate loathing and inherent need to drive the stake through her soul, to see her bleed as he has and know the pain that ravages him, the hatred that is carved across his face, exposing the slaving weaponry of a monster - he wants her, but in each foul breath, he refuses her. "You cannot have me," he breathes, the rough purr rasping against his tongue, coarse and unpracticed, the thick insistence that he meant the ludicrous phrase, that she would not batter down his resolve and make him out to be a fool, lost in lust and desire when he has promised himself loyalty - created the one moral of his desires and thus refuses any woman to come across his path; there would be only one, and he would not defile himself now for an enchantress that tempted the fire burning within him, for a woman he did not think could contort to his one-sided views. He is rigid, each tense muscle screaming for reprieve, for him to give in, but he cannot - oh, he cannot! - even though his body pleads, his sinew trembles and his heart bleeds for her, captured by the spell of her mere existence, her subtle temptation and lure to draw him, to taste his supple flesh and devour him entirely in her bestial craving, her plea for his body and soul and his inability to give her either, the latter having all but fled him. He will give her nothing, knowing then that he can lose nothing, can feel no further pain if he keeps his guarded walls, his firm insistence that he will not bend and break, will not be the pliable mold she is searching for.