silicone, saline, poison

*Matija* · 04-29-2024, 02:25 AM

Night stretched like a comfortable blanket around their shoulders, keeping them safe from prying eyes. Matija could be grateful for that much. It would be winter soon, and shifting south would be a good choice. Mind busy. Mind always busy. Matija can't help himself, wrapped carefully in his thoughts. Gripping him, holding him by the throat, keeping him caged in... why are there so many thoughts? Why are they all so busy? Trying to untangle the weaves, picking apart the web, as he tries to plan the next move. Long hours and late nights, and it seems he's the only one awake to confront it right now.

Too much pacing, too many thoughts. Damn near pacing a rut in the ground beneath his paws. It's not enough work, it's not enough to sort his thoughts. What would help Matija sort himself out? The man knows. He knows that there's a hunger in him, one that can't be sated. Hunger. Gnawing hunger. Is that why he can't focus? Is that why he can't put together the plan he wants to see? Is this why nothing is working for him? Matija's lip twists in disgust, growling to himself as he paces his rut in the moonlight.

Rippling muscles and a resolve that can't be corked. Can't be bottled. Matija need an outlet, and he isn't going to be turned back down. Outlet. Fuck. He'd pick his battles, he'd find a fight to pick. There's always a fight for Mati to pick, at least when Idris is around. No, he doesn't want a punching bag. He wants to light his muscles on fire, he wants to bite and be bitten. He wants to scratch and claw and fight. The breaking of skin, the breaking of someone else's skin in his mouth. Matija needs it, and he needs it to feel alive.

With grim resolve painted all over his face, Matija storms back to camp. Sweeps back in, high-headed and with long steps. Cutting through the evening, his head tossing. Gaze alight with hunger, with need. It's late, though he should still be awake. Hopefully. "I cannot fucking think," the words come as a bellow. Irritated. All of him is irritated, the annoyance rolling off his shining figure in the moonlight. Tossing head and flexing his muscles. It's dark-- Idris would have the upper hand. Matija was giving him that upper hand, this time. At least in his mind, it's a gift.

"I need blood, I can't fucking think." Pacing, grumbling in his brother's direction. His desire is pure, hanging in the space between them. He needs to fight. That will straighten his thoughts, that will calm his head. Matija has needs, and he demands them met.

speak bitch

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WC: 453/1500

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1.	silicone, saline, poison	Lover's Mangrove	02:25 AM, 04-29-2024	08:30 AM, 05-05-2024

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silicone, saline, poison

idris

Matija