Stir the coals

Basilisk watched, standing tall above his little Bird as she clearly struggled for an answer. Did she want to fight him? Did she want the strength to stand on her own four paws? Perhaps she would eventually see the benefit in learning to fight. To have the strength to stand up against others, and the mental capacity to do so. Strength was… empowering.

“Yes?” He whispered back at her, touching a paw under her chin, and forcing her gaze upwards. His eyes were hungry for her, lust and love mingling in the deep set blues. How she set him wild, with her scent, her body, the soft sounds she made when they moved together. He brushed his muzzle against her cheek, down to her shoulder, her throat. He set his teeth lightly against the skin where her shoulder and neck met. He pulled at the skin and fur, nipping and releasing it. “Fight me, little Love Bird.” he whispered into the crook of her neck. He leaned more heavily into her, pressing parts of his body against hers. “Fight me.” his teeth grazed her skin again. ”Fight.”