clouds rolling in

she doesn't balk, and for all the shock it brings, an answering hunger roars through him. Styrmir watches with greedy intent as she pulls away, feels a mixture of loss and relief as her fur slips from between his fingers. he’s overcome with the urge to push her down, sink his teeth into the juncture where her neck meets her shoulder, and taste. he imagines it’ll burn; demons can’t touch anything holy lest they melt from the inside out. and in this moment, he feels every inch a demon, mouth practically watering as cobalt eyes skim her sumptuous frame. focus, little one. “you’re twisted,” he rasps, though it feels like a particularly hideous brand of hypocrisy. “though if you knew the extent of the thing beneath my skin,” and here his lips twist in a rare facsimile of a grin, though there’s nothing warm in it, “you’d be running.” he starts to pace, sketching a very slow circle around her, gaze tracing every shape and curve. “then again, now that i know what a fucked up little creature you are, perhaps not.” there’s too much wriggling beneath his pelt, itching along his skin with maddening persistence. he doesn’t know what to do with it all, how to put one foot in front of the other like he isn’t aching to crawl out of his own flesh. he half wants to bite down on his own leg and draw blood, let it seep out of him the only way he knows how. blood. Styrmir’s head snaps to Illu, eyes narrowing. if it’s release he craves, he needn’t necessarily be the one to give it.

“how about a little wager, then, oh fearless one,” Styrmir croons, voice so soft it could almost be mistaken for affectionate. almost. “a little…skirmish. first blood wins. you win, you leave with your pretty little throat intact.” he moves to touch his lips to her ear, breath stirring the fur there. “i win…and you’re mine.”

"Styrmir Trygg"