the fabric of your flesh
pure as a wedding dress

Eurielle slinks beneath the cover of moonlight, entering the thresholds of winterscape with a hushed, feline breath. Her footfalls were dainty, as smoothly-taloned paws will sink beneath the light snow. The palpable boulders, numorous in their shiny collective, were ushered over by trickling waters - the liquid, icy and unforgiving, dripping over the river rocks in a dull, monotone whisper.

The river is not nearly frozen over, and Eurielle prowls along the edges of it, her feminine scent scattered to the wintry gale. The tumultuous gust ruffles her silken, mauve fur, gliding like icy fingertips throughout the length of her slender bodice - yet she relishes the cold feeling, enticed by the soft chords of moonlight and the strung aria of winter. There, at the edge closest, she would lean and slake her thirst. She is weary, alone, and all the more observant towards her surroundings.

@Max ★

table by ryuu

reel me in

and just send me off

Lorant stiffened. That gale brushed warningly against his river-slicked pelt, breathing the lioness' tale before he even had to see her. The feline arched his back from where he stood perched upon one of those frigid boulders at the water's edge, his mind turning over the assessment of the threat of her as ruby eyes finally caught sight of her lapping tongue. His tongue moistened as the sudden need to quench his own thirst came over him, though the beast doubted a mere stream could conquer it.

"You lions do not like thee cold," he projected despite himself, eyes glittering with probing curiosity as he regarded the woman whose pelt shone like ripe berry flesh. "You are different?" Lorant surmised. The quiet rush of water overtook him in the moments he allowed his lips to fall silent, a pregnant pause stirring between strangers.

---

|| april y12 | nine years | vague pride | at ilere's freeze | @Eurielle ||

code by corvus | art by max

the fabric of your flesh
pure as a wedding dress

she quenches her thirst, her ruby stare fixed ahead of her, watching the cold water ripple beneath the clicking of her tongue, its curve pressed back and forth against the icy liquid. the night is quiet, with no more than the hushed, wintry gales sighing down her backside. snowfall descends, a light veil to touch her flesh - lacing obsidian lashes in their snowy flecks, as her luminous skin glowed like a soft, pink flame burning in the darkness. here, she feels at peace - although terribly alone - her soul begging to be released of its mortal cage. the sense of isolation would drape across her delicate shoulders like a fine veil, but eurielle stays silent, until the words of a stranger touches her mind -

slowly, she looks up, up, up. to see his luxuriously spotted coat, the fine lines of his golden physique prowling gracefully through the snow. he is polite in a way she is not used to, familiar with the gaze of hungry strangers, instead. the maiden nods with a gentle smile playing across her lips, straightening her posture, her long tail folding around her small paws with feminine ease.

"i prefer the cold," whispers eurielle, finally, her voice soft, ringing like a delicate silver bell. "no one disturbs you out here." she fixes him with a curious stare, sharp vermillion eyes focused upon the curves of his finely-sculpted face.

@Lorant

table by ryuu

reel me in

and just send me off

A more honest observation might have been, no one sane likes the cold. Even with his coat, plush and spotted, Lorant could not deny the shiver running down his spine as gentle flakes of freezing began to fall from above. He only remained rooted in that spot to watch as she lifted her sights to him, thin droplets of water still clinging to her whiskers as she addressed him.

"I prefer the cold. No one disturbs you out here."

Lorant twisted his face into a wry smile so his words were forced through tight, parted lips.

"No one except for me," he corrected cheekily. Their eyes met as reflections of one another, his stomach tightening with the most intoxicating sort of anticipation.

---

@Eurielle

code by corvus | art by max

maybe my solitude would be better spent with you
but I'm stuck in wanderlust, far from any permanence

a gauzy strip of cloud weaves overhead, tracing a diaphonous silver mist across the glowing moon; the shadows would pass over her delicate features, enticing khol-lined eyes glimmering beneath the heat of her stare, a few seconds of darkness to touch her and @Lorant both.

she would hold his golden stare, unfliching; each slow flutter of her eye-lashes blinking softly - caught inbetween the stranger's alluring gaze, and the way the moonlight would weave in and out, passing through the clouds like a fleeting kiss across silk flesh.

eurielle leans into the darkness, she leans into the night.

a daughter of lilith, she can feel the shadows drape intimately across her delicate frame, feel the sharp bite of winter frost sliding down her slender thigh. she has always been a maiden of the wilderness. feral, free-spirited, wanderlusting. beautifully dark. there would be nothing to tether eurielle to the mortal plane, nothing to tie her down to the realm of the living.

but, perhaps, for him, this spotted feline; she will stay, awhile. she will stay with the light of the moon; the heat of his breath escaping in a hot plume of mist; and the way he seemed to drip of dark elegance - every line of him carved in otherworldly exoticism, a masculine grace.

"you have a disarming quality about you," whispers eurielle, finally, the heat rising to her delicate cheekbones, tinging them a darker shade of pink. she is not shy, but she can feel the way the cold wraps for her lithe body; forcing the heat burning within her to ooze outward - a pulsating breath of hunger and life.

her obsidian lips would curl around the soft, feminine words, her tongue gliding across smooth, pale fangs as she rises to her feet, taking a step closer towards the leopard. slowly closing the distance between them.

"my name is eurielle. what is your name?" another whisper, this time weaving with the snowflakes that descended them, a delicate sound that was half-purr and half-hiss. her heart thuds softly in her chest, now, alive with prayer. alive with the eagerness to undress his soul. he is a stranger swathed in mystery, and the seraphim is thirsty for anything of the unknown, anything that possesed the mysticism of the universe.

she senses magic and vibrancy in all living creatures - but especially in him, this leopard who smiles at her with shadowed promise and the smooth curving of ink-stained lips. and perhaps, that is why she is compelled to gently devour the earth beneath her feet. compelled to lean into him, like one leans into a dark mirror, kissing their reflection.

reel me in

and just send me off

She did not argue; she did not look away. Lorant's chest bloomed with heat in contrast to the frigid air against his pelt, his mind blanking for that moment. Seal the deal, he might have decided. Take her hand before she changes her mind. Her gaze alone held him in place, an unspoken fear settling in his gut that to look away could be the end of her. He might blink and she would be gone into the shadows of that darkened tundra, evading his grasp forever.

"You have a disarming quality about you."

Lorant snickered. Even in that statement, he felt himself leaning forward as if to hear her better, hushed alto barely distinguishable from the whistling breeze.

They underestimate me, he might have responded. She might have known a thing or two about that.

"I hope so," was all he said, eyes flickering greedily toward witnessing how her paws devoured the space between them with steadily, tantalizing bites.

She introduced herself as Eurielle, her request for his own name almost pulling its true form from his lips – almost. Sweet, floral perfume invaded his senses the closer she got, threatening to charm him into truthfulness.

"Lekszi," he murmured the white lie as his eyes managed to find hers once more through the darkness. "You will stay with me?" Lorant dipped his tones in bashful honey, knitting his brows together as he searched her gaze for the will to deny him that. When at last he could no longer stand it, Lorant reached out one freckled arm and tried to drape it possessively over those precious, pale shoulders – to pull her close so he might feel some warmth in that frigid wasteland.

---

@Eurielle

code by corvus | art by max

maybe my solitude would be better spent with you
but I'm stuck in wanderlust, far from any permanence

the moon is her lover.

the moonlight continues to pass thru and fro, a laboured hush of soft, sensual breaths as those illuminating fingers would trail inbetween the spiraling clouds. each arching sliver of moonlight would touch @Lorant's elegant features - illuminating him for a few seconds - before it is slowly followed by the all-consuming darkness. light and dark. sin and innocence. desire and fear.

the evening held peace, tranquility; but also an element of lust, the promises of danger. she doesn't know why, but the seraphim feels her heart racing a little bit faster; pumping with vitality beneath her pale, moonlit breast. the heat begins to caress the delicate arc of her soft, feminine cheebones, as she comes to close the distance between them. she listens to his voice, the way the syllables would tumble down his elegant mouth like wine flowing from a cup. Lekszi, he says. an interesting name, an alluring name.

she inhales his scent. he smells spicy, warm; mixed with the crisp cool of winter. exotic and comforting. masculine scents, but softer - somehow sweeter. perhaps, she is drawn to his graceful, almost effeminate demeanour. everything about him would feel disarming, gentle. spell-bound.

as she nears the male leopard, the snow would pillow against her dainty feet; her glossy talons inching gracefully across the winter floor, clicking against hard ice like the heels of a stiletto. the smile upon eurielle's lips stays the same. effortless, womanly, natural; something inbetween feral beauty and frosty allure.

she wants to close the distance between them completely. to lean into his chest as a dancer might. but he's already made that decision for her. he's already closed the distance between them by slipping his toned arm about her delicate shoulders, and pulling her closer.

startled, her eyes widen just a fraction.

rapidly blinking at him through thick, sable lashes; holding his fiery gaze with the burning red of her own intense, vampiric stare. her freckled features would smoulder with a girlish heat, unbiden and coaxed by the sudden warmth of his masculine body breathing so close against her own.

the maiden is flustered. it is rare for her to be so flustered, to be so surprised. she tries to hide her surprise beneath a little huff of breath, the suspire spilling past her lips and drifting inbetween them like brumal smoke. "oh," she whispers, darkly, the surprise evident in her voice. but she does not resist the pull, she does not resist the charm radiating off him in waves.

she lifts a slender hand to smooth her fingers over the muscles of his chest.

seeking.

wanting.

"this feels nicer. more intimate. better than the cold." she confesses with a delicate smile. up and down, her own chest would rise. her breathing a steady tempo of low, purring breaths. she presses into him lightly. just so he call feel the fullness of her curves.

the way she'd surrender into his male body;

a winter rose leaning against the darkness of his flesh.

everything you say sounds like
sweet talk to my ears

"Cicám," my cat, he murmured softly, eyes flickering between her own and the soft curve of her mouth as Lorant pulled her close. How odd that she fit so perfectly in the crook of his arm when cut from a different cloth entirely! If he noticed her surprise, he did not comment on it. He did nothing but appreciate the helpless gleam in her firelight eyes, his claws unfurling instinctively when the sight of her became almost too much – almost.

"This feels nicer. More intimate. Better than the cold."

Her fingers traced gently along the sharp curve of his chest, his skin growing hotter by the second as if in defiance of the flurry surrounding them. Perhaps she was trying to make him impatient. Perhaps it was working. Lorant leaned in through the haze of spiced perfume to press his nose gently into the pale fur draped around her neck, almost gluttonous in the way he breathed in nothing but her.

"Should I go, cicám?" Lorant rasped, not bothering to look up at her as he said it. He sat rigidly upon the frozen tundra, attempting to wrap her decidedly within both of his arms then in a wanting, wandering sort of embrace.

---

@Eurielle

-- ryuu

the fabric of your flesh
pure as a wedding dress

it's witchcraft, everything that moves him - every syllable that leaves his alluring mouth. he's a blend of softness and hunger, something that reflects her primal nature, something that calls to her inner wolf. the heat between feels unbearable, intense. it's like molten fire cascading from the heart; spiraling outward in a violent fervency. his every touch ingites her emotions. the mere scent of him is enough to evoke lustful thoughts. deep thoughts, delicious thoughts.

his every touch, thus, leaves her unfurling - unraveling like a rose unravels for the heat of the sun. she does not want to feel vulnerable like this, and yet she does. it's a frightening concept, one that momentarily arrests her. she blinks the heady shadows from her crimson gaze, she focuses upon his frame; the way her fingers would shift over the muscles of his chest. the way their breathing would mingle as one. twin cascades of heat released with desire against the cold, winter air;

hungry. desperate -

out of control.

that's how he makes her feel. he makes her feel vulnerable, like the moon - and the warmth of him slides deep into her soul; stirring into her delicate flesh, with their possessive whispers. she's never felt this way before, drawn into his magnetic pull. drawn to his charismatic light and smouldering presence. the masculine essence has always left a bitter taste in eurielle's mouth, but here, @Lorant feels more sunlight than flesh. more god than man. she feels like the moth here, and he is apollo's arrow and flame;

dare she touch him?

dare she kiss those dark, smooth lips to taste a piece of his soul?

would she find heaven, or would she find hell?

she breathes in his scent, she grounds herself into the cold, white earth. outwardly, she is graceful and calm; but she can feel the way the ice clicks beneath her long, obsidian talons. the way the hungry earth seems to shift beneath her dainty feet, as thought it were a mere rug about to be pulled from beneath her. she feels lightheaded, strangely dizzy. there are butterflies in her stomach, there are emotions swirling in her chest. her visage is still a reflection of icy femininity. the shards of ice are threatening to shatter, however - threatening to break her iron resolve.

as he presses his nose into the side of her neck, she would release a soft exhale, leaning into his touch. a delicate little moan would follow soon after, her lips curling upward ever so slightly, revealing her sharp teeth. her breath would stir over his golden skin, brushing down his flesh in its sensual caress.

it's a warm whisper.

half-inviting, half-desperate.

"no. stay." it's command, too; the way the ethereal words were suddenly pushed out of her delicate mouth. breathed out with feminine allure. two little words that wraps for him like a leather leash; a blend of softness and hunger.

she leans closer, then. her fingers finding the shadowed curve of his jawline,

just as she settles into his embrace.

she seeks to bring her mouth against his mouth. to kiss him on the lips - something soft, almost shy. it's gentle; as if searching for him in the darkness, eyes closed. slender fingers fumbling down the buttons of his shirt.

and between them, she would try and whisper it again - this time, it's almost breathless,

almost a moan.

"please, stay."

table by ryuu

everything you say sounds like
sweet talk to my ears

Where she thought of heaven, of hell, Lorant felt more anchored to their earth than ever. His patience wore thin with each moment he was not entwined with her fully, his claws flexing upon her skin with all the more greed.

"No. stay."

Despite her command, there was a desperation in her tone that tugged tantalizingly at the corners of his smile. She leaned forward as if to punctuate her point with the soft trace of a kiss and all at once he felt his blood threatening to erupt with fevered longing.

Not yet, not yet! For, Lorant knew better than anyone how fleeting a moment of passion could be. He knew the awkward gawking and averted gazes when lust hung up her hat in the morning. Let her be this for a moment longer, quivering and malleable between his paws. Let it be all anticipation and no awareness.

"Please, stay."

He could resist her no longer. His lips slid over his teeth as he attempted to bite possessively at her nape, almost drunk with her red-wine perfume and the dull haze of frosted moonlight.

"Be good," Lorant hissed lowly, determined no leave no inch of flesh undiscovered.

---

[fade] @Eurielle

-- ryuu