Amaroq Harlow
The blood on my teeth begins to taste like a poem, like religion, like the way you look at me

He feels not of this world; more made than born. Amaroq is otherworldly.  There is the promise of violence and hunger deep within his eyes - his heart feels alive with sin and fiendish prayer.  A thousand memories flash before him, each one laced in their immortal hunger. When he steps into the darkness of night, his breath spills like pools of smoke before his humid jaws. His fangs glint beneath the ivory caricature of moonlight, long canines immersed in their hushed, silver rays. He stands before the ocean, watching the waves crash and churn, his talons splayed above the wet sand.  Everywhere he looks there is the ghost of death and decay haunting him.  Death follows him.  Feeling restless and unable to sleep, Amaroq paces beneath the moonlight, feeling the glacial winds caress his fur.  He paces with the unending hunger of a predator, feeling the wind rake against his swarthy flesh, gliding sharp fingers down his spine.  Soon, the day would break, soon the morning would fold crimson into the deep, unrelenting seas. 

_{BG — ART — CODE}

we slipped into midnight
like the death of the sun

She moves as if she has never been lion before, as if her soul has known other bodies before this one - a flower, a doe, a knife, maybe… There is no part of her that fits, not from the bone white of her body to the soft golden sunlight dappled at her hips and across her face. There is leonine grace to her. The grace of a cat, inherent. But inside, inside she is rot, she is wilting. For every part of her that is bone white, porcelain beautiful, inside she is dark and broken.

Eve goes to him because he is a blot of blood upon the steel horizon where inky sea meets midnight sky. Everything is silver this night, even her. The moonlight turns her gold to silvered bronze, her white to silver.

He is restless, bleeding his red across the scene of midnight sea. Eve tilts her chin as she draws beside him and gazes with teal eyes across the shadowed lines of his face, the shivers along his spine. She is still as he paces and paces and paces. Haunted.

death follows him.

Now Eve has found @Amaroq, just like sin found her. “You are upsetting the sea,” She muses, soft as wilting petals. Then, holding him in teal she asks, ‘What haunts you?’

Amaroq Harlow
The blood on my teeth begins to taste like a poem, like religion, like the way you look at me

Apart of him will always belong to the sea. His breath is hot. Humid plumes, as they spill their cigarette smoke through the frigid, winter air. He paces beneath the moonlight, their diaphanous threads of silver caressing his rugged, male form with all that hunger of an immortal lover. There is a storm in his heart, eating him from within. Hunger envelopes him; a devouring darkness, illicit and ravening. That same hunger coats his tongue in its brutal wickedness. There is a dissonance in his soul, an infernal maelstrom of ruin and hell. He feels it purring like an animal beneath his skin, sliding a blade through the heart of him. Will he ever find rest? Will he ever be at peace? Never.

He feels, unhinged; just like the waves as they smash their salted brine against the weathered boulders. Like tumultuous wolves running through the winter storm - the oceans thrash, howl, the heavy surf colliding against the rocks, just as the tide rushes in to dampen his toes. He feels the pallor of its wetness caress his feet, foaming ivory against his long, splaying talons, but it is not enought to sate him with their transient cool. And when he turns to the source of that delicate voice, both soft and tragic, her pale beauty is enough to make him thirst. She is snow against the temples of Artemis, silk and tainted innonece. "I would tell you, fair maiden," He begins, his voice rough, low; the whisper a venomous cadence against his tongue. "But, it would hurt you too much."

@Eve

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we slipped into midnight
like the death of the sun

He commands all her vision. The restlessness of him, the dark simmering presence reaches out to smother all else that she can see. Not even the waves can compete with his impatience and command. So she watches him, her teal gaze trailing after the heat of his coat.

They are opposites, him with his fire, his heat, his restlessness and she as pale and lovely and cold as a flower. She is silent, bowing, swaying gracefully only when the wind passes over her. Her gold gleams brilliant against the dark of him.

His is a discordant sound. A reckless thing. She is drawn to him in the way that all opposites are. If her own blood was not filled with sand and chaos she would be the moth enchanted by the flame. But rather, she may be a wasp, beautiful but wicked within.

The sea reaches for them, it washes his feet and runs for her. She does not step back and it turns her pale toes dark as steel. He looks at her with want, hunger, thirst, and a chill slips up her slender back. Her tail twitches, but she smiles liquid gold and ivory teeth. Shards and silk.

“You do not know what will hurt me.” She whispers to @Amaroq and drifts closer. Ice upon the water. “Besides, your nightmare might be my peace.” And such is the contrary nature of this strange world.

THE BLOOD ON MY TEETH BEGINS TO TASTE LIKE A POEM, LIKE RELIGION, LIKE THE WAY YOU LOOK AT ME

Amaroq can taste the salty sea-air on his tongue. The ocean water rushes past him, another violent howl crashing against the boulders, swaying like aquatic fingers against his splayed toes. Most of all, he can taste her - her sultry scent, soft as a wild rose; mingling with the oceanic flavour of the sea. There is a honeyed sweetness to her, a deadly fabrication to the flawlessness of her. She reaches for him like sunlight reaches for darkness. She is a midnight flower wrapped in poison and elegant ruin, and Amaroq yearns to close the distance between them, to taste the ambrosial nectar of her heart and soul. Would she taste sweet? Or would she taste of violence?

He does not approach her yet, but his eyes remain fixated on her. When she moves closer to him, Amaroq rumbles, his purr dark and guttural. Beneath the diaphanous beams of moonlight, he finds her breath-taking; she floods his vision like moonlight floods the sky - an ethereal image, kissed by the surreal. "You must be the moon." His voice is a dark whisper as he steps closer, his eyes now swimming in lust. His heavy, obsidian lashes flicker slowly over his steel-blue eyes, undressing her curves with the criminal heat of his gaze. If there is want, it does not show. His face remains apathetic and cold. When she replies, he nods in return, the traces of laughter curling his fang-filled lips.

"Do we dare find out?" When he turns to fully face her, he is close enough to rest an ear against her pale breast; close enough to hear her heart beat. He wants to touch her, to draw his teeth against her curves and taste, but Amaroq only sighs darkly against her skin. "Are you nightmare or are you dream?"

@Eve
_{BG — ART}

we slipped into midnight
like the death of the sun

Ah there is something dangerous about him, and it runs deeper than the cold, apathetic mask upon his face. No, it reaches deeper into her being, clawing down into that darkness within her, stirring it into a gathering storm. Electric, illuminated with static, she watches him as he names her the moon. Eve holds him in her wide eyes, framing him in teal. “If I am the moon then you are the blood moon.” She says slowly, warily, though her eyes tip up to the true moon who hangs pregnant above their bodies. Moon-shadows stretch from their paws and the ink-black sea glitters with diamonds upon the surf.

Still he is a splash of berry red, a droplet of blood across the steel beach. He hisses a threat, contrary, or maybe complimentary to the growl which resonated through the beach, the air, her whole body. She still trembles with it. It rattles between her teeth and yet she does not cower from him. Instead she stands, a marble statue, unwavering in the heat of his presence. Her golden freckles gleam in the moonlight, cursing her richer, wealthier than her pauper soul truly is. There is nothing rich about this girl, though she gleams like a pearl, a teardrop beside the sea.

He hides his lust well behind his threat which falls like blades from between his teeth. Already she can feel those blades across her skin – it makes her bleed black, black, black. Low her lashes fall, until they press a blink upon her gilded cheeks. When she looks back to him his silhouette draconic she says softly, lightly, “It will not be what you think.” She says, as if she knows what he thinks. Or maybe she just paints him with the same brush as all men with violence in their soul and a wrecking sea at their back.

And then he there, close. Close enough to feel her heart beat, close enough to listen to the rush of her blood, so much like the sea that hisses her way up the beach. There is a roar within her and it does not come from her throat. He reaches for her, to hear her, to touch her, to find what makes her hurt. Eve does not move except to tilt up her chin, exposing soft throat and chest and beating heart and thrumming blood. Instead he sighs and his breath is hot across her skin, so much like fire. Dragon she thinks, the word unspoken, held between her teeth. “What do you want me to be?” Quietly she turns his question back on him as the sea snarls her warning against bone-white limbs. The sand rushes away beneath her feet, pulled by the water.

the winter soldier

THE BLOOD ON MY TEETH BEGINS TO TASTE LIKE A POEM, LIKE RELIGION, LIKE THE WAY YOU LOOK AT ME

She is soft in ways that spell ruination. She lulls his draconian senses with her soft brand of darkness. Her scent is that of sweet sin and suffering. Her skin, is the silk he cleaves with his hungry eyes. He breathes her in, he breathes her in; eager to sate his thirst upon the nectar of her beguiling perfume. When she falls like ribbons of heat down his throat, an ambrosial spill of celestial allure, both feminine and wanton, Amaroq falls deeper into the teal pools that were her depthless eyes. She is not only a flower, but a white rose; her thorns glided in beauty and poisoned lace. There are knives in his stare, and an intensity that beckons with both lust and violence. For her. For more. For the absolution of her embrace -

For the beckoning whispers of her curves. For the heat of her skin, that brushed so gently against his; driving him to madness, to ruin. Her soul is bared unto him, searing the edges of his mind with dark thoughts of lustful frenzy. Would he find salvation between her lips, her thighs, her soft, aching heart? Are you paradise or are you hell? "Indulge me," His voice is low. It falls with heat upon her skin. His teeth ached to trace her flesh, to pull her apart as though he were a god come to tear the moon from sea and sky. He towers above her now, his neck lowering, so that they may meet eye to eye. His lips a mere breath away from her lips. The oceans roar behind them, unbridled, their foam serenading thick, heavy and bone-white. Their melodies, neither hushed nor aching, yet a sporadic chill of bitter convulsions ushered with wrath.

Impulsive, arrogant, Amaroq is hunger incarnate; his heart, an immaculate frenzy of raw emotions. Amaroq feels the need to press closer to her - to draw his teeth along her shoulder, to whisper venom against her ear. To take her breath like death draws for the warmth of life. The darkness eats at his soul; ruinous, hungry. She threatens to have him unhinged, to bow before the marbled altar of her throne, to love her like the sun loves the moon. Darling, you'll break us both.

"Maybe I want you just the way you are."

@Eve

we slipped into midnight
like the death of the sun

He is close, too close, to her exposed throat. Yet she does not lower her chin. She may look prideful, where she stands, bright as a scratch of white across the gray canvas of the beach. Or maybe Eve merely looks a fool, soft as a gazelle revealing its throat before its lion.

But she is lion too.

She is deadly eyes and too-long teeth and wicked claws. Just like him. So, as her heart crashes against her ribs, like the sea against the rocks, it is not with fear. Eve adorns him in sea-green, her eyes a shot of jungle colour upon their steel-washed beach. The sight of him is blood across the green leaves of her eyes. Amaroq is blood upon the water, but she does not yet know if it is hers or his.

He inhales and it drags the breath out of her lungs. A synchronised push, pull, as if they are the moon inhaling, pulling, the tide back out to sea and breathing it out upon the beach. Tall above her, he blocks the moonlight from her skin and her moonshadow grows, looms into the shape of him, of her, combined. Eve watches it morph across the beach, turning monstrous. They are nearly flesh upon flesh and she wonders how monstrous she will become if they should touch, body to body, becoming more than just a monstrous shadow upon the sand.

And then he is there before her, his eyes level with hers and there is no veiling his wants now. They are made real across her body as her nerves ignite, feeling his gaze as tooth and claw. Eve blinks, slow, a breath, a space from him found in the dark behind her closed lashes. But then they open he is there, his proximity a vice about her body, her lungs. There is something within her, clamoring for him, lured out by the glint of his teeth, his lips a scant centimeter from her own. It draws her lips into a smile, beautiful, iridescent, divine, wrong. Then it turns sad and she presses her lips to the slant of his jaw and murmurs against his scolding skin, “You do not know what you are wanting.”