Wildest Dreams

Malik tried to keep his composure even as the beast inside him threatened to snap it's leash at the smell of blood. With the bard truly gone now, he could turn, his stance wide to be able to hold her if she chose to try and run, try and bite someone else. The time clock had begun for them, in that moment, an ever steady race towards an known, but joined future, either ending in death, or a cure for them both -- as much as Malik wanted to believe in a cure, the moment he had scented the blood on her, he had known, deep down, that the two of them were racing ever more in lock step, towards their mutually assured dooms.

He fought, even harder, as the beast strained the lead even tauter, the chunk of flesh dropped to the ground and kicked off an edge into a further down alley way still, there a dog, or a rat would find the morsel and dispose of the evidence, one way or another. Be it one scavenger or another, it would be gone come morning, and that was as much as he needed to assure. The male would be gone, as fast as he could from the capitol after that performance, and Seraphine?

Seraphine was currently trying to pull every single bit of his considerable willpower free from him and let the curse reign free. The inexperienced undulation of her hips against his, even if he knew it was the man from before she was still reacting for, reacting too, there was no way in her blood lust that she was seeing him, sensing him there in the moment. Still, he was ashamed as his body reacted, ashamed as he let himself be drawn into those lips, still covered with blood that tasted like sweet, blessed relief, even as he felt the sharpness of teeth along his lip, felt the skin split, and more blood join into the mix, his own, scant relief to the hunger the curse was whipping him into, even as he lost himself further into her grasp, breath coming rapidly through his nose as his tongue swept into her mouth, chasing after the coppery tangy taste that lead to the small high that even Tevinter mage wines couldn't recreate.

His hand, just barely tightened around her throat, as she jerked them back towards the wall, fully taking the place the bard had been in just moments before, his free hand going to pull one of those slender legs up over his hip as he screamed inside his head don't. He teetered there, on a precipice, on a choice, even as his body continued to respond to hers, hard and ready to fulfill what the minstrel had started there, to sate the driving need that twined around the blood lust until it was hard to tell which hunger was which, which need drove the moments as he forcefully pulled away from the kiss, the fingers around her neck tightening just a bit more as he watched her face, hips grinding up into hers as his thumb pulled down on her lower lip, how easy it would be to just, press the sharpened nail into the plush pillow of flesh there, to prick skin, to see a bead of blood well up on her lip.

The breath Malik pulled down into his lungs was shuddering, paused here and there as he felt his cock twitch against her center, as he tried oh so hard to stop, even as those predator eyes of his searched her face, No more, little dancer, not like this, not here, not in this dirty place. His thumb slid over her lower lip, once more, the idea of piecing flesh still there, even as he had to grind into her again just to appease one of the twin hungers burning inside him, later he could take himself in hand and imagine having her mouth on his neck, on his lips, to feel his life slowly draining into her and leaving him on the very edge of damnation before he'd come, feeling ashamed again that the woman he would eventually have to kill, or be killed by, could bring such a reaction out of him -- but only since that first fainting ]spell, he tried to reassure himself, pitifully as he leans in and kissed her again, gentler this time. The way he had wanted to kiss her, not as a beast, spurred by a need to rut deep inside her, to spill seed in her over and over, to put a child in her belly as the curse demanded, all while opening her pretty little veins, blue under pale, pale flesh, and lapping at her life's blood.

Maker help them, if he didn't kill them both soon, while they were both still sane enough, they'd kill one another in the process of falling prey to the curse's more twisted magics trying to proliferate itself. Littler dancer, if this is truly what you want, let it be in a bed, where I can make certain that you're fully sated, and ruined for anyone else you may have in the next years of life we may yet enjoy. If this, he whispered as he leaned his head back down to hers, lip still beading blood as he swiped his tongue over the crack, and traced the bead gathered there over her lips, his own teeth worrying her lip but just a moment, courting temptation and danger ever still. Thumb stroking over the column of her throat, the curse telling him to grab her again, to bend her over one of the crated and fuck her until she screamed, to bury himself in her just has hard as he would bury his teeth into that pretty neck. Is what you need, let it be somewhere I can make sure that after you're safe, and cocooned in blankets for when the high wears off, because little dancer, it will wear off, and you will crash so hard that not even the blood will help again. But not here, not now. Not in a rainy Dock Town alley, and not while you're wearing another man's blood and come stains on your underdress.

He leaned down to scoop her legs up from under her, to pull her up to his chest, Because when you ask that of me, mine will be the only blood on your lips and hands.

@Seraphine Salvo