[You stupid bitch, that is not what I or Summoner meant. Anything sexual is the furthest from his mind right now, which is saying something for him. Right now his mind is focused on his lance, that's it. And don't you dare make that into a penis joke because that's Lysunder's job. For now it's just blood, guts, anger, and ha- No. Just anger. Lots of anger. Because this stupid fuck just won't stop getting closer. The proximity made sense though, all of these indigo fucks seemed to like close contact-- most of them enjoyed getting their hands dirty. Most of his fights with this caste ended up close at some point, despite Summoner's effort to keep to the skies. And here we had it again...]
[Let's not repeat this, okay? It couldn't get any worse than this.]
[Then...]
MY STUTTERING?! REALLY!? Is that even necessary!? Try to keep this prof- Black. Black?
[Uh.]
N-
[Being taken aback took a little too much time, and suddenly there were hands on his face, again-- see what I mean by close? Like, every single indigo was like this. The hell is up with that? More struggling, face squeezing in the tight grip of huge hands. Summoner's eyes closed, his heart pounding, mind screaming that his head was going to be crushed. He could already hear the future sounds of bones cracking. And then, warmth... followed by pain.]
[The lowblood's body jerked back, gasping as teeth sunk into his lips, eyes rolling back and squinting. His own teeth when to bite down hard, finding the flesh of the other's lip to be in the way, skin snapping and ripping between his own teeth. Then a rush as the wounds on his lips heated up while Highblood's fangs let go, feeling his tongue roll over his jaw, slick, wet. Soon to his neck, and finally the other's face stopped.]
Haa... stop, y-y-you're-!!!
[His words cut off as he feels gnashing teeth sink into his neck. Lysunder's hands let go of the lance, fingers tense, wrists locking, back arching. His head jerks back as his teeth clench. FUCK. That mouth's a roarbeast trap. Grand Highblood wasn't being shy with it either. The lowblood could feel the skin split, feel blood leak from the wound, it felt amazing fucking terrible, and painful, and bad, and lots and lots of negative words denoting just how disgusting and uncomfortable this was. His hands moved up to grab at the Highblood's neck, trying to claw and yank the other off. He wasn't even going to open his fangs in fear a sound would come out that he didn't want to hear himself.]
[ Unfortunately the implication if the Summoner's think pan only focused on the instrument that is buried deeply within the Highblood, there is only one joke that can be made, and unfortunately, that joke is circulated with the fact of phallic objects. So, it's only unfortunate, that it has come to that.
The Summoner can also pretend to not feel that hate at all, even if the Highblood could feel it beaming it off the lowblood. It was a motherfucking catalyst for him to push it further when his teeth were dug deeply into the fleshy mass of veins and skin and muscle; the fluid of blood was quick to rush into his mouth, and the Highblood was hungry enough to let his tongue press against the throbbing skin and let his long tongue lap up the blood in a burst of greed. His large hands slid down the Summoner's shoulders to his ribs, and there was something immensely aesthetic about the lance that was still sticking out of his gut.
Some motherfucking mythical painting. And despite that there was too much fucking hate and that there was pleasure somewhere in there - it didn't motherfucking overwhelmed the way his hands were greedy or how his mouth was hungry for the lowblood's flesh between his teeth. It would motherfucking scar, and what a motherfucking shame that every time the Summoner had to look at himself, that he would see them.
Too motherfucking bad, for a lousy lowblood brother.
Ripping his skull back from the other, the Highblood could feel the small rivets of brown blood that trailed down his mouth and chin, mingling with the ingido that emerged from when the wound punctured insides. Fingers splayed against the back of his own neck, and there was now enough room for the both of them to breath. His grin was bloodied as he grinned, and he took sevreal steps back. ]
HOW WAS THAT MOTHERFUCKER. Hahaha, don't motherfucking feel it? DON'T YOU MOTHERFUCKING FEEL THE BLACK? Or does a brother have to continue making you motherfucking feel.
[ His large hand went to his gut; the slick squelch of crude sounds emerged from his abdomen as fingers wrapped around the handle of the lance, removing it - yeah that was motherfucking gruelling, to remove the lance and let the weapon hang lifelessly between his fingers. The hole that was the wound was impressively large, but long ago stopped it bleeding. What was motherfucking left of blood was nothing but the residue of closing muscle, oozing from the injury. And the Highblood could only smirk at the lowblood's futile victory. ]
[Efforts to keep his mouth shut weakened, feeling hands slide down his sides. Summoner's shoulders shrugged forward, jaw tense as he started to open his mouth, mentally screaming at himself when he heard the shuddered gasp leak from between his lips. The pain so close to his head, pulsing in his neck was overbearing-- ontop of how much of a high we was getting from the blood smell still dense around them. Yeah, he wasn't an idiot. He couldn't deny the fact that this sick bastard was feeling something here. What he could deny-- and avidly was and will continue to-- was how he felt about this. This bastard was just choking a child. He was scum, completely terrible scum. And Summoner hated how the first word to come to mind was 'hate'.]
[Black? Sure, but you won't find him saying it or agreeing to it. This clown was putrid in every possible way, Summoner wanted nothing to do with him besides to kill him. And yet here he is, having purposely missed a vital point with his lance, and letting out noises of pained pleasure from the bite.]
[Ugh he was gonna have to bathe for a day.]
[Er no, like, a week.]
[Probably a week.]
[Finally teeth let go and he teetered back. A hand reluctantly moved up to his neck, wincing as he slid palm and fingers over the wound. A compound of indigo spit and orange blood was wiped by his hand and flicked to the side.]
W-w-w... [He swallows.] This is done.
[Another hesitant step, glaring over at him, Lysunder's body shaking, wings slowly opening, and he crouched, leaping up into the air and OUT OF THIS JOINT. Keep the lance, he'll not get it later. For now he needed to go dress this bite mark and hope to gog it doesn't scar.]
[ Summoner was going to be in for a motherfucking surprise; see those motherfucking bite marks that were going to be laced over your neck, Summoner? That shit has got to sting, and the more it motherfucking stings, the more likely it will scar. Now, the Highblood had stuck his jaws perfectly inside of that tender flesh, if he had not willingly released his mouth and let himself reel back, there would have not been anything left there apart from mangled flesh and a thing veneer of muscle that barely coated exposed collar bones. This little brown-blooded motherfucker.
He was motherfucking lucky.
With how black the Highblood felt for his short-living nemesis, it was a surprise that he hadn't ripped off his head yet and impaled it on one of his horns like a motherfucking trophy. Shit, the Summoner could deny his hate all he wanted, the more he resistance that temptation, the more the Highblood wanted to rid of it by indulging his brother in it.
What a sick and twisted way to think. A hedonistic depraved lifestyle that wouldn't cease, not even here. He had threaded his fingers through the innards of shitty rebellion soldiers, but to watch the expression on the Summoner's face that was a mixture of disgust and disdain for himself; there was nothing more motherfucking delicious than to feel his arrogance growing to know that he made the Summoner feel those emotions.
The lance was still held loosely between his engrossed fingers, and he watched the Summoner take to the sky. ]
DONE BROTHER?! Motherfucking done, LIKE A MOTHERFUCKING COWARD HAHAHA.
[ Lips slowly grew into a grin as a hand slid over the gaping wound in his gut. ] ...For now motherfucker. Yeah, we're done. UNTIL NEXT TIME BROTHER. Until next time. WE WILL BE WHIPPED IN MOTHERFUCKING HATE. [ A thick crude snort. ] Don't forget about it, brother.
[Let's not repeat this, okay? It couldn't get any worse than this.]
[Then...]
MY STUTTERING?! REALLY!? Is that even necessary!? Try to keep this prof- Black. Black?
[Uh.]
N-
[Being taken aback took a little too much time, and suddenly there were hands on his face, again-- see what I mean by close? Like, every single indigo was like this. The hell is up with that? More struggling, face squeezing in the tight grip of huge hands. Summoner's eyes closed, his heart pounding, mind screaming that his head was going to be crushed. He could already hear the future sounds of bones cracking. And then, warmth... followed by pain.]
[The lowblood's body jerked back, gasping as teeth sunk into his lips, eyes rolling back and squinting. His own teeth when to bite down hard, finding the flesh of the other's lip to be in the way, skin snapping and ripping between his own teeth. Then a rush as the wounds on his lips heated up while Highblood's fangs let go, feeling his tongue roll over his jaw, slick, wet. Soon to his neck, and finally the other's face stopped.]
Haa... stop, y-y-you're-!!!
[His words cut off as he feels gnashing teeth sink into his neck. Lysunder's hands let go of the lance, fingers tense, wrists locking, back arching. His head jerks back as his teeth clench. FUCK. That mouth's a roarbeast trap. Grand Highblood wasn't being shy with it either. The lowblood could feel the skin split, feel blood leak from the wound, it felt amazing fucking terrible, and painful, and bad, and lots and lots of negative words denoting just how disgusting and uncomfortable this was. His hands moved up to grab at the Highblood's neck, trying to claw and yank the other off. He wasn't even going to open his fangs in fear a sound would come out that he didn't want to hear himself.]
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The Summoner can also pretend to not feel that hate at all, even if the Highblood could feel it beaming it off the lowblood. It was a motherfucking catalyst for him to push it further when his teeth were dug deeply into the fleshy mass of veins and skin and muscle; the fluid of blood was quick to rush into his mouth, and the Highblood was hungry enough to let his tongue press against the throbbing skin and let his long tongue lap up the blood in a burst of greed. His large hands slid down the Summoner's shoulders to his ribs, and there was something immensely aesthetic about the lance that was still sticking out of his gut.
Some motherfucking mythical painting. And despite that there was too much fucking hate and that there was pleasure somewhere in there - it didn't motherfucking overwhelmed the way his hands were greedy or how his mouth was hungry for the lowblood's flesh between his teeth. It would motherfucking scar, and what a motherfucking shame that every time the Summoner had to look at himself, that he would see them.
Too motherfucking bad, for a lousy lowblood brother.
Ripping his skull back from the other, the Highblood could feel the small rivets of brown blood that trailed down his mouth and chin, mingling with the ingido that emerged from when the wound punctured insides. Fingers splayed against the back of his own neck, and there was now enough room for the both of them to breath. His grin was bloodied as he grinned, and he took sevreal steps back. ]
HOW WAS THAT MOTHERFUCKER. Hahaha, don't motherfucking feel it? DON'T YOU MOTHERFUCKING FEEL THE BLACK? Or does a brother have to continue making you motherfucking feel.
[ His large hand went to his gut; the slick squelch of crude sounds emerged from his abdomen as fingers wrapped around the handle of the lance, removing it - yeah that was motherfucking gruelling, to remove the lance and let the weapon hang lifelessly between his fingers. The hole that was the wound was impressively large, but long ago stopped it bleeding. What was motherfucking left of blood was nothing but the residue of closing muscle, oozing from the injury. And the Highblood could only smirk at the lowblood's futile victory. ]
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[Black? Sure, but you won't find him saying it or agreeing to it. This clown was putrid in every possible way, Summoner wanted nothing to do with him besides to kill him. And yet here he is, having purposely missed a vital point with his lance, and letting out noises of pained pleasure from the bite.]
[Ugh he was gonna have to bathe for a day.]
[Er no, like, a week.]
[Probably a week.]
[Finally teeth let go and he teetered back. A hand reluctantly moved up to his neck, wincing as he slid palm and fingers over the wound. A compound of indigo spit and orange blood was wiped by his hand and flicked to the side.]
W-w-w... [He swallows.] This is done.
[Another hesitant step, glaring over at him, Lysunder's body shaking, wings slowly opening, and he crouched, leaping up into the air and OUT OF THIS JOINT. Keep the lance, he'll not get it later. For now he needed to go dress this bite mark and hope to gog it doesn't scar.]
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He was motherfucking lucky.
With how black the Highblood felt for his short-living nemesis, it was a surprise that he hadn't ripped off his head yet and impaled it on one of his horns like a motherfucking trophy. Shit, the Summoner could deny his hate all he wanted, the more he resistance that temptation, the more the Highblood wanted to rid of it by indulging his brother in it.
What a sick and twisted way to think. A hedonistic depraved lifestyle that wouldn't cease, not even here. He had threaded his fingers through the innards of shitty rebellion soldiers, but to watch the expression on the Summoner's face that was a mixture of disgust and disdain for himself; there was nothing more motherfucking delicious than to feel his arrogance growing to know that he made the Summoner feel those emotions.
The lance was still held loosely between his engrossed fingers, and he watched the Summoner take to the sky. ]
DONE BROTHER?! Motherfucking done, LIKE A MOTHERFUCKING COWARD HAHAHA.
[ Lips slowly grew into a grin as a hand slid over the gaping wound in his gut. ] ...For now motherfucker. Yeah, we're done. UNTIL NEXT TIME BROTHER. Until next time. WE WILL BE WHIPPED IN MOTHERFUCKING HATE. [ A thick crude snort. ] Don't forget about it, brother.
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