vatheon | 12 ♐ This isn't April

It isn't some grand plan to get back at Darkleer for anything in particular. It's just a bit of fun, really, and the highblood's been lacking it quite a bit these days. Well, aside from his little scuffle with the Summoner some time ago, but that feels like ages ago despite being used to waiting long periods of time. It comes with the territory, being a highblood and all.

But right now, he couldn't resist the idea of just fucking around with Darkleer a bit for his own amusement and is currently at the edge of the forest with an unconscious Summoner slung over his shoulder. Sure, it's a bit of a hike from the blueblood's hive to the forest, but he moves alarmingly quick for a big troll. Using the bit of flash step to help along the way doesn't hurt, either.

Nothing. Nothing nothing nothing.

Darklee can feel his heart stuffing itself up in his throat, up near his mouth as he keeps searching but there's nothing. Finally, after scouring the area around his hive and doing his best not to let the boys know, he pulls out his SFC even as he does his best to try and follow a set of tracks.

He tries to call Summoner's SFC. If he can do that, then hopefully...

A sound goes off, startling the highblood for a moment. He stops, ears perking up slightly, only to realize it's coming from Summoner's pockets. Carefully, he picks through them to see his SFC ringing like mad, and he can see that Darkleer is trying to reach him.

"Heh, oh, you ain't getting him that motherfucking easy." He chuckles to himself, wrapping his entire hand around the device and venturing further into the dense forest. The pathways are familiar and easy now, so he slips inside further and further, only then finally opening his palm to stare at the device.

It's still ringing. He picks up, not saying anything at first, just silence. He's pretty sure Darkleer is smart enough to have at least a guess to who stole his matesprit away.

Nothing, nothing, nothing. Darkleer can feel himself getting worked up with more passing moment, and he keeps himself trying to find tracks to follow. At least if he's doing something, then he's a bit closer to not tearing apart the city brick by brick, coral by coral.

For a split second, he nearly doesn't realize that the SFC has gone silent and it's so quiet, who could think that it's connected? But he does, and he stares at it as if his glare will make it talk.

Nothing.

Bitter acid seems to gather on the back of his tongue. It is all too clear who this is. A deep breath, to try and calm himself.

It doesn't work.

"I can guess who this is, even if I cannot even fathom what it is you want. I doubt it's ransom, especially with this world's lack of economy. What I can give you, however, are a set of skills I happen to possess, a set of skills I have acquired over a very long career, some of which you happened to oversee. Skills that I will not hesitate to use on you, as we both know. "

"Let my matesprit go. That will be the end of it. No tempting the Head Nurse's latest decree. No more signs carved onto your very bones."

"But if you don't..." A low, deep growl. "I will look for you, I will find you, and I will kill you."

The highblood doesn't interrupt or even answer right away as Darkleer's voice drones on and one through the receiver, coming out the other end in that slightly distorted way that most voices over the phone sound like. He can't help but feel a great sense of amusement at his anger, only encouraging him to do horrible things more and more.

"Aw, don't be all like that, motherfucker," he finally snickers, his voice low and airy. "I'll let the motherfucking shitblood go eventually, yeah? Just wanna all up and have some motherfucking personal time with him, since, well, you don't motherfucking OWN HIM. Ain't your call, motherfucker. And don't worry, I won't even put a scratch on his stinking flesh."

Darkleer can't see him, but the highblood smooths a tongue up Summoner's cheek, still snickering to himself.

"Like the dickens I do no! I explicitly told you that he is under my protection, that you would have to hold off on all your twisted desire until he woke up. Can you listen to not even simple instructions?"

Needless to say, the more that Summoner is kept from him and the more of the Highblood's voice he hears, the more worked up Darkleer starts to become. Failing like this gets under his skin and picks at all of his failures as if they were scabs ready to let blood well up again at the slightest provocation.

At the direction he's heading in, he'll soon leave the main bubble proper and enter the forest quadrant, but a part of him is hardly paying attention to that, letting his robot take control of that. Darkleer is mostly trying not to just tear a path of destruction through the city, taking deep breaths and the like.

"Rules...well, seems like all motherfucking listening to rules and instructions ain't such a big motherfucking deal to me, yeah? Sure, I all up and enforced the motherfuck out of you and the rest of your putrid filth below us, but anything motherfucking goes here. I guess." Then he busts out cackling, finally pocketing the device back into Summoner's pocket, leaving it on. It'll be like a game, telling Darkleer if he's still on the move or not.

Which he is. He moves further into the forest, reaching the little clearing right into the heart of it, and sets him down for now as he busily looks around for a good tree. Yes, he'll need a well-placed tree for this. It'll only be a matter of time before Darkleer finds him, and he won't have THAT much time.

Out of of sylladex, he holds a couple of small cans filled with white and dark grey pigment.

Oh, how the urge to tear the city apart is just so strong. Through buildings, through people, until he could find this deplorable, disgusting, depraved monster and rend him limb from limb. It would bring him such pleasure. It would make the children worried and scared.

The last thought forced him to take a deep breath and force himself into calmness. No one else needs to get involved in this. Licking his lips, he listens. That sounds like something very large moving through a heavily forested area.... The forest quadrant or the island up top. And since he doesn't hear the sounds of weather... Wind, or rain... The forest it must be.

Snorting like an aggravated horse, he tucks his SFC away and takes off as quickly as he can, murder singing in his blood.

Whether or not Darkleer would actually get his hands on the highblood or not, he doesn't seem to care. Remembering their little strife at the lighthouse only makes his skin tingle and his blood roar in his ears. Pleasant. It's a strangely pleasant feeling, not quite uncomfortably pleasurable just yet, but just getting there.

He finds the trees he's looking for and drops the unopened cans onto the forest floor. With some careful calculations, he takes the Summoner off his shoulder and holds him up right under his armpits, giving him a good once over, a fond expression on his face. It twists a little by the end, grinning as he looks at his sleeping face, and then hoists him up into the branches. The horns are much shorter due to some form of magic, but that's fine, and simply balances the troll on a couple of branches on his horns. His feet dangle about a couple feet from the ground, and when the highblood is sure that his horns won't break and is steady, he reaches for the cans.

"Heh heh, motherfucker's gonna be all nicely painted the fuck up," he mumbles to himself happily, cracking open the cans and gingerly dipping his finger into it. "Motherfucking blueblooded shit will just love this, hehh..."

In Darkleer's opinion, it takes far too long to get to the forest quadrant than he wants. By other people's perception? He's really quite quick, relying on the strength in his legs to propel him through the city. But that's not good enough for him. He needs more speed, needs to get to that beast as quickly as he can before he does something horrible. Hurt his matesprit again, even.

Once he's in the forests, there's none of his usual subtlety. The Highblood should be able to hear him coming from a mile away as he tears through the greenery, a savage snarl on his face.

When he finally bursts onto the scene, he looks a enraged mess. "Highblood-" Whatever he was about to say is lost in his throat, however, and rage slips off to be replaced by befuddlement.

What the heck.

The highblood wipes his hands off on his pants with a hum, admiring his work with a heavy-lidded gaze. It's an insult to anyone else, especially those who seem to despise his religion so, because painting of someone else's face is usually a very condescending sort of act. And even more so since, well, Summoner has no fucking clue what's even going on with his face.

He can hear the blueblood a mile away, picking up the sounds quite easily due to training his ear to listen for the unusually quiet giant. That is, if he had been trying to stay quiet. He didn't even have to bother this time and had shrugged with a chuckle, just imagining the look on his face.

"Well, well, that's my motherfucking cue to see myself out-" He lets out a honking laugh, then with a strong leap over the close by trees, he's off.

That maniac- Darkleer makes a jerky movement towards the brush where the Highblood disappeared to but at the last second stops himself. Not now, not now, he can't just leave Summoner here like this. Gritting his teeth, he instead rushes to Summoner and fusses as he pulls his matesprit down from the tree. Painting his face... What a disgusting insult. It's really a good thing that Summoner will be unconscious for a while now.

Darkleer rubs at Summoner's face as best he can, but he's in a rush, and the idea of letting him escape nags and nags at him. Finally, frustrated, he drags out a variety of robots from his sylladex. "Clean him up and return him to homebase," he snaps at them, even as he's getting to his feet with fists clenched. This is the last time he will let that thing toy with his loved ones. The very last time, he swears it.

Bow still sheathed, he takes off in the direction the Highblood disappeared into. This time, he does his best to keep his cool, the Void cloaking him again as he follows the other troll's trail.

Darkleer uses his Void, while the highblood uses his flash step to quickly move between large areas of foliage, rustling them very quietly as he maneuvers the forest like a pro. He's not planning on running from the other troll for long, mostly making this a game, a bit of a chase that'll get both their blood running hot despite their cool nature.

It's a shame, knowing that Darkleer will wipe off all that 'hard work' that the highblood had put into the design, but seeing his befuddled expression was worth it.

He lets out a chuckle, swerving every which way, then he stops at the largest tree in the forest. It's a landmark that he's made note of, finding it a good place as any for a look out, and scales it with frightening ease. His claws dig and scrape at the bark, old wounds in the trunk from previous climbs serving as little footholds, and crouches on the lowest branch about 35 feet up from the ground.

If that's his objective, then he's definitely succeeding. The stutter in white hot emotion and rage that stumbling onto Summoner painted doesn't last for long, especially not with the chase tearing up all those old troll feelings which has made them grow into the violent predatory race they are today.

Highbloods, especially, in both 'violence' and 'predation'.

Eventually, however, the chase ceases and he digs his heels into the ground to stop his run. He's already panting, pupils nothing more than slits of black in blue eyes. It's hard to miss the Highblood- his stench, his wild mass of hair, they stand out.

"Get down here and I swear I will make your death quick and relatively painless."

There's something darkly eager in his low voice that hints he hopes and knows he puts up a fight.

He jeers at him from above, snickering. It's obvious by the choice of branch that he isn't planning on staying up there long, just taking a moment to observe Darkleer's state, a little disappointed that he isn't as frazzled in appearance as he'd like. But it's apparent by his speech that he's upset enough, and that's good enough for the highblood.

"Oh, you all up and know how to motherfucking strike a sweet little bargain, Expatriate," he says in a low voice, squinting at him, a small gleam in his eyes. "Why don't you offer me a-motherfucking-nother, one without that quick and painless motherfucking bullshit, yeah?"

Another deal, then? He can comply with that readily enough.

Almost instinctively, a part of him tries to stop himself. This is going to go too far, he can tell, it's so apparent. Obvious. But the blood is rushing in his ears, and all he can think of is how the Highblood had looked all splayed out and organs exposed and-

"If you don't get out of that tree," he growls, "then I'll tear through that arm with my own fingers and force-feed it to you until your stomach forces them all back up once more through that already disgusting mouth of yours."

OK, NOW he shivers in anticipation, tongue rolling out of his mouth briefly to lick his lips at the colorful image. Much better than the drab boring pictures that he always seems to swab out with his usual uptight and formal speech. He cracks his neck, rolls his shoulders, then leaps down from the branch with a thunderous sound.

"Now that's all motherfucking better!" And with that, he lunges forward to slam his shoulder into Darkleer.

Feeling that massive weight- larger than even him- collide into the ground has Darkleer's teeth seem to shake in his jaw. Still, he keeps himself grounded, teeth firmly planted, and just take the tackle as best he can. No finesse in this fight. He just wants to watch the other bleed.

While he does kick at the Highblood's legs to try and upset his balance, take the beast down with him, Darkleer is more focused at slamming his free fist towards that painted face. He wants to see that paint ruined, blood running down his face, and bruises scattered across his skin.

His legs move about here and there, trying to avoid the kicks against his shins, but a couple do land and it just makes him angry. He ducks to avoid a fist from slamming into his face, striking out with a hand once there's a bit of a distance between then, claws out and ready to rip off his face right from the get go.

He's nothing like how he was when fighting at the lighthouse. Full-strength GHB is a lot tougher, and Darkleer should know this.

But, he does get a good clean clock to the jaw, and that makes him clench his teeth and swing right back.

Oh, Darkleer knows. He just doesn't care.

A sharp breath is taken when he jerks his head back to avoid those enormous claws before he's right back into the fray. The blow to his face knocks his glasses away, and without another thought, Darkleer hides them away in his sylladex. It's just so natural to him now.

So the Highblood gets a clear view of those bright eyes of his, all the brighter thanks to the orange color which seems to thicken in the eyes of enraged nobility. Every death wish he hopes for the Highblood is obvious in those eyes, every bit of released murderous intent. Another sharp jab towards the Highblood's stomach, and then Darkleer is reaching up into that mess of hair. His fingers ache to wrap into it and tug him down- yes, he does want a grasp on those horns.

He made a promise, after all.

He doubles over at the jab to his gut to lessen the blow, but he still growls in anger as he feels air rush out of his system too quickly. His own hands reach out to dig sharp claws into his skin through whatever thick clothing, feeling his head tug down by his horns.

"Ooh, getting all up and motherfucking PERSONAL, aren't you?" He snickers, huffing out a growl due to strain. He dislodges his claws from Darkleer's body and pulls on the long hair that's grown much longer than back in his Executor days, curling it around his large knuckles, threatening to just tear it clean out.

"Shut up." He doesn't bother with niceties, not when he is so close to being able to tearing out the Highblood's throat. One hand curls around the horn it has and starts to tug and press against it. If he can just tear out one of them, it would be the sweetest kind of victory. Darkleer is pulling back his other fist in preparation for a slam into his superior's face when he feels his head jerked back.

Unlike when his body had been torn at, for some reason, he feels the tug in his hair crystal clearly- each bit being yanked out or simply pulled on. Moaning lowly as his head is pulled back, he tries to tangle his legs around the Highblood's. Bring him down and he's certain he can get the upper hand...

Even when Darkleer's legs try to trip him up, the highblood tenses his calves, fighting against the full power of the blueblood. But their strength is so evenly matched that eventually he gives, but not without making it all kinds of difficult for him.

He merely skids on one knee, still latched onto Darkleer, trying to wrestle him onto his back, pushing and shoving against the other's pull and tugs.

The Highblood always makes things difficult; this is no particular surprise. Still, Darkleer can't help but gasp as he's forced to his back. With all his strength, he tries to fight against it. Legs entwined as they are, he tries to use that to his advantage and press back against him. His hips push up against him as he tries to reverse things.

"Seemed eager for torn horns- before," he snarls out, giving a particularly hard twist of his hand. His other grabs at the Highblood's face. That massive hand in his hair is one thing- one terribly delicious thing if he were to be honest, which he never is with himself- but those jaws... He wants nothing to do with them.

He immediately scowls at the hand on his face, opening his mouth to bare his teeth at him, almost hissing. Glaring daggers, he presses down onto Darkleer's hips that push up at him, willing him to stay down. A position that he feels more used to seeing the blueblood in.

"Only if they're the motherfucking kind all shaped and fit for flying off a motherfucking bow," he snickers, though a bit out of breath. He snaps his teeth near Darkleer's face, trying to get a mouthful between his fangs, to feel the squish and piercing of flesh. The hand that's not grabbing at Darkleer's hair pulls back into a fist, ready to pummel his face.

Beast, animal, lower than barkbeasts, lower than spiders- Using his grip on the horn and his nails tearing at paint and flesh, he manages to keep his head away from those bestial jaws. It involves pressing his hair and own horns into the dirt, yes, but he'll spare prettiness for now.

"Touch my horns and I-" Before he can finished snarling out a threat, a fist collides into his cheek. He chokes on his words, and the world is shaky. For a brief moment, the hand on the horn loosens up in surprise before quickly trying to get a grip again. After falling away from the Highblood's face from the impact, he goes for the throat with his other set of short nails.

Any normal troll with short nails such as Darkleer's woud've failed to even leave proper bruises on his tough skin, but coupled with Darkleer's strength, they puncture little wounds in his throat and he gasps harshly, though a strained chuckle follows right after.

"And what, motherfucker? That's all you can motherfucking muster up with those beefed up biceps of yours?" He purrs with an almost endearing tone, a sick smile, still satisfied with the blow to Darkleer's face. He gives the horns a good twist, smashing him in the dirt some more. Yeah, get that pretty face all caked in dirt.

He merely presses forward heavily, crushing him with his weight while the free hand grabs him by the front and pulls him up with him as he quickly gets to his feet, still very much aware of the nails in his throat.

That blasted mocking tone. Instinct has him snarl, which is a bad move. The hand forcing him into the ground force dirt into his mouth, which gets caught in his throat and makes him cough painfully, body unable to keep its focus on combat completely. As the Highblood pulls him up, Darkleer glares at him with watering eyes and saliva on his chin. With the prior weight challenging even his body's resistance to crushing force and the coughing up dirt, he's a bit out of breath but no less determined to make a mark.

"Going to kill you," he wheezes, jerking at the Highblood's horn while he works his nails to try and open up more of the Highblood's throat. "It will feel so sweet to open up your rotting corpse again."

The highblood bursts out into laughter, a soft coo - malicious in tone - following it. He coughs some more, twisting his claws into the grip on Darkleer's front. It's tempting to just shove him off, throw him over to the side to give them a bit of room, but the strong grip on his horn tells him that's a bad idea.

They're both struggling along on their feet now, pushing against each, clawing, gripping, tugging and yanking painfully. He snarls, baring his teeth. His hand that was tugging up on the other troll's clothing now moves to the hand attacking his throat, curling his long fingers around Darkleer's wrist and squeezing.

"Not unless I first all get my motherfucking claws into your disgusting carcass and rip out your still-beating filth pumping vascular system with my bare hands!" He hisses, licking his lips, grinning wide to show off all his gleaming teeth.

"Rot in hell first, you cretin," is hissed right back, even as Darkleer struggles to keep his grip. There is nothing more in the whole wide world that he wants more than to tear out his throat and relish in the indigo that would spill out. Not his freedom, not Summoner's awakening, not a quadrant that can actually keep him calm- nothing. Just sweet torn flesh beneath his nails and blood up to his elbows.

The only thing keeping him remotely in control is the hand on the Highblood's horn, he knows. That won't keep him on top forever, he knows, if he can even pretend to be there. The still rational part of his mind knows he needs to do something, anything. The ache going through his captured wrist is warning to it.

After what seems like ages of grunting and pressing back against the Highblood, sweat dripping down his throat, he finally comes to a decision. Letting go of his throat, he sacrifices balance for a knee straight up to the Highblood's ribs. Then he's quickly trying to shift their weight so he can get on top, snarling like a rabid animal all the while.

It is amazing how much control GHB seems to have over Darkleer. He merely laughs and taunts him, and it sends him into a blinded fury, throwing aside everything that means something to him, turning him into his whirlwind of violence and bloodlust. GHB loves it so fucking much that it sickens him.

He lets out a pained gasp when nails finally pull from his throat. The blood flows slowly, but he can feel it against his hypersensitive skin along with the pain that obviously came with it. The knee hits him square in stomach, feeling his ribs creak and groan - but not snap - and he doubles over.

"Ungh!" He grunts, letting out a barking laugh after, enjoying the throngs of pain wash over him. His hand also lets go of Darkleer's horns and hair, opting for his shoulders now to counter his attempts to get on top of him. But the surprise blow to his middle makes him falter and he snarls and growls back. Darkleer gets on top like he wanted, but GHB doesn't stop wrestling and pushing at him, digging his nails hard into Darkleer's shoulders to draw blood.

There's always been such heavy control and influence in their relationship, as much as Darkleer himself despises it and wishes he could figure out a way to get rid of it. Before, it was simple positioning. Indigo ruled over blue, Subjugglators over Archeradicators, a relationship of a superior and that which had to kneel before him. Now, it's simple hatred, and he still pulls at his strings, playing with him like a puppet.

Which, of course, just makes him hate him more.

As he finds himself pushing on top, a trill of victorious excitement runs through him like an electric shock up his spine. He has him, he has him, he has him. It's a struggle, to be sure, but the adrenaline filling up his veins and the chemicals which so fog up a highblood mind do well to convince him that it is happening easier than it really is. He pushes back, determined to keep his place even as he can feel those claws puncture past skin. Blood is dripping down his arms, but he only has eyes for the Highblood.

It's hard to actually get an opening with how much the Highblood is resisting; more of his time is spent fighting to stay like this than anything, one hand pressing down against him and the other still hanging onto his horn. The second he spots any kind of opening at all, he's quick to try and smash his elbow in the other troll's face no matter the cost.

Darkleer can just think he has him for now. He'll allow it, as he continues to fight and snarl against him. It might be a deadly struggle to keep those claws from ripping his throat out. Hell, he knows the blueblood's got the strength and motivation for it. The waves of bloodlust just waft off of him like a pungent perfume, clouding the highblood's head as he twists his head to get those hands off his horns.

But despite all this, he can't help but chuckle in between. Watching Darkleer like this on top of him, desperately searching for an opening, it sends a shock down his spine. A low moan escapes his lips, grinning wide and parting his teeth for a brief moment to let his tongue slide out and lick his lips.

How about a little distraction for Darkleer, hm?

"Motherfucking breathtaking little display you're all up and shoving into a brother's face," he says, body twisting, legs reaching up to clench around Darkeer's waist. It's an attempt to try and roll him over onto his back, but it'll take a few tries at least...and with the blueblood struggling to keep him down? Yeah, it'll be a challenge. His hips rock up against Darkleer's, cackling louder, finding the pleasure he gets merely from pushing against him as a huge joke.

It would be a lie to say that hearing a moan fall from those slobbering lips doesn't make a jolt go right down is spine and has it curl up in the pit of his stomach. As a truth, however, it's far too shameful. Far too appalling, and dishonorable to feel such things towards his matesprit's kismesis-

Darkleer's eyelids flutter and he gives a low rumbling growl that isn't quite pure aggression. Even through the animalistic desire to see his guts spill across the forest floor, he can't deny how good it feels. He knows he can't be distracted, that a distraction could cost him so much when they're pressed together like this. Darkleer tries to fight back, tries to use any hold that comes to mind.

But it's hard. ~~And I don't mean his dick.~~ That goddamn cackling won't stop, and it just keeps getting under his skin and setting him aflame inside. That wretched rocking makes something in him twitch and god, GOD, he has hated this clown for so long, ever since he met him in that filthy repugnant thing he called a throneroom- when he's eventually, inevitably rolled onto his back, it happens with a snarled out moan.

"Shut your mouth, you, you bastard," he growls, face flushed with exertion and perhaps more. He bucks his hips up to try and dislodge the larger troll, and chokes back a groan in his throat.

Kismesis or not, his hatred is pretty well spread out. So although he does have a certain tender hatred and rivalry with the Summoner (which a more proper kismesissitude should consist of), he can't help but feel that same aggression involved with the Summoner with Darkleer. Though he knows for a fact that it's much darker, and death is much more likely.

Once he's successful in rolling Darkleer onto his back and he's tightly straddling him, he still laughs, snickering close to his face. His maw draws near to his ear, his voice getting raspy as he laughs.

"Aw, you gotta motherfucking make me if you can't all up and ask real NICE-LIKE." His teeth snap by his ear, snipping some of his hair, then rolls his tongue out to lap heavily against his ear. His large hands are up, grasping Darkleer's upper arms, and nails scrape and tear into skin still as he grinds his body into him.

He admits that it feels good. Feels good to try and overpower this impudent motherfucker, get him gasping and maybe rile him up with that sick hateful desire and warp those feelings into more primal ones aside from violence. Make him feel real shame. He knows Darkleer's display of violence, recklessness and utter disobedience is still pretty new to him - it's only happened one other time, after all. So to take it one step further and see how far the motherfucker can fall? Yeah, that's the plan.

Why does the raspy feel of that voice against his ear feel so good? Darkleer shudders while that slimy muscle slips along his ear and side of his face. He tries to twist and thrash his head about, hoping to smash his horns into the Highblood's face, or daze him somehow, just long enough to get back on top.

It would be a lot easier, admittedly, if he still had the use of his arms. Easier still if he wasn't being rutted into, easier if it didn't feel so blastedly good. Hating the Highblood in general feels good, especially openly. On Alternia, it would be a death wish. In Vatheon, it... is still actually pretty much a death wish.

"Politeness- never did a thing before," he wheezes, trying to snap back and get flesh of his own to bite into. Pleasure is combining with adrenaline to make any complicated thought an enviable ability; it doesn't help that being trapped and held down like this just does something for him even in a horrible situation like this. Darkleer hardly thinks on it as he squirms and rocks back with his hips.

Had it been any other troll, all that thrashing would've done little good. The Grand Highblood is notoriously strong and cruel so only one as strong as Darkleer (perhaps even Equius if he didn't have such a debilitating reaction around him due to his chucklevoodoo) could even begin to throw him off. It's an effort, grunting and grinding down on him, clenching his legs as hard as he can to quell any movements. And even then, if he kept it up long enough, the highblood could lose his grip on him.

Darkleer DOES get a good clock on the highblood's head with his horns, blood flowing down the side of his face almost immediately. A hard hit with a shallow cut, and he grunts, his grip only tightening on Darkleer's thick arms.

"It's always WORTH A MOTHERFUCKING TRY," he snarls, snapping his head back as Darkleer's teeth snap down near his ear. He could feel the tips graze them, and he thrusts his hips forward again, hard, enough to bruise.

"You never motherfucking know when a brother's all feeling motherfucking generous."

It's a good thing- or maybe a very very unfortunate thing with how he's trying to escape- that Darkleer likes bruises. Bruises, scratches, cuts, blood dripping down onto his face that's so much higher than his own and oh his breath catches. He can't help it, really. Troll culture encourages such things already, and with his particular desires...

"Get off me please," he snarls after another hopeful snap of his jaws, still bucking and twisting, half for want of escape, half because it feels good. "Before- aah, before I force your eyes out, out of their sockets and knot your hair through the- oh-" A bit of indigo slipping against his lips, and when he licks them, the taste seems to make his pupils dilate even more.

"With grub eyes on top."

Darkleer won't get him twice with those jaws. At least not while he's aware of how dangerously close they are to his face. He closes one eye, blood starting to flood over his eyelids, and he lets out a satisfied growl when Darkleer complies, saying 'please'-

"Ahh..." He sighs again, his good eye opening a little wider. That reaction from Darkleer is good, perfect, and he flicks out his tongue to stretch it over to where the blood is flowing. He licks his own blood, keeping his weight down on Darkleer, starting to grind against him, unable to hide the obvious lust and bloodlust in his movements.

"Well, didn't motherfucking say it was a guarantee, motherfucker," he groans, breathing out his mouth heavily as a delicious sort of pressure builds up in his lower half. "But think about it. Don't you all wanna motherfucking do that nasty eye-gouging bullshit to a brother? Don't you? Heh, gotta stick real motherfucking close, then."

And then his hand is roughly coming down to claw into Darkleer's thigh, squeezing, puncturing, and still moving his hips in ways that is just beyond suggestive. It's pretty obvious what the highblood wants from Darkleer now while he's still writhing about under him.

Edited 2012-11-30 03:30 (UTC)

Lust, bloodlust- there's hardly any difference. Either one forces a rush of excitement and desire through his system, a flood that wipes through his mind and washes away all semblance of rational thought. Just a taste of that noble blood is enough to push him over the edge. Normally, his disgust at hearing that heavy moan would help stop him from going through with this but now it just seems to make the stirring in his crotch all the more noticeable.

"Let go of my hands- aah!" He jerks as he feels those nails dig past skin and into muscle. Darkleer's mouth goes dry as he feels his blood begin to well up and flow past those monstrous fingers. The small part of him that had been screaming at him to stop finally drowned under the force of everything.

However reluctant he was to admit it, he had possibly wanted this for a long time.

Slowly, the rhythm of his hips begins to match the Highblood's so that he can get as much pleasure as possible. "Your blood is going to taste so good when I tear out your throat," he hisses, still licking up what of it he can as it drips down to him. His teeth are stained indigo and blue now, and his lips smeared with the colors.

He knows this about Darkleer, and he loves it, loves knowing that even though his immediate reaction would be to recoil and spit in his face that he yearns for it. Darkleer wants to feel the coupling of pure hatred and lust with the highblood. GHB knows it.

"Ahhh, yes," he hisses, eyes rolling back into his head feeling the large body beneath him jerk in pain. Then the gradual movement of the blueblood's hips make him grin wide in amusement and satisfaction, in approval, rewarding the traitor with continuous thrusts and grinds. The sensation building up is maddening, needing more...

"Not before I all up and motherfucking get there first," he replies, an evil gleam in his eyes as he lunges forward and snags those indigo-coated lips with his teeth. It's hardly a kiss, mostly sharp teeth digging into his lower lip, growling and lapping at the blood that flows.

Approval. Just like all those sweeps before, as if he were a pet he could jerk about on a chain. Maybe that's still true. The idea of it makes him press into the violent kiss eagerly, not sparing a moment for even a snarl. Darkleer is more interested in paying back what he's being given; it's only fair.

His teeth might not bee the layers of steak knives that seem to be in the Highblood's mouth, but he is determined, and he has quite a bit of strength on his side. While his lower lips is being torn to shreds, he tries to go for the Highblood's upper lip, not caring if it tears at more of his own flesh. His arms strain more, and his heels dig into the ground as he tries to get some leverage while simultaneously grinding up against him.

"Scum" is the last thing he manages to hiss out before he gets lost in his own hellish feelings.

12 ♐ This isn't April

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one more reply then fade?

yes that