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Tread Lightly [closed] - Printable Version

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RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - deific - 11-03-2015

[font=arial" size="1] For the first time in seemingly forever, Demagol felt momentously helpless. Rhailo was accepting, but it seemed it was because she had to be. This should have been expected, as he did not give her much of any other choice. The day and night had been a long one already and his muscles were tired of such work relating to bounty hunting. He was no one to be fooled though, and read the female like a book as she fled the immediate scene into the bathroom. It was a demonstration of choice, really. She wanted to see if he had it in him. Deep down, she knew he would take her if he really wanted to. All she needed to do was convince him. With such ease had she done so. Physical prime? On point. Sharp wits? Out the window. This was something unrelated to his wits, more of a deep carnal hunger that resonated in the depths of his belly. It was insatiable, arose without warning, clouded his vision to mask out any reason to not do such. Suddenly, that warmth emitting from Demagol’s body wasn’t of care, or compassion, or even necessary survival. It was lust.

As he came to a stand the Mandalorian gripped upon the elastic fabric of the shirt he wore, pulling it upward along his body despite the way it hugged his flesh. More of his physique was revealed, muscles coming into view all over the place. It messed up his hair as it clipped over his head. He is apathetic. More tattoos came into view, scrolling along his shoulders, back, and upper chest. The shirt was dropped upon the ground without a care in where it lands and Demagol stepped around the edge of the bed. His thumbs hooked downward into the same type of material which clasped from his knees up to his hips, only to drag them down and step out of the leg holes one by one. This too, was tossed aimlessly across the room. Taunted ever-so successfully, he made his way toward the shower across the room. Though the room wasn’t checked out by the duo he walked in like he owned the place, closing the door behind him with one hand.

With no where for the steam of the hot water to escape it began to fog up the room the two were in. He passed through the fog, those blue eyes of his watching every little motion the Auroun made inside of that shower. Her tantalizing body quivering under those conditions and the way she pleasured herself right in front of him dauntingly made him desire her even more. Perhaps she would have many more reasons for him to keep her around than he had predetermined. Enjoy herself without him though? That was unacceptable. He would have to straighten this one out quickly, as such actions weren’t allowed in his wake. Without pausing he made his way deeper into the bathroom until he was at the shower, and even then, he simply stepped in. Eyes locked upon the female who was pleasuring herself directly in front of him. The nerve she had. That commanding personality of Demagol’s blazed up out of control.

A strong hand interrupted Rhailo’s initial pleasuring of herself and forced her flatly against the wall, whereas the other reached downward and clamped upon her voluptuous hip with a firm grip. His body craned and leaned downward, lips invading Rhailo’s personal space by claiming ownership of her own. The kiss was messy and forced as shower water bounced and trickled along both of their naked bodies. His muscled body pressed against her soft and dainty one, ridges of definition allowing shapes to be clearly visible. The lips remain bonded for a few more moments, but then detach themselves as Demagol looked down to Rhailo with a sinister smile. The same sinister smile that had been hidden for so long under that mask of his.

The hand in which grasped the Auroun’s hip pulled backward and the opposing finished the rotation and positioned itself upon the female’s back. In this motion he had spun the female around so that her upper body was pinned against the wall and her plump, enticing ass was purposely stuck out for the Mandalorian’s enjoyment. He knew that she was turned on already, but his libido became obvious when his hardened cock came forward and prodded against the female’s asscheek in the form of a tease. That grin remained ever present though, and he removed that hand from Rhailo’s hip and brought it backward. Eyes sank downward and overlooked the female’s alluring body from behind, ass and cunt in all. He knew what she wanted. He would give it to her. There was no preparation involved for the female except for that humorous prod, for as soon as he drew back he plunged himself directly into Rhailo’s cunt without so much as a whim of hesitation. As the head of his cock forced her folds to part he was greeted by an unforgiving tightness already. Against his better knowledge it had coaxed a low sound of pleasure from between his partially pursed lips. Muscles along his body flexed, gleaming in the water which ran along and against them. Veins and shapes, all having their own reserve of power. His strength was firing up now as he mounted the Auroun from behind.

By god, had her taunting worked, for he was back into his animalistic mindset once more. His actions became rough and forceful, demanding. Suddenly she was pinned against the wall and helpless to do anything other than what he wanted her to do. She was his, afterall. He would do just as he pleased with her. His hips came forward, guiding the unrelenting cock all the way up into the female’s cunt until he had based himself and her ass compressed against the pit of his groin. There was only a momentous pause though, and Demagol withdrew himself partially just so that he could slam back forward and recoil Rhailo against the wall. The clap of flesh against flesh and flesh against wall filled the bathroom with sound. Desire sparked up and Demagol hungrily leaned forward while he fucked the female from behind. His mouth opened just enough so that he could sink his teeth into the side of the female’s neck, biting her while his cock was buried inside of her slick, gripping cunt. It was another way for him to claim her, her body. A form of domination. Those curves of her body tempted Demagol as the prize they were. Everything about this female’s physique was desirable, and it was all his. He wouldn’t waste any inch of this female’s body to be free from his debauchery and lust.

Teeth slowly withdrew from Rhailo’s neck and the Mandalorian placed his lips directly upon the smooth flesh underneath her ear. An usher trickled outward just loud enough for the female to hear as the Mandalorian claimed her body as his property. “My name is Demagol Sento, and you are mine..”

RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - Kat - 11-03-2015

A silhouette lingered before it was lost like a shadow at high noon, replaced by the hunter's set of features she had seen so briefly before, she was almost surprised. Almost. He didn't even ask to join her; he just stepped in, and immediately made himself comfortable in her presence. Looming. Rhailo was mid objection when his his lips were on hers, hungry. Carnal. For a split second, warnings flashed through her consciousness to continue their objections while his grip put a stop to her pleasuring digits. Back against the shower stall, all the Auroun could do was close her eyes and let herself be taken. It wasn't necessarily consensual, it just was. Demanded from her. He was taking what he intended to pay for, and as the woman ran her tongue against his bottom lip, it was apparent she was willing. So they worked now on a bartering system-- To ensure her safety, she would give him just what he craved. The politics of the matter were as old as the act itself; there was no shame in the use of sex as a commodity.

Especially when one was left without a choice. Perhaps, had the Auroun wanted him to snap out of this animal state, the hunter would have. Demagol was a warrior of an order older than some races, and despite their work in bounty hunting, there was a code of ethics. Honor. They weren't rapists... so he already knew Rhailo had no intention of screaming, or trying to break away. As Demagol tasted her parted lips, one might assume he was asserting his dominance, and in such, it was left as her burden to either accept this, or to fight him for the position. Rhailo was too tired to fight. That was the excuse she would use if ever prompted over it. She was too tired to fight, but also too aroused to want anything more than to be fucked by her mysterious savior. After all, wasn't he something of that sort, having rescued her from a bounty she would never have been able to pay off otherwise?

A soft whimper left the woman when his lips pulled back, but he soon was moving her in a circle to face the wall, where she rested her features sideways so he could see her profile. Quite abruptly, muscular arms held her against the surface, pinned. Rhailo wouldn't be going anywhere until he was finished with her, even if that meant the Mandalorian would have to hold the Psion to keep her knees from buckling beneath her. A strong hand guided her hips away and out, ensuring her ass was available for him to linger over in great detail. The shower was unrelenting, just coating the pair in a wash of warmth, and the woman savored the heat on her fatigued muscles. All that running, and now she was spread, wanton for his affections. The head of his member prodded and Rhailo shivered, realizing what was happening as her expression shifted to a hazy screen of lust. The male was privy to her portrait, catching how she bit her bottom lip secretly when he pressed the head of his cock along a meaty cheek to test the waters.

Maybe just to prove that he also could tease a response out of her.

There was no pause to Demagol's pace. Just when she was getting comfortable in the embrace of his grip, the head of his cock slid along the curve of her nether lips to part them, then forced its tip in that tight, lubricated hole of hers. Rhailo couldn't stop herself from emitting a series of lilting murmurs, her lashes fluttering before they shut to him. All she wanted to feel was how his cock spread narrow walls, making her body fit him. It was all muscle memory, taking his throbbing member enough times that her cunt knew just how to please him. In time, he'd have her trained. For now, the Auroun was tensed ever so slightly while the hunter sank deep in her folds, driving himself to bottom out while her plump rear spread teasingly at his waist. Just as he wanted, the Mandalorian had her to himself, and the muscles within wrapped pleadingly around the girth of his piece. Sometimes, the constricting muscles seemed so taut and strained around his cock, it felt like they could push him out.

Maybe they were trying to, but the Auroun personally wasn't. On the contrary, her hips worked to grind where they sat at the base, daring him to go further. To fuck her hard. When a craned visage moved to bury teeth in her neck, Rhailo cried out; the sound shifting from sharp pain to a purr of longing. Throaty, desperate desire. Stretched around his cock, she was as expectant as she was frightened. The edge of danger always seemed to get her juices flowing, and where he was making idle thrusts to drill into the Auroun, her breasts were shoved into the wall he used as a brace for them. Her sounds were quiet, panting murrs of praise, fed with each shift of his hips. Repetition just seemed to tense her figure, making his motions through her tight sex that much harder as the cluster of inner muscles kneaded at the length.

Possibly blind to much of what was happening, all her senses seemed to focus on where he invaded her between parted thighs. Even when his mouth released her throat, Rhailo gave little more than a faint sigh while listening. Hopeful to hear more as he growled under his breathe a name she wouldn't soon forget. The barest hint of a smile tugged at her lips as she replied with a defiant whisper, "You know my name.. Fuckin' prove it."

RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - deific - 11-03-2015

[font=arial" size="1] These flares which pended in Demagol’s insides only grew hotter as the scene grew more and more carnal. While the female was correct to assume the code of Mandalorian ethics, it was inevitable to accept that Demagol had literally bought her. Her life was his. He would use it as he desired, and right now, he wanted to fuck her. The state only grew more demanding of Demagol and his mindset, his body. The tightness was something to revel at, the way she gripped and squeezed at him mercilessly. No matter how much she tightened herself around him however, he would not relent. Each succeeding stroke that followed the last was just as strong, if not stronger. There was humor to be found in the situation, even in the pure lustful nature of it. She had taunted him again. This woman simply adored testing the Mandalorian’s bounds, though she had honestly only scratched the surface on what the bounty hunter was capable of.

That taunt in particular was met only with force and ferocity, as Demagol’s thrusts thereafter reflected more of his innate ability. One of his knees forcibly spread the female’s legs farther apart and he brought that slack hand forward with sudden tension. The clash of flattened palm against wet plump asscheek was extremely loud and caused a ripple to travel all the way across Rhailo’s ass. A grin was apparent on Demagol’s expression, knowing that such an action would not only make the female cry out in pain, surprise, and pleasure, but also make her tense even tighter around his demanding cock. Such a feeling was more than worth experiencing, even if it were in a somewhat selfish nature. The Mandalorian was otherwise apathetic, a passionate look in his eyes to accompany his motions.

“Oh.. I have only just begun..” The words rang true, and with the company of a smirk. For a period of time he continued to thrust the female up against the wall, hand which spanked her guiding its way up her ass, to her hip and eventually up along her side. Demagol couldn’t help that he wanted to be adventurous with the female right now. That same hand slipped up to the female’s chest and groped one of her supple breasts, pulling her back from the wall enough so that every recoil from the thrust wouldn’t smash her whole body forward, and instead upward. He thrived off of the noises the female made, no matter how subtle they were. It gave him incentive, desire. That same feeling caused him to be intoxicated by the lust the two of them shared, which only stacked upon itself as their bodies bonded.

Just as the two of them appeared to be getting comfortable in their position, Demagol changed the situation up again. Strong arms whirled Rhailo around so that she was facing the Mandalorian once more, then force her back against the wall and slide her up it. Muscles visibly tensed and flexed while he lifted her up enough so that her groin resided above his own. The way down for the both of them was tantalizingly slow, but eventually the meaty head of Demagol’s cock forced its way back into the female’s nether regions. Both of the Mandalorian’s hands were wrapped around the female’s ass, seeming to hold her up in an effortless manner. At the same moment he captured the female’s lips with his own again. This kiss was more demanding than the last, and Demagol invaded the Auroun’s mouth with his tongue, exploring the insides of such. There was a grin on his face and his eyes were closed, his hips bucking her up again and again, without pause. There were no attempts to hold back the pleasured noises which knotted in his chest, the female felt incredible wrapped around his solid length. For now she was above him, until every time she was about to sink to the very base of his cock, only to be sent all the way back up to the very head. It was a powerful process which made the female use both Demagol and the wall behind her for support.

Steam was cascading out of the shower and filling up the room, making it almost like a sauna in the refined space. Little droplets of water collected on both of their bodies even when the shower’s water wasn’t hitting them directly. The wetness caused their bodies to glide against one another with little to friction at all, smooth flesh brushing together. Energy was of no concern to the Mandalorian, as endurance was something that he constantly worked on every day of his life. In situations like these, it came to shine. He would not tire easily, and more than likely the female’s body would buckle underneath his assail before he felt the effects of their lustful makings. He pressed on still, the definition of his body giving the female an uncountable number of places to hold onto. His back and shoulders were like a miniature rock wall, easy to grip and scale. While Demagol used Rhailo’s body for his selfish desires he could only think of his future interactions with the female, how much more he would fuck her. Perhaps every day, if he wanted. Normally he wasn’t one to be forceful, but this female also seemed to enjoy taunting him on a multiple of occasions.

With his tongue in the female’s mouth he takes control of such and her slippery cunt at the same time, his cock forcing those ever-tight walls to expand as much as he needed them to. With Demagol, there was no pausing for breaks. There were no breathers. This was a ride the female was going to be forced to endure until the Mandalorian was finished with her. Maybe then could she cling onto him in desperation and rest.

RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - Kat - 11-03-2015

Maybe, in some ways, Rhailo would always taunt him. Such was ingrained in the fibers of her very being. Meant to test the limits, to find gaps in the armor of others; be the armor steel encasement, or a raw emotional shroud. She demanded to see what made him tick, to get inside that foreign head of his and read his thoughts. Perhaps become intimate with the mind that controlled his hunger if she was meant to satisfy his every wanton command. If nothing else, the Auroun wanted to be thorough. Both could meet the others expectations if they wished to, but first there were lines to cross. Boundaries to ignore. Captures to make, and prizes to claim. Dominance to show while that natural fear was instilled. Rhailo didn't trust Demagol, but in some ways, she expected to learn how to; if only to make his invasive and territorial behavior more personal.

And Gods, how he invaded her territory...

Something in the way she answered his comments brought out a ferocity in her captor, and with his hips jack-hammering against her ass, he drove his cock up and in. This was initiated by a swift swat to one spread cheek, and upon impact, the Auroun hissed weakly as her body tried to recoil, but was unable. Just more twisting of her insides, undulating tissue and musculature all working to strangle the girth of his sheathed manhood. Her body craved him. That much was apparent in how attentive the woman's buxom physique remained to his every motion, shift, or sway. Especially when the Mandalorian directed her to curve against the wall so he was able to feel himself jab inwards. A hand at her breast, rough pads toyed with the mound of decadent flesh to send sparks through the encounter. All wet and craven, seeking salvation from a man with more blood to his name than a small army.

What had changed, she wondered when Demagol manhandled the Auroun in his quest to turn her around, to send her spiraling into some lust fed romp in the shower? There was little in way of resistance from Rhailo as she wanted to taste his grinning, cruel lips. Depravity had a way of making her blood boil, and with the wall now where her back resided, the woman flickered translucent orbs at the the rise of her chest before a lingering gaze cast over the tone of Demagol's body. Sliding along his cock, the woman studied ridges and rises beneath flesh, her fingers falling to the space where they didn't meet. To rest against his pectorals, dancing lightly where heart beats thundered. Strange beast he was, Rhailo again gave way to temptation, tongue against tongue to roll languidly while he demanded she accept him.

If this was only the beginning, perhaps she was more willing than her words would otherwise admit. Her mannerisms betrayed her.

The male had claims to her rear, gripping the cheeks of her ass to drive his head to the core of her sex. How tight she remained, internally cradling that ferocity so he would always struggle to part the lining; bucking and thrashing against her pinned figure. Moans followed the course of this event, trickling through the meeting of lips to incite a sort of hidden passion. At a primitive level, Rhailo was being fucked for the sheer joy of it. Both were looking to find a release to their otherwise contained frustrations, and when battered by a steady savagery, her sounds couldn't be silenced. Just accepted as they came, needy. Quieted only when the male swallowed them between kisses. He could taste her fear and her desire, maybe even the curiosity he seemed to drag from her, as he was as mysterious then as he had been in those battle worn armaments.

Steam of the shower rose to hide them in the heat, a smothering fog that clung to the outline of her held personage so only silhouettes could be made out in the room beyond. Secretive in a way, his thrusts didn't seem capable of slowing. It brought out a series of throaty moans from his captive, and against his features, she breathed a thought. "You're a fucking animal.." And in fairness to his behavior, it was raw. Untamed. There was no keeping him at bay, with her thighs parted around his waist to wrap long dancer legs around his chiseled torso. They would pull Demagol closer, make their own plans for how he challenged her endurance with his own. That was the one advantage the Auroun had where she was pinned and forced to ride his twitching, dictating member; she could sink him so deep that he couldn't pull away.

If Demagol meant to make her feel as though she was trapped, then he would find himself no freer than Rhailo. If he wanted to be free, this wasn't the path to take.

With every sheathed jab and coaxed grazing of his tongue, the Auroun could feel the pressure building in the crunch of her abdomen. It was a slow process, a building of tensions that gripped her attention like distant signal flares being noticed on the horizon. Initially it was nothing but a twinge, a shadow she could ignore following their actions. Now though, in the heat of their passions, the sensation was starting to root itself among the turmoil of their scene, between fears and doubts. Just eating at Rhailo's resolve, tearing it to bits while Demagol made a mess of her insides; ever insistent on having the walls collapse around his girth. He wanted her to fit him, and only him, because he wanted what he bought. As she was, that was his, and her future potential? Also his.

Her hands strayed in their shivering travels, rising to meet the messy mesh of ebony locks. Entwined among his strands, pulling Demagol closer to mask her features beneath a battery of sore lips. Ego had been everything to the Auroun, and even now, she didn't want to give him the satisfaction of catching her visage blanketed with desire. No, not now. Not while her partner demanded total compliance, and she was fighting to keep him from any such thing. Devotion wasn't bought. That much both should know, considering their extenuating circumstances. If he wanted her trained, the bounty hunter would have his work cut out for him; even when she was so slick and taut around his cock. Especially then.

RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - deific - 11-03-2015

[font=arial" size="1] What Demagol was experiencing currently wasn’t exactly weakness by his part, simply just a different path away from his normal, extremely calculated self. No, this was a new kind of strength. It wasn’t reliant on a suit, it wasn’t reliant on a mission, money, or ulterior motive. This was a strength of passion. How fierce it coursed through his veins. If the female meant to make a competition out of what the two were entangled in at the moment, then Demagol would make sure that he won such a thing. Loss never came very easy to the Mandalorian, and was rarely ever accepted under any circumstance. If there were thoughts it would have been difficult to read them. Instead there were glimpses of Demagol’s interior mind, often swathed with the unruly lust which encompassed him so. But, perhaps making a competition out of this would be more fun than the Mandalorian had previously predicted. The two overwhelmed individuals could keep the other at the end of their whims while savoring everything the latter had to offer. It was a selfish game, but Demagol was oh-so eager to play it. Such a game would drive the both of them to extremes they may have never even glanced upon beforehand. The concept was irresistible in itself.

What he spoke was the truth, he had only just begun. This female would submit to him, he would make sure of that. Every convulsion, every whimpered and feverish sound she gave in feeble desperation was fuel for his fire. This billowing pyre would not be quelled easily. The craving was mutual, this insatiable determination to explore every space of the female’s depths. Here and there his eyes opened just to look upon his new property and how she contorted to his savage poundings, it was satisfying to see the pleasuring anguish painted on her features. No matter how fierce she gripped him the Mandalorian would not pause, only seeking to try even harder because of these actions. Repetitive sounds of flesh slapping against flesh and the unmistakable echo of her cunt swallowing his cock into its hungry maw. It was all so intense. These dormant desires and emotions which came to be in Demagol were almost foreign to him as well. He wasn’t exactly sure what had triggered them. Maybe it was because this when he was taunted he couldn’t simply kill the taunter. Instead, he would make them pay in a different way much more demanding.

To the victor go the spoils.

Oh, these were spoils. Since the very dawn of war women were often seen as prizes of conquest. It didn’t matter what the terms of honor were, as the claim ship of such only varied in degrees among the victors. A slave? No. Demagol had no need for such a thing. Slaves are without sound mind and body. They are articles, property, objects. What Demagol desired from Rhailo was something that he knew he could draw out of her. Willpower. Even now the female had her ways of fighting back against his incoming onslaught, refusing to fully submit to his thrusts and lustful kisses. Was it weakness though, or was it strength? The way both of them catered to their selfish desires so willingly. Was it fulfillment, or was it desperation? Meaningless questions to ask at such a time, as it was clear neither of them seemed to care about such banter. Any ability for Demagol to slip away from this passion-craven mindset were deterred when the female wrapped her legs around his muscled torso and pulled his cock even further into her kneading depths. Freedom was such an asinine concept for the bounty hunter to fathom most of the time. In his eyes, he had been far from such a utopia until this very scene. Though every single one of his actions were made ultimately by his own decision making, it was foolish to say he wasn’t influenced.

But this, this was different. He had found something to lose himself in. A silly thing to presume, no? It made sense in his head, even though wording it out would have made him seem crazy. Maybe he was crazy. The thoughts seemed to trickle outward until they were dammed up by that unmistakable bloodlust again. It wasn’t to shed her blood, but to feel her against him, upon him, around him. To be free from the female? That was the last thing Demagol wanted right now, as he accepted her legs around his body as a way of her saying, 'Don’t you dare stop fucking me…’ such a noble demand to meet so willingly. Whether she expected it or not Demagol upped the ante yet again, as if it were a habit of his, or game. He wouldn’t just let the female sink down his gripped sheath on her own anymore, nor just use his arms to force her to ascend it to the top. Now he slammed her downward with as much strength as he could muster for a suitable while, only to meet her descent with bucking hips along the midway. It made the sounds of their bodies meshing together all that much louder. Demagol loved it.

Every muscle the female cared to run her dainty fingers over flexed and tensed to her touch in a natural manner. How every movement the two of them made caused the Mandalorian’s body to tense up in different spots. It was clear he was in his physical prime, a strong heart pumping blood to all of these deadly extremities. The female would be worth every bit of credit the Mandalorian had paid to make her his personal property, even if she didn’t seek to comply as soon as he would make her. It didn’t matter, she would succumb. Oh how she pulled him closer in every regard, that similar uncontrollable hunger that couldn’t be curbed easily by any means. The trade of movements meant one of Demagol’s arms would reach up and wrap around Rhailo’s torso, all snake-like. This left only one hand to be clutched upon her plump ass, but one was enough for the Mandalorian to manage. That same arm which held the female took the support roll that wall originally had as he inched backward and forced her to use him like a pillar. His base was strong as he literally kept the female upon him, built legs refusing to budge or buckle. He savored everything the female had to offer, from her succulent cunt to the sweet taste of her lips and mouth. It wasn’t an addicting sensation, but the euphoria of it made Demagol hungry for more undoubtedly. What had she done to him? Why was he falling victim to his primal instincts?

Pleasured noises began to seep from the Demagol’s mouth because of a combination of all the pleasures at hand. It wasn’t controlled, perhaps it couldn’t have been. The only thing that seemed to be keeping the noise at bay and from spreading was the constant locking of passionate lips. Their noises and pleasures blended together, overlaying one another or following the latter in suit. He wanted to make her scream. It always seemed to be a demonstration of ability when it came to Demagol, that he was always willing to go that extra inch. The crucial one, the one that was a game-changer. Sooner than later the female would crumble underneath the fiery embers of her desires. The Mandalorian would be there to reap every bit of it.

RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - Kat - 11-03-2015

It had been in Rhailo's experience that men were, in some ways, more affectionate than women. More advantageous with their advances, or simply less self conscious about how they were perceived. Demagol didn't seem to care how Rhailo saw him, his strength and build on display as their flesh met with messy, grandiose slaps. Fueled by ancient hungers modern society had no appreciation for; it was what it was. An anomaly, much as the Auroun were. The sort of situation that, despite all possible obstacles, barreled into existence on a tide of desire neither involved could overcome. A show of weakness, perhaps. It made the woman prickle, her skin hot and energized with unfamiliar static that teased her nerves and brought a rough moan from her lips. The Mandalorian would taste how she struggled not to satisfy every urge he expressed, fighting with what little willpower remained in her fatigued frame.

She wouldn't be dragged into his fantasies so quickly. No. There was still resistance. Conflict in the woman. But Gods, his body was so extraordinarily attuned to their shared movements, forcing the continued meeting of two thirsty egos. Not that Rhailo would admit the burning in her stomach pitted between anxiety and accumulated friction. It just continued to grow, manifesting into the swelling rise of impending ecstasy. Without a means to stop him, there was no stemming the sounds that escaped her. At times, their kiss could mask the pleasure, but it was unrelenting. The Auroun wanted to moan for him, to encourage the driving of his captured hips against splayed thighs. Her own hips were shameless, ecstatic to mesh at the sides of his waist when his cock was based in tangling rapture. Nothing prepared the woman for all this fiery aggression, but she was feeding from it; giving herself too much slack.

Sliding against the wall in her travels, Rhailo flickered open her gaze mid kiss and watched him through hooded lids. She could see fucking him again. Under different circumstances, different rules. There was a future in her eyes that seemed to blindly admit too much in the moment. Her bottom lip quivered, and instinctively, she bit it to stifle whimpers he didn't need to hear. Another futile effort on her part when Demagol smashed their mouths into a bruising mess of adoration. It was just too much. Skilled digits dug into the cheek of her ass to keep the Auroun hoisted, his cock between her folds making constant demand that she spread and give passage to his girth. Everything blurred through her narrowed vision, and a sense of dizziness encroached over her sensibilities. The water splashed soaked hair, drowning her companion while droplets pinged off in her direction.

Rhailo detached herself in the moment to focus. All of her attention was settled in the split he occupied, the steady thrumming pulse of his member, where slick walls rippled to mold. Form fitting. She must have felt like she was made to take every inch of his carnal desires, and in a way, Rhailo was convinced she hadn't felt this way before. Did she really deserve it? In any sense, she wasn't of sound mind to argue her worth-- he held her tight now. Once more, weightless. The hands massaging his scalp pulled hair while the longing in her loins seemed to reach it's precipice. There was no way he could hold her in such a fashion and not know what it would do to her libido; his length was drenched by her pent up impulses.

One did well not to try and fight the inevitable, after all.

Lashes flickered closed, but continued to bat idly against moist cheeks. A flush rose over the skin of her face, her lips parting as a weak groan stole from marred throat. Such a sound could only evolve, change to adapt when her torso tightened and her breasts heaved against the carved flesh of his chest. Her back arched hard into the arm about her figure. Inside was locking and grinding to a pleasure induced halt, reacting as if it could contain the body of his cock to unleash oncoming spasms of undulating muscles. There was no avoiding the climax she experienced; it wouldn't be ignored. Throwing her head back to howl, words could be picked out through the scream, uttered for no one but the Mandalorian. "O-oh god, I'm gonna cum..." And with that, Rhailo was silenced just long enough to hit the surface of her orgasm. Diving in, the plunge left her breathless.

Arms refused to leave Demagol's shoulders, hugging him with more emotion than he had garnered from his captive throughout their evening outside the hotel room. Just wanting to feel as much of his heat against her own as was possible, Rhailo was weak and desperate. Begging with the squeezing of her coated insides, pleading with the whispered pants she could manage through parted maw. The legs corded around his backside did everything in their power to still him just long enough to focus on her climax. To shift his interests to the way her warm juices seeped along the head of his cock, sincere as they were unavoidably coaxed from the Auroun. Shaking, quaking, and writhing in her state, nothing said satisfaction like being worshiped by another, and Rhailo felt entirely entitled to that submerging lust. No thoughts, nor feelings outside of the sensations radiating from her filled hole.

Just as it was. Just as it should be.

Demagol would be left with her hooked embrace where she had enough trust in her captor that she could marvel in her passion without fear of falling. That possessive, somewhat protective hold the male kept Rhailo in was worth the exertion. There was no sensation she kept hidden from him in this vulnerable state. If this was any sort of game, the woman lost to his affections, and seemed all too happy to taste defeat where their tongues once more met. Her kisses were aimless, uncontrolled, just the barest twirls of her tongue to lap at his between cries. Euphoric for the time being, free from all those panicked thoughts that otherwise buzzed in her head like a hive of angry bees. Isn't that what he wanted from her? Submission. As a shapely, shuddering collection of overly sensitive nerve endings, Rhailo fit the bill.

At least for now.

RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - deific - 11-03-2015

[font=arial" size="1] Those words, the admittance, the little utterance of her urges overcoming her was savoring. Be it his lack of mercy toward the female, or that ever-consuming fissure which bore through him by way of passion, Demagol refused to stop. If anything, he went harder as the female was reaching the apex of her climb. An excuse could have been that he was repaying the female for her servitude while he fucked her senseless, but it was obvious in the back of his head that he was just doing it for selfish reasons. He continued because he wanted to keep feeling pleasure, because he wanted to make the female dissolve lower and lower until she accepted there was no other alternative, because even if she couldn’t stand the magnification of pleasure she would be forced to go through it for taunting him so. Was it justifiable? Demagol didn’t care. He didn’t need to justify anything that he did to the female. She simply had to accept it for what it was. He felt that was painfully apparent to the female by now though, the way he carried himself. His ways were without whim. He never pressed forth excuses, but instead produced results. One can’t argue with results. Even as she writhed against him in ecstasy there was no loosening in his grip, no fault in the way he held her so securely. She was his.

That grin never seemed to fade, as if he knew exactly what he was doing. Well, he did. This was that moment of weakness he had been waiting for. It was where the female’s body unhinged against him and she released all of her inner workings around that taut cock. He heard it, and by gods did he feel it. The way her innards convulsed and contracted around him so ruthlessly made it difficult for the Mandalorian to even contain himself at that point. To say he had complete control would have been foolish, pleasure had a way of grinding the sharpest of stones down to smooth pebbles. Such was his willpower to hold himself back. No, he had no shame. One couldn’t possibly think of shame when they were overwhelmed by things such as passion and lust. The forbearing sensations were like continuous waves crashing against the wall which was Demagol’s stamina. Was it the stamina of his muscles? No. Heaven’s no. He did not tire, not easily. It was the stamina of his cock. In every demanding second the two had shared he was perfectly capable and able, his body performing more than satisfactory for the duo. Though he was no actual machine, his body performed like one.

So when that zenith was reached and Rhailo pitched back in unforgiving pleasure, the Mandalorian went into what could be called overdrive. Her desperation would be met by savagery, indomitable endurance. Those hips of Demagol’s drilled upward again and again, forcing the female to literally ride every little second of her orgasm to its fullest potential. It was somewhat cruel to put her through such levels of pleasure, but that was the point. Hands gripped upon Rhailo’s body and refused to let her escape his hold, making it seem like she was his prisoner. In some twisted, pleasureful way, she was. The loudness, the clapping and sloshing as water battled the eloping duo. It was all noise which mixed in with those carnal thoughts circulating through their overwhelmed minds. He fed off the desperation, the final submission to their battle of passion. His celebration would be more than just the maximization of her pleasure, but of his own as well.

He couldn’t have predicted how suddenly his own building pleasure would stack upon itself. Directly in the middle of his forceful extension of the female’s orgasm he found himself suddenly tracing down the final moments of his own stable cohesion. But perhaps was the perfect time for him to submit to his own banked up pleasure? To join the female in her euphoria, her zenith, her ascension. Sharing such an experience could tip the balance, a true bonding of bodies. Not only that, but he could feel the female’s insides practically demanding that he fill her up. Such a demand could only be met with complete willingness at this point as Demagol showed in more ways that one that he was about to join her in that pleasure tsunami. Every concerning muscle on Demagol’s body tensed up and his grip became like a vice, keen on not letting the female go because of what was about to happen. That chest heaved heavily, muscled pectorals pushing against Rhailo’s plush breasts every time the Mandalorian inhaled. Even with that, the breaths were shaky and distorted, groans of enjoyment slipping from between Demagol’s lips while they were locked upon the Auroun’s. At the very peak of his climb Demagol finally succumbed to his urges.

Oh how she gripped him so mercilessly. Even if Demagol had not originally planned to cum in the female it was not like he had any choice in the matter at this point. She kept him buried so deeply inside of her, kneaded him with her walls at every single angle imaginable. Such a thing couldn’t be combated. It was like a surge in his body when he finally let himself release, overbearing sensations rippling through every fiber of his being and mind. His tongue retracted back in his mouth and he straightened his spine, shoulders seeming to almost lock in place at the same time. That mouth of his hung open somewhat as the succeeding groans became louder and louder. Each noise accompanied the spurted emptying of Demagol’s cock inside of Rhailo’s clutches. It was like she was pulling him inward at the same time, stroking and stroking him to coax every little drop of cum from his producing body. Oceanic optics were squeezed shut in this mess of glory, rolled back behind those eyelids which obscured them. Eventually he simply couldn’t help himself, and as he emptied the very last of his payload inside of the Auroun’s tight cunt he also used the wall behind him as support.

That barrage of kisses honestly caught him off guard just a little bit. Luckily he caught on sooner than later and attempted to return them just as messily as he received them. By a third party it probably would have been a humorous spectacle, but between those two it was just a demonstration of how powerfully their sensations and impulses had moved them. To better support the female, Demagol slid his snaked arm downward and hooked it around her waist. That dwindling strength of his held her to him with what reserves he had left. In this game he had won. In every way he was concerned with. To say that he had earned her devotion was a longshot, he knew that much for sure. But this would definitely not part from the female’s mind or memories and that was good enough for the Mandalorian for now. Still, as he came off of that pleasure-induced high his own thoughts came creeping back. They coalesced in his mind, reminding him of the circumstances at hand.
To the victor go the spoils. And he would definitely remain the victor.

RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - Kat - 11-03-2015

The rush... It was blinding. Rhailo couldn't keep her eyes open through the electrifying tendrils of sensation he manifested through thrusts, though she didn't want him to stop. Every wayward jacking of hips brought a new surge of feverish desire and earned a plethora of emitted whimpers and gasping heaves from the Auroun. How could she have let this become of her, a tangled mess of limbs dependent on the throbbing cock her body engulfed? As though she was puppeted, coerced into suffering every small death of ecstasy for his amusement. His approval. Having underestimated his prowess initially meant the repercussions were severe, and Rhailo rode his lap in utter complacency, save for her inner workings that fought life and limb to choke the head of his manhood with thirsty moistened muscles.

She would milk him for every drop.

When Demagol hit his climax, the woman was still riding her own waves of fulfillment, and the added addition of spurting warmth seemed to drive her mad. Wiggling, her lower half ground to base his cock so his seed had no choice but to squeeze out in a messy display. She was just too tight, and he was too willing to fill her with gush after gush of cum. Inclined against the wall for the last time, he could barely manage to stay on his feet when he was finished, yet the Mandalorian continued to kiss and pant his adorations for the Auroun. Of course she wouldn't forget this any time soon, there was too much to dwell on. Every glimpse of his tense, taut figure made her ache with desire-- But Rhailo's mind was clearing with every passing breath, and when the bucking of his hips slowed to nothing more than reminisce flexing of coated walls settling to mold his member, she was freed from her trance.

Slowly, Rhailo's milky hues opened to gaze over his face, her own a flush of roseate from the heat of the shower. Where she once pulled at his hair, the digits simply stroked the mat of ebony in absent affection. One hand slipped to palm his cheek with the scar, and with her thumb grazing the damaged tissue, the Auroun remarked, "That must have hurt..." In a way, she wanted to hear his story. It seemed natural to learn as much as she could, even when he seemed too wild for such pillow talk. The woman half expected to be dropped in a messy pile beneath them, discarded now that Demagol had satisfied carnal instincts. it was a question she would return to now that her senses ceased to be corrupted by thunderous pumps. Everything beyond the shower stall returned to focus; their situation was suddenly real again.

What did he think of her?

Pulling back the hand on the male's face, Rhailo shoved back damp locks to anchor them behind her ears. Piercings of titanium lined their cartilage, right up to the pointed tips, uniform in a small hooped appearance. Dancing her attention over the series of tattoos closest, the Auroun tilted her chin off towards the door, hinting towards the bedroom. "Can we, uh.. Go to bed?" In the act, the water had been invigorating, and there was a sort of craven longing to be under the shower head while her partner's intentions were entirely unclean. In some ways, Rhailo felt unclean for partaking in it, but she hadn't been given much in the way of choice, had she? Her forehead bowed and a sigh escaped partially parted lips, indicating something similar to frustration. It could easily been seen as fatigue, as they had been busy for hours, and it all was catching up to the Auroun.

Features came to rest on Demagol's shoulder, dipping so her mouth remained over the outline of his collar bone. "I just want to sleep. Can we please just go lay down? You can fuck me there if you're still keen, but.." Rhailo practically wilted in his embrace, opposing his strength with a show of delicacy he likely wasn't used to dealing with. For all that bulk and tone he possessed, the woman was a body of soft curves and smooth flesh. No scars to speak of, no definition attempting to steal the stage from her delectable sex appeal. Even then, after all their pair had done, her body seemed to ooze promises of future deviance. One could never be entirely sure when it came to Rhailo Destros' motives.

Her mind was elsewhere. Circling her options. It sought answers to questions the Auroun wouldn't dare ask the man cradling her, as she feared his reaction. How could she get away from him? Was there any way she would be able to sneak away while he was sleeping? Where did he keep his gun? Rhailo could remember where the armor had been set neatly, and in that, she knew the firearm would be near the collective. But.. No, she couldn't see using it on him, even if it meant being forced to stay 'under his protection' until a later date. What she said previously, she had meant. Exhaustion was a serious concern of hers, especially after the evening of energy expulsion. Rare had there been a time the woman had been forced to use that many abilities in one chase, let alone in the time frame of a few hours.

The advantage of having a suit seemed all the more unfair in retrospect. There was no challenge in showing up to a knife fight with a tank. A frown found it's way to lush lips, though she doubted Demagol would even notice. Likely, he was too busy mentally patting himself on the back for how well their night had turned out. First, he downed the exalted Jaxisher Dynasty with nothing more than a forgettable wound that took barely anything to heal. Then, he purchased himself a slave. Finally, to add insult to the injury he caused poor Rhailo's ego, he fucked her. Without asking. The Mandalorian had no tact what-so-ever, and her sculpted brows knit at her recollections.

What a cocky bastard.

RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - deific - 11-03-2015

[font=arial" size="1] The question waned at Demagol’s thoughts for only a second or so before he had made up his mind. In retrospect he had definitely given the female all that he could, but her frail form seemed to be rather exhausted from the unbridled passion they had shared together. That keen, sharp mind of his was returning with every second that passed, every bit of pleasure that dwindled inside of his body. Was he still softer than his usual self? Well, yes. But he was even more cautious now than he had been the entire day and night. It was because he was vulnerable. Those deep blue eyes of his were in deep thought of what to do when he felt the female’s fingertip glance against the scar which adorned his face. Indeed, it was a story to be told another time, of an age long passed. Why should he explain anything of himself to this woman? Or more important, why did she care? He figured that it was feigned compassion or sympathy. This woman did not feel sorry for him. Part of him wanted to believe the woman couldn’t feel sorry for anybody. But why? Why did all of this angst suddenly well up in the pit of his stomach?

Maybe it was because he spent fifty thousand credits on a woman who would probably try to run away from him that night. He knew, she wasn’t fooling him in the least bit. As Demagol kept the female hoisted upon himself he turned and guided the both of them back into the bedroom. There was nothing short of a cold, momentous gaze in the female’s direction when she commented on that scar he bore. 'That must have hurt..’ Of course it fucking hurt. She had said it in such a curious way too, as if she were going to try and manipulate him. No, these psions, these psykers, they were not to be trusted. That is what their trade of survival was in the first place; deception. Even if he was completely nude with the female–cock still buried in her and all, he would not let his guard completely down. It would be his luck that it be the one time it costs him his life. If Rhailo Destros thought that she was a valuable commodity then she had no idea the price Demagol Sento carried with his own being. The only reasons the bounty hunter’s head wasn’t in a glass display case in some big-wigs complex was because 1. No other bounty hunter had ever attacked the Mandalorian and lived to tell the tale. And 2. All of these big-wigs in question used the Mandalorian as a sword for their work enough that he often became a fall-on option. Why kill the one guy who could probably kill your worst enemy? It didn’t make sense.

In a careful manner the Mandalorian placed Rhailo on the bed, dislodging himself from being inside of the female at the same time. She looked tired, and probably needed rest. Demagol wasn’t so fortunate to be sleepy after everything the Auroun and him had shared. He was restless. But for the moment he could not lose his composure, he had to at least appear resolute to the female. She knew of his abilities, that was definite, but she would test his boundaries anyway. What a pain in the ass. His sense of perception was not lost in the mess of feelings the two of them were experiencing for the time being. He saw every little look that she gave. The way her brows furrowed, lips pursed, face reeled. Maybe she didn’t think she was coming off as obvious as she actually was. Was he proud of himself for what he had just done? No. Not even in the least bit. These types of things weren’t his work, they weren’t his job. Demagol took pride in his work, that was it. Sharing overbearing emotions and carnal desires with some purchased criminal was no reason to be proud.

And he would have damned himself if he allowed his mind to think otherwise. It was heresy. Bullshit. Did he regret it though? Not at all. Everything he did was always a hundred percent him, without a frame of doubt. But he had a feeling that the female wasn’t look at it in a mutual manner. He didn’t expect her to. But if she were to try and place any blame on him he would most certainly silence her. Not with violence, but the pointing out of her vixen-like actions. She knew exactly what she had been doing the entire time. There were no excuses on her end. She was no angel. With all these thoughts buzzing around in his head Demagol must have certainly looked troubled. It was dismissed from his expression as fast as he could muster. Weakness was not an acceptable thing in his mindset. Everything about that word, everything it entailed, it made Demagol burn inside with anger. The Mandalorian didn’t even stay completely bare, but instead dragged that elastic, spandex-like material back up his legs to cover himself partially. That fatigued, but muscled body strode around the edge of the bed to where his equipment was. Once he reached the pieces he put them all in a neat heap, placing a small device on the crest of the pile. With the press of a button a shield emitted from the device and created a small dome over the gear, the password already having been predetermined by the Mandalorian a time before.

You could never be too careful.

Even in their most frail of states, anyone could be a killer. The way Demagol looked at it, this female had a one-way-trip out of the vicinity if she simply 'took care’ of him. It would probably be during his sleep when she attempted anything. Part of her wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt though. That maybe the female would accept the circumstances and just go with the flow. It would make everything incomparably easier for her. The Mandalorian was cut with the bullshit, and likely would not respond in kind if the female betrayed what trust Demagol had decided to put in her for whatever reason. It went back to those angel ages of his regime, where faith and loyalty were factors that kept entire brotherhoods on the same page, on the same line. But those were his codes, not hers. These thoughts. They were constantly battling inside of his head. Before Demagol took his place in the bed he went to the chest next to the bed and opened it up. There was the same two-piece elastic covering in there and he raised it up, mindlessly tossing the two articles onto the nightstand adjacent to the bed. They weren’t exactly a skin-tight fit if she wore them, moreso baggy, but it was better than nothing if demanded of. “Those are for you, in case you feel I am being unfair by clothing myself and not you.” It wasn’t said in a very warm tone. He knew what was held behind that gaze of hers. Yet, she was still not simply an object to him. He would not treat her as such. He wanted her to stay.

Soon after that Demagol swept around the bed and clamored into it, sliding his legs under the covers as he was sure the female had already made herself more than comfortable. As he flattened himself out on the bed he stared up at the ceiling, the lights in the room already dimming. “Rhailo Destros, I know these are not favorable circumstances for you..” He trailed on, trying to think of what he was going to say before he said it. “But in time you will understand it was for the better. Do not think you are a slave to me. You will do nothing for me. I see you as a potentially valuable asset, not a cheap commodity.” The Mandalorian remained laid upon his back, one of his hands on his stomach and the other at his side. “Think of it what you will. I do not care.” Had he said too much? Probably. Oh well. Sometimes it was better to say too much than not enough. Stray thoughts had a way of influencing tempered minds.
Maybe she would show promise instead of hatred.

RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - Kat - 11-03-2015

Demagol's lack of words was entirely uncomfortable, and in the time it took for him to carry her from the shower to the bed, Rhailo silently prayed he hadn't planned to do anything rash. No swipe or jab. No slap. No punch, or kick, or maiming blow. Again, the fear ballooned in that buxom figure until she regretted ever breathing a word his way. Mostly, the Auroun wished she had never met him. If she could take back all those desperate acts that lead her down a path of self destruction, she would've kept her nose clean and her head down. Sadly, even the most skilled Auroun couldn't backpedal through time, and that certainly meant Rhailo was stuck with the decisions she had made in her reckless youth. But, in some sense, those very decisions were the foundation for who the hunter had chosen to save, and those glimpses into his personality weren't entirely lost. At times forgotten, but clearly planted in the back of the woman's mind.

Gods, she wanted to sleep.

Barely present where she had been placed, Rhailo watched him slip back into his undergarments, mesmerized. He was so mechanical in motion, one might question the integrity of his body. Did he harbor synthetic parts? Was he more than just a man in a suit? Shifting, the Auroun brought the covers down and slipped beneath them so her long legs could be stretched without attention returning to them. As awful as it showed signs of being, Rhailo would rather he cover his goods and keep his space, if only to allow her thoughts to stay unclouded. Pretending she was invisible had always worked for her in the past, as she could actually become invisible in some sense of the term, but the Auroun was drained. The burden of over expending energy made her feel like she had been awake for a week, and there wasn't a muscle in that shapely shell that wasn't screaming.

It was such a great and overwhelming wall of fatigue that she didn't even acknowledge the clothing he set out for her. Tears had collected on her lashes, warm and harsh, their travels leading them in a steady flow down her still reddened cheeks. Crying sometimes helped take the edge off the pain, after all. Sometimes. Now it just added a whole new level of vulnerability into the mix. One arm wrapped over her stomach while the other was brought to mask her vision; to hide the flow of emotion he had no right to see. Rhailo didn't care if he was her owner. There was no man in their whole deity forsaken universe that had any sway over what she did on a basic, biological level. If she meant to cry, so be it. That was between her and the spirits.

Unfairness over clothing was near laughable, but she didn't even react in such a way. Just laid there on the far side of the bed, masked beneath splayed fingers.

Mattress movement was really the only way she could tell he was close, and it immediately caused a tension in her spine. There was no way she could get away farther away from Demagol in the bed, so she remained where she was. Still as a statue, wishing to disappear. When the Mandalorian was settled, he spoke, and in such, Rhailo listened. Every word of it scrutinized by a woman too heartbroken to cope, and too worn out to fight. She bore a face of silent apathy, yet still the tears came, disregarding of whether she cared to continue pouting or not. Nothing for him, that was what he pressed with his message. The woman wasn't a slave-- but she had no freedoms either. In truth, Rhailo had nothing. Not even the peace of mind death brings. So when he finished with the additional quip of disregard, this didn't seem to surprise her. Rather, it cemented what she had already presumed true.

Demagol didn't care. Not for her, and not for what he had done.

The S'zari would probably receive her in the morning through a courier, though with how the hunter worked, he might just walk the Auroun through their front doors at high noon and dump the bounty at their feet. What a hero he must have felt he was, picking up a woman known for her debts. How this Mandalorian must've gotten such a stiff cock over the thoughts of her in chains, forced into servitude until her appearance was unsatisfactory to their standards. At that point, the cartel would end her, and feed the scraps to the other slaves. In that brief glimpse at possibilities, a frown twitched at the corner of her lips. With a sudden motion, Rhailo turned away from Demagol to face the wall where they had broken through the window, and seemed perfectly content never to meet his unmasked face again.

"Whatever you say." In a hoarse whisper, the Auroun spoke. "I don't care anymore. You... Just, I don't care. Just leave me the fuck alone. I don't need your fucking pity clothing, and I don't need any of your bullshit excuses. Why would I ever believe someone who kills for credits? You've gotta be fuckin' delusional." A cold laugh sprung from her throat, hollow of any true amusement. "Just wake me up when we're headed for the S'zari, okay? Until then, I don't wanna talk to you. I have nothing to fuckin' say." And with that, as best she could with so little of the bed available to her, Rhailo brought her knees up to her chest to hug. Maybe he would respect her wishes and allow her to sleep-- Or maybe he would attempt to smother her with a pillow. Rhailo honestly thought that was a better option available to her; Preferable to being turned in to those seeking her head.

Fucking piece of shit bounty hunter ruined her life, and all she got was an 'I don't care'. Yeah. She heard him. Loud and clear.

RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - deific - 11-03-2015

[font=arial" size="1] There was a spark again, of anger or something else potent in his veins. Why did she make him feel this way? So easily, too. It became rather clear that most of his words had gone inside one of the female’s ears and out the other. It was partially frustrating, but at the same time he couldn’t blame the female for feeling the way that she did. Her life had quite literally been taken away from her for the most part. At the same time, so fucking what? That is what happened when one lived a life of nothing but crime. That is what happened when one built up so much bad shit underneath their feet that an entire organization wanted their capture, alive or dead. Her little outburst just now had most definitely proven one thing to the Mandalorian, she was ungrateful to the fact he had spared her life. The female’s sore ego was nothing that Demagol had any intentions of carefully bandaging and patting up to make her feel better. No, he spoke of reality, and she would either adhere to such willingly, or be forced to see. There were no half-ass maybes in Demagol’s books, just absolutes.

If she truly wanted to sleep soon, she should have kept her mouth shut.

It was the opposite now, a rude awakening. Demagol had patiently listened to everything the female had said, taking into account how emotionally traumatized she was at the moment. It was candid on the female’s part, but at the same time she misunderstood where her place was for the time being. She would not be met in kind. At first, it may have seemed like a caring motion as Demagol’s hand slipped over and brushed against the female’s cheek. He felt the tears, the anguish on her cheek that accompanied that tone in her voice. For a split second she had a piece of his heart in her hand, but that second quickly eclipsed when he realized how little she cared for her own life. It was maddening. That same hand snaked down from the female’s cheek and softly wrapped about that fragile throat of hers, worn fingers teasing the supple flesh with a grip not too taut. That changed in an instant. The grip tightened without warning and simultaneously Demagol turned his own body, slamming Rhailo back, up, and against the wall, pinning her there by her throat. It wasn’t a nice gesture in even the smallest of fractions and an expression of fiery anger was painted all over the Mandalorian’s countenance.

“Listen here, you spoiled little fucking whelp, and listen well.” The words were spoken through gritted teeth, almost bared. She had unleashed that inner ferocity of the Mandalorian again, but this time he not come for her body. No, he came for her being, her mind, everything that tethered the female psychologically. There was no frame of gentleness in either the grip of his hand nor the words that flowed out of his mouth. “I am done with your pathetic meandering, your scrutiny and ungratefulness.” There seemed to be no hesitation in what Demagol said, as if it was the human in him coming alive once more. There was something about the way he said what he did, so terrifyingly resolute. He slid the female up the wall with the same muscled arm that earlier kept her safely bound upon his body. The roles had changed, this wasn’t for her protection. At least it didn’t seem like it was. Fingers grasped and tightened around the majority of her neck, cutting off a majority of her windpipe, but just enough to where she wouldn’t slip into unconsciousness. She should have remembered that one thing she perceived about Demagol when he crashed down through her roof earlier that evening. He wasn’t fucking around.

“You care so little. I see right through you. Not because you are invisible to me, but because your agony is upon the very surface of your being.. and you haven’t the spine to hide it.” If bounds were being crossed, then good. This wasn’t just a scare factor, but an enlightenment, a revelation. Teeth were still bared, muscles were still flexing in both effort and anger. Oh how she moved him into the most passionate of ways. It was like a sickness for him. He wasn’t used to it. He didn’t know how to contain himself when the combustion built up inside of him. There was no outlet, there was no way to channel it. No way except for the one he was using now; her. “I pity you. But that is not the reason I let you live. It is not the reason I decided not to take you to the S'zari, and still am not.” It was true, all of it. He did pity her. Every bit of that tortured soul that slowly diminished on this shithole of a planet. He didn’t know of her past just as she didn’t know of his. They both had endured through different trials and carried different burdens. The weight of these burdens could not be understood by the other, only by the shoulders which bore them. Still, effort was given. “So do not wail your pompous cries at me like I don’t understand hardships. Even as you fight for breath underneath my grip, I bid you, hone your spirit, refine it.” Such words were probably lost on the female. He didn’t expect her to understand them. It didn’t matter to him how preposterous he sounded to her right now.

Those oceanic eyes stared at Rhailo through and through. They didn’t have a look of understanding in them, but rather harbored a piercing gaze. It was an unforgiving one. “If your life was so worthless to me then I would have ended it the very moment I breached your apartment. I would have dragged your lifeless corpse like baggage to those slavers and misogynists. But I didn’t.” There was frustration in his tone. It may have been hard to understand why he was so mad about the situation, just as there was no way he could understand why the female felt the way she did. “If I did not care about your life, I would squeeze the very last breaths of it from your throat as I speak now.” The grip tightened mercilessly, fingers forcibly enclosing around the female’s neck and windpipe. Air was cut off from her throat, rendering her temporarily unable to breathe. Another demonstration, as expected. Demagol could literally crush the life out of the female in which he held at the moment. “But..” The grip loosened slowly, as if giving the female something to cling on. Those little slivers of breathable space. Then he loosened up moreso, though making sure not to simply let her go in the mean time. There was purpose with this. There was meaning.
“Whatever meaning life holds, it makes us deaf to all reason.” He leaned inward, inches away from the female’s face. “But you will embrace life, because you are mine and I wish for you to have it.” His head shook, disbelief in the female’s wrongful, pathetic translation of his words.

“Delusional? Maybe I am fucking delusional. Maybe I’m fucking wasting my time with you. What I saw in you I believed to be potential. Now I see the broken image of a pouting, wannabe princess.” That gaze was unshaking, but Demagol’s hand lowered the female’s body down along the wall under her lower body was rested upon the bed in a seated position. The hand, though, remained. He didn’t want to break her spirit, to have to start from scratch. But if she gave him no other choice then he would. How she taunted him with her rebellious nature, her zesty personality. It wasn’t lost upon him, but made him more than volatile at the moment. “I do not care if you do not want to speak to me. But you will listen, and wake the fuck up.”

Was he out of control by his regards? Probably Why waste all of the time and words on a female who would probably dimly wash them away with hopelessness and unreasonable, bleak hypothesis. Part of him actually wanted to explain why he had that scar upon his face, the one that adorned a fair amount of his immediate visage. “You look at me as nothing but a filthy fucking bounty hunter, just as I looked at you as nothing but a filthy fucking criminal. By our own regards, we were probably both right. Were.” Why was he talking so much? Had she struck such a sensitive chord in him so easily? Why her? Why him? Why now? The Mandalorian seemed to be lost in a pit himself, eyes continuing to stare at the female even as his hand lost all of its tension and slid back down to his side. “When you wake up from that fucking dream you’re having you’ll realize that I am not lying with any of this, and could do you much more good than harm..” There was a momentary grimace, not because he regretted anything he said, but because there was always the possibility his words fell on deaf ears. He wanted to believe he didn’t waste all of that air in his lungs speaking to a brick wall.

“Rhailo Destros.. you belong to me, not the S'zari.”

RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - Kat - 11-03-2015

"S-stop!" Is what Rhailo said when he approached, the warning signals firing off in her brain like someone had lit a fuse in a firework factory. She didn't want him touching her, lovingly or otherwise, but the words fell on deaf ears. Really, she wasn't surprised in the slightest when a strong grip wrestled itself around her throat, and with swift dragging movement, she was lifted like a rag doll in his grasp. The woman wasn't anywhere near as physically capable as the Mandalorian. It must have felt like assaulting a child, the way she looked at his expression with pure terror residing behind starlight hues. Staring, accusing, with pain wrinkling her brows. Perhaps long ago, someone else had choked their message through the youthful head of hers, and in time, it was absorbed. Not hardly forgotten, never. Just edged to the farthest reaches of consciousness so it wasn't always foreground.

But it came back now in a small way. The look in those deep blues made it impossible to shake. Rhailo reached up her hands to take his arm, but the digits weren't tight. They didn't seem like they wished to pull him away. The nails didn't bite down into his exposed flesh, nor did they scratch and scrape against the hair in wild attempts to divert his attention. Just a feather light resting, their pads twitching absently against the muscles where they tensed. Her lips gaped slightly when the pressure was changed, when he was trying to force the air from her lungs-- But, even in that moment of gut wrenching horror, Rhailo didn't harm him. She didn't even think about it, just like she had never attempted to harm him at any point in their evening together.

in the dim of the room, the flecks of sparkled light embedded in her physique were noticeable. A peculiar glow to a woman he knew nothing of. At this rate, would never know anything about. Demagol spoke of a great many things, but he never said anything she would see the way he saw it. At times, the Auroun almost felt pity for the male, as he thought so considerably low of himself that he couldn't consider saving her as anything more than a mercy on his part. Pity. Paired with an idea that, somehow, there was potential for her. Why hadn't he just said these things to her? Unable to continue meeting the eyes of her assailant, Rhailo shut her lids while her face bore the signs of discomfort. Not from the choke hold-- she would live through this, as she had times before. No, it was how every distant hope she may have had for Demagol seemed chipped, pieces scattering with the winds.

And then she was lowered, settled on the pillows so she could breath again. A gasp followed, a quick one that hurt to make, but the Auroun would take what was given. Even while his hand continued to keep her from straying. Especially then. So her back met the headboard and long legs were stretched out of the bed, her body still bare and her oculars reopening to see him. To try and see through him. This wasn't him, it couldn't be. Something about him was off, and she knew beneath the layers of anger and frustration, she could learn. Demagol just had to tell her. That's all he had to do from the start, wasn't it? It would have saved them time, and effort, and injury. Yet he just looked at her with condemnation; appalled. Woe was Rhailo, glancing away so she wouldn't wear the burden of his judgement. Not now. Not at her weakest.

"Please..." She began softly, but the idea soon fell to the wayside. So stubborn he was, so assumptive. Rhailo did her best to sigh, chest fluttering through the attempt, but it was a ragged sound. Rattled. "Yes. Okay. I belong to you." The hands that had touched his offending arm so gently fell back to the bed, complacently resting on either side of the Auroun. He always used her full name, and she didn't understand why. Rhailo would have been just as fine to use. Rhai was what her friends called her. It wasn't that she didn't enjoy hearing her full name, but in the way he spoke to her, it was always disapproving. Like, to him, it was an insult, as much as the string of insults he had fed her through his warning were. Brows found themselves tight as they bunched towards her forehead, knotted in anguish as her head slumped.

Now with her chin on his hand, still forced to be seated, the woman cried. Soft sounds, broken sounds. The sort of sounds one expects from loss. They reflected more than she had bothered to share through words, and the hurt hung in the air like a rising plume of smoke. For all intents and purposes, she was his; this made her scared. Beyond scared, with Demagol the woman felt alone. Whether it be because he couldn't understand, or simply didn't have the patience, she didn't know. Neither of them wanted to speak in any civilized fashion, and after his last commentary, she may never say another word to him again. The line was drawn and she toed it, shivering where she stood in the sand. All it took was a strong tide, and the Auroun would be swallowed up by the sea.

Even now, she just wanted to sleep. He couldn't know this sort of exhaustion. She bent time and space-- She created new life forms with her own stores of energy. Now she needed to sleep and he pushed her. Again and again. Over and over. It was too much.

RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - deific - 11-03-2015

[font=arial" size="1] Just like that he snapped out of it. That passionate, overtaking anger. Every negative aspiration he had toward the female dwindled when that weakness flushed over her features. It ate away at him. He didn’t even realize what he was doing at the time. The possible damage that he was spreading throughout the female with his harsh actions. Gentleness was usually a foreign concept to the Mandalorian, who was all-too used to using force and violence to get what he wanted. With this female he would have to change that. If he pressed too hard with his normal ways then she would inevitably break, and it wouldn’t be into pieces that could be put back together. At this point, could he even save the situation? Were his actions able to be overwritten? It was unknown. He could see the exhaustion in her eyes, in her body. The female was just barely clinging onto the fringes of consciousness, and it was likely only because the Mandalorian had forced her to do so. How cruel of him.

The entire time he had managed to keep his focus on the female, but the vision of his was tunneled. Maybe he did only see things the way he wanted to. Perhaps at a later date he could grow to understand this female better, to actually be civil with her. It was a desirable motive, but he questioned the possibility of it. Yet even in his fit of volcanic passion and anger he had noticed that one particular detail about the female; she never attempted to fight back by violent means. Had he overstepped boundaries? It was likely. Her assaults were moreso on the mind, like nails on a chalkboard. They nagged and pestered. In a way, Demagol and Rhailo were opposites. In another way, they were all too similar. That merciless attitude of his waned away and was replaced by empathy. Just before he was about to speak the Mandalorian peered down at his open hand and closed it into a fist. “.. Sleep, Rhailo. You need it.” He cut himself off from saying anything else, from attempting to twist those words into a sentence that made it sound like he needed her rested for his own purposes. No, he had already said too much. It was time to let silence embrace the two during those in between moments. It was all he could do for her right now.

Fingers unrolled from the palm and the fist was released, the hand sliding backward to Demagol as he turned his body and flattened himself back out on the bed. His words had ceased, but his thoughts had not. For some ungodly reason his past came back through his thoughts, like a tape recorder. People, countless people. All of the ones he had either killed or captured on a whim. Throughout all his days he had never paused to ask the story of any these people he hunted. He had never tried to understand them. In his code, they weren’t to be reasoned with. Their stories didn’t matter. They were simply pricetags, cash-in lottery tickets. But what if that was all wrong? What if he had been wrong all this time? Did that mean all of those people in question were good? No, it could never mean such. But there were always exceptions. Rhailo Destros could be such an exception, and Demagol would give her a chance to prove she was. For a woman who spoke so arrogantly all throughout the night and mission, Demagol had successfully broken her will. Weakness betrayed that female, though that was the Mandalorian’s plan all along. He won. But now he would have to build her back up. It was his responsibility. Fate had this tendency to work in cruel ways. There was always a light to be found if one was willing to search, though.

Outside the weather had begun to pick back up again, a rainstorm blowing inward upon the area. The sound of water droplets pocking against the roof and windows helped to ease that chaotic silence, to add a constant cadence to that emotional night mixed with turmoil. The bed was large enough for the two of them to have space between them, and Demagol in no way demanded the female to be against him by any means. She wanted space, he knew that. After everything he had just done he couldn’t blame her. Little regrets pinged at his heart and mind, one that for the longest time knew only of destruction. He didn’t face away from the female, but laid there completely flat on his back. One of his hands was drawn upward and placed underneath his head, the other on his stomach. A contemplative gaze was held on the ceiling above, a million thoughts accompanying that fogged-over look. When everything had been said and done, Demagol was pretty tuckered out himself. He had expended countless stores of physical energy to do everything he had done that day. All of the mental demand and stress just to chase this woman like an animal off its leash. That fight which had caused bruises to spawn along his muscled torso and which was responsible for the sealed gash that laced his side.

It was just another mark of his job, falling in line with several of the others which decorated his body.

An idle hand brought the covers up to his stomach but no further, leaving most of his upper half exposed. These motions were less calculated, made moreso with laziness and a mind too busy to concentrate. Was he tired? Probably not as tired as he should have been. That altercation he flared up earlier had caused every fiber in his body to come alive. It was like a waterfall of adrenaline accompanied by a bunch of incomprehensible emotions. A deep breath slowly vacuumed in only to be exhaled in the form of a sigh. What was he sighing for? Why was he so afraid to appear weak in front of this woman? Because he was her captor–her owner? It was probably because their lives held in the balance of his decisions. Weak minds made more mistakes. Mistakes caused needless death. So many whys. So many questions in general. Was he afraid? What was there to possibly be afraid of? The Roth Khaanians? They were busy with the S'zari. Would the S'zari want him to atone for how he took the female to himself? It was a possibility, but they too, would be busy with their syndicate counter part. Maybe it was just because Rhailo and him weren’t off this dreadful planet yet. He wanted to think that things would get substantially better once that was accomplished. He had a personal frigate in cruise past the planet’s gravity well. It would come in upon calculated coordinates when Demagol uplinked them.

Yet even with all of these plans in thought and motion he could not take his mind off of Rhailo Destros. Why did he have so much interest in her? Part of him wanted to think he could answer such a question, but the reality of the matter was that he didn’t know. There was just something about her. It sounded selfish of him. It probably was selfish of him. Even in his wrongs he had made the decision though, and now he would have to make the best of it. A combination of two words floated at the back of his mind, a combo that he almost never uttered to begin with. Yet there they hung, foreboding, stubbornly. Should he even say them? The female likely wouldn’t even notice. She resented him. He saw it in her eyes, that terrified expression, that narrowed gaze. She had every right to, which is why he didn’t try to patronize her. No matter how dismal things seemed those two words still remained, digging closer to the front of Demagol’s mind. He couldn’t hold them back, like there was a knot in his chest which would clot if he refused. They transferred to his lips and his voice, which uttered almost inaudibly in the near-silence of that room. Regardless of how she perceived it he would say it anyway. It was necessary, it was needed. He was not a robot. He was human. Lips parted in an usher.
“I’m sorry..”

RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - Kat - 11-03-2015

From dim to dark, the room showed a sort of dread in the time it took Demagol finally to release her. Rhailo's body immediately slumped, unable to stop itself from sliding back into the pillows and the partially intact covers so she could do what he asked of her. Just tired. That's all she could think about, even with all those questions buzzing like flies over a carcass. Just sleep. When nothing could be done of their current circumstances, wasn't that the only true answer to unspoken inquiries? Ignore them; ignore the whole mess they had made for themselves. If only for tonight, they could be quiet and introverted, and inevitably, hurt. Physical pain had a way of jarring the woman, but the mental anguish was the real kicker. All that emotion with no release-- her outlets were closed in his custody.

But her Mandalorian commanded she sleep, and for once, she was compliant. No argument, no bitter snark or rude remark. The Auroun sniffled softly where she faced the windows, illuminated gaze flickering projections upon the walls with every blink she made. They danced like shadow silhouettes, these strange shapes her vision created, and if one were to watch their movements, they might make out figures in the mesh. But with the heaviness to her lids, the show came to an abrupt end. Snuffed out so she could chase the possibility of sleep she had flirted with briefly before Demagol's lecture. Her thoughts, as diluted as they happened to be, linger on her companion. Recollections of his taste, of the feel of skin against her finger tips.. Focus on blue eyes that spoke more of his thoughts than he seemed capable at times. Rhailo wanted to believe him a monster, really she did, but his eyes seemed to belie excessive cruelty.

It would just take time to find what drew her to him. Even now, after what had happened.

Maybe in the quiet of their bed, he felt as she did. In some ways, she expected the male was settling on his own thoughts in an attempt make sense of where they were meant to go. He wanted them off Nar Shaddaa, and Rhailo really couldn't protest leaving the planet, given there wasn't a single thing she particularly liked about it. The night life, the pulse of the people, the drug wars, and territory lines... None of it fit what she had envisioned for herself when she was younger. More optimistic. This wasn't her home, and though she had been in the belly of this beast for some years now, she had yet been digested. Her spirit refused to succumb to the landscape being soaked in acid rains, and if they were to part from the city, Rhailo wouldn't shed tears for it.

As it was, the Auroun had roughly 1800 credits, a thong, and one pair of three inch heels to her name. Probably not even her name. Demagol's name. Taking inventory in the dark was interrupted when a now familiar voice cut through like a sharp knife. Even if it seemed like a passing quip, made only to ease tensions the two were struggling not to point out, Rhailo accepted it. Soaked it, more accurately, as it was swallowed through a tired inhale on her part. Beyond crying, it was hard to gauge her emotional level over his apology, but it wasn't frantic. At least there was no elevation to her vitals. Just, perhaps, mild surprise. The Auroun hadn't expected him to say anything of the sort, and she definitely felt like she needed to reply, even if that meant speaking again-- The act she had pretended she could avoid doing ever again. Obviously, Rhailo wasn't very good at keeping her comments to herself.

"I forgive you." Her lips remained parted in that slow panting she was making, inaudible strains for breath through a still tender windpipe. "I shouldn't have said what I did. You have been... Helping me." If one considered trading one slave collar for another helpful, her words were accurate. "I'm just... Trying to cope." As it was, and as it had been, her retorts had been a shield to keep him at bay. With distance, there was no chance he could hurt her, be it with his fists or with his promises. When overwhelmed, Rhailo ran; that was her way. Now that the option wasn't possible, the Auroun was coming to find existing around another to be tedious. Foreign. A sort of exotic one would dabble with, but inevitably claim wasn't of their taste. She had always been alone, and with him, she felt it. If that wasn't punishment enough, she couldn't imagine what more was in store for her.

"I won't fight you anymore. We both know I can't win." A hand lowered to drag the covers higher up her figure, hiding soft curves beneath the nondescript patterns of the hotel linens. "I'm sorry, too." And Rhailo stopped there, because in that time, she thought it seemed forced on her part to say such things, given he was trying to express his own regret. This wasn't the time to apologize to him. Now, it just looked like she was sorry because he had reacted poorly to her, but that wasn't the matter at hand. In retrospect, Rhailo was sorry for lashing out at her only lifeline. Sorry for other things as well, like their impromptu sex. Using her natural appeal to entice him wasn't something the Auroun fully promoted, and had she been in a sounder mindset, such a thing never would have happened.

It was just, collectively, a depressing evening in several regards, and for it, Rhailo felt guilt. Shame. Truly apologetic. Gods, she needed sleep...

---

Something was wrapping itself around her legs. Suctioned in the invading entity's hold, slippery tendrils dragged her low in the darkness. A sea, perhaps, where the bottom was leagues below her. Floating through murk, she tried her best to struggle, but serpentine appendages continued recoiling towards the bottom, and the woman mouthed screams that she couldn't hear. There was no sound here, no light. Just blind terror and impossible cold. Down she went, lower and lower, until her body met with the obsidian nest of horrors, and suddenly-

Rhailo shot up in the bed with a ragged howl, hands clutching at the covers wildly. Lids blinked back tears, lips quivered, and with a weak whimper, the Auroun realized it was over. She was awake now, breathing coming as shallow inhales she had to count seconds between to keep steady. Features were bowed to meet her grip on the comforter, and the woman buried her frightened visage in the material to muffle whatever discontent she suffered. Some places she wished never to visit again, even in dreams. Anywhere without the light of stars above seemed to breed a sort of anxiety in Rhailo she often considered unbearable. it would ebb away to a recollection within a few moments, but only after it dissipated did she remember where she was, and whom she was with.

Hesitantly, white lighted eyes sought for the figure of the Mandalorian. She hoped he slept through the outburst, but as far as her luck had gone recently, she didn't bank on it.

RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - deific - 11-03-2015

[font=arial" size="1] Those little whispers Rhailo spoke were entirely unexpected on Demagol’s part, but he listened to them with great attention. He wasn’t even sure if the female had even heard what he said at first, but internally he was glad she did. The words that followed in response weren’t rejected with skepticism, but accepted. She seemed to speak more and more, and with every sentence that left those sweet, luscious lips of hers the Mandalorian grew more tired. Eyelids became heavy. That rain soothingly put a null to the bothersome encompassing thoughts which echoed in his mind. Muscles relaxed, his strong heart beating a steady thrum. There was a sudden heaviness that blanketed Demagol, beckoning him to let go of everything that tethered him to the world of the conscious, and slip into slumber. Just before he did, numb lips whispered, “Good… good..” That was it, sleep had claimed him. Despite his large stature Demagol slept completely silently, save for the little exhales that left his nose. Perhaps the two of them could work something out, something good, something redeeming. Those thoughts hung around in the corners of his mind like spiderwebs.

It had been more than 24 hours since the last time Demagol slept. Sometimes he didn’t even know how he did it anymore. So much on so little. To be honest, he put his body through more levels of Hell than one. It almost made him feel as if he took it for granted, though everything was a result of his discipline and hard work. It worked so tirelessly to keep him alive. But an accumulation of scars and battle signs made him look less than grateful, maybe even undeserving. Such a silly concept, no? To feel sorry for oneself, but not directly correlate yourself with such in the first place? It was confusing at a distance, but when one got down to the nitty gritty it made sense. From the pompous rich slobs who ate their weight in food every day to the battle-hardened soldiers and mercenaries who used their killer instincts to make ends meet. It was all the same. Abuse of some sort, just of body instead of mind. Peace, in itself, was a different story. Sleep was peaceful, at least for the most part. It was a darkness for him, and days of the past rarely haunted him anymore. This pitch blackness that didn’t harbor the ability for him to manifest demons and monsters from his imagination. In the most bone-chilling of circumstances, the entity would have been a mirror. Such horrors could not be allowed to blossom. He forced that out of him. If he didn’t he would never be allowed to sleep in the first place. There was just too much, even before the days he picked this ludicrous job up.

Such peace was short-lived.

That howl did much more than simply wake Demagol up. It activated his instincts on a killer level. No sooner than half the cry had exited the female’s terrified lips was Demagol whirled out of the bed in a readied defensive stance, kal in hand. The small blade was held in a reverse grip. More than likely he had produced it from underneath the pillow, having placed it there when the female wasn’t paying attention. You could never be too careful, even if the female wasn’t a threat. The Mandalorian’s heart was thrashing noisily beneath that strong chest of his, every muscle in his body poised and ready for whatever immediate threat there was..but there was none. A moment of confusion passed and Demagol’s muscles loosened up only slightly, his attention sweeping around the room just to make sure there was nothing invading their space occupied by force. Where was it? Was something there? Why did she sc-.. It dawned upon him. She had a nightmare. Something so simple had caused him to overreact in probably the most foolish of ways. Unfortunately, he couldn’t help it. The way his body moved in response to such a thing. His death had been met so closely when he was sleeping many times, it was only natural for his nerves to be prepared for the worst at all times.

Such a thing was almost depressing. Demagol couldn’t even sleep with ease, living as if everything in the world wanted to kill him. Maybe it did. But enough of that, he had to snap out of this battle-ready stance. He gave Rhailo a look, a glance. It was painted with concern, concern she probably had no idea the Mandalorian possessed. It was even somewhat unrecognizable by his own perception. A breath came inward deeply and left in a smooth exhale, Demagol calming himself down forcibly. Every time it seemed there was a chance for her to see another side of him that animal returned. It was like a core creature, one he couldn’t escape. He tucked the knife against his forearm and made his way back to the bed, placing the knife on the nightstand out in the open. What he did next probably surprised him just as much as it did Rhailo.

No words were spoken, but Demagol slid himself back underneath the covers and tried so desperately to ignore his little escapade had occurred. Instead, he was focused on Rhailo, completely. Questions tugged at his mind selfishly, as he internally wanted to know so much. What was it about? Why? He discarded them and took matters into his own hands. Or perhaps, his arm, as he slid the strong appendage underneath the female and coiled it around her frail, voluptuous body. Thereafter he curled his arm back toward himself until the female was inevitably resting against himself. Did he have the right to do such a thing? It didn’t matter to him right now, he was doing it. As bewildered as the female would have been from such a turn in cares, she would have to accept it as well. The arm wouldn’t let her go from him. Maybe it was a subconscious way for him to say she wasn’t alone afterall. He was there now, and even if it was by force, he would demonstrate his care for her. The feel of that soft flesh pressed against his. The merging of warmths. Demagol undoubtedly produced more, and so would share more with her.

The covers were a mess, twirled and unkempt because of how the two had been startled. Demagol’s opposing arm reached over the both of them and grasped upon the covers, flicking his wrist. Like a wave the covers rippled outward and straightened back out, while also drawing some of the room’s cold air underneath the blanket with the duo. The cold sensation only lasted for a moment before their bodies replaced it with succulent warmth. This arm of his held Rhailo in a manner that said he cared for her more than just as a piece of property, but as a living, breathing thing. To top it off, those oceanic eyes even looked upon the female to make sure she was okay. What was this warmth he felt from his heart? It wasn’t the same as rage, but felt even stronger. He found it resonated from her. Oh how he aimed to learn more about her, and himself.