<img style="avatar" src="http://i.imgur.com/QdgLh2I.png" style="max-width:25%;float:left;margin:0 18px;]"Ain' all that interested."
Their pride's lair, in it's extravagant and over the top way, was closer to modern representations of what a pleasure den might look like. Pillows were strewn across the floor, empty bottles lined the shelves on their walls, and a massive circular bed reminded the members of their closeness; their family. Regardless how dysfunctional and bizarre as it may have seemed to outsiders, it was theirs wholly, and in such, was treated like any poly-amorous ninesome should be. With respect, devotion, and absolute trust-- Minus Bowie Davis, their alpha and typical Simba laze about. He was the weak link. The sore spot. The father of twenty-seven bastard children.
The usual.
Teressa Cunningham, beta of their tribe, scowled. "I wasn't asking, Bowie. I was telling- Telling you to get the fuck up, and go see what's happening at Deltin."
"Yeah, but.. Ye know I'm tired, and ye know I ain' real good at talkin' ta strangers." Sprawled in the middle of their shared bed, Bowie was under several female bodies, all of which lacked clothing and consciousness. The tribe was sleeping, save the two conversing, though the male was certainly not awake enough to come up with a better excuse for blowing off his duties. Teressa was an expert in nagging though, and if her demands weren't met, he'd never hear the end of it.
"If you're quick, you'll be back before sunrise." Standing over the scene, Teressa addressed the leader of the pack as though she was speaking to a child. Her tone was stern, her face serious, and her mannerisms direct as one hand pointed towards the door. "So, get up, and get some work in. That way, when you sleep the next three weeks away, you can feel like you earned it."
Bowie rolled his eyes before jostling himself out from under the pile, earning disgruntled murmurs from the rest of his women. Yes, they were his Kirii. All of these beautiful women were under Bowie's care, and their children were his as well. This was his legacy, and though they were the bread winners to this particular collective, they were still bound to their alpha. Really, Bowie was one of the luckiest men in the world, second only to other Simba alphas in the shifter nation. The South African ousted their last Alpha after a week long series of death threats and scuffling, though within two days of placing claims, the red head was assured he wouldn't have to face the wrath of the Lionesses. They wanted the change, and Bowie was more than happy to usher in the new regime.
Mostly, it was for the better. He wasn't the warlord they had once been accustomed to serving. No, his touch was gentle and loving. He didn't need to dominate to earn their devotion. It came with time, with patience, and with practiced pillow talk. A man with eight wives had his hands full, but Bowie cherished each one for their merits and their flaws. Even Teressa, who proved in every relationship, someone had to be the stick in the mud. Business oriented, she was entirely right to send him off to investigate issues within the city, even if it meant interrupting the cuddle orgy he begrudgingly slipped away from.
"Fine. I'll poke around, but ye know it ain' gonna be easy." Bringing his hands to either side of his jaw, the creature popped his neck with an audible grunt. His tattoos were showing, as was everything else, and the half finished piece on his chest stood out like a sore thumb. Forgotten in favor of sleeping, drinking, and being insatiable sexually. "But when I get back, yer heels will be off, and yer skirt will be hiked up. Deal?"
Idly, Teressa's fingers were already teasing at the hem of her skirt. "Promise. Now, go get the intel."
"Ye, ye. Silly girl."
Deltin smelled like werecat, like countless passing patrons, and like money Bowie hadn't thought to bring. Pulling out his wallet as he exited his Tahoe, a measly fourteen dollars earned a rough snort from the male. Of course Teressa hadn't dished out any spending money for her Alpha to blow. Maybe she wasn't as silly as he tried to convince himself. All the same, he could afford a drink or two, and if he was adventurous, he could give gambling the college try. Worst case scenario, he'd be out fourteen bucks. Though, knowing Teressa, that would give her reason to rant about frivolous spending habits. Pocketing the wallet once more, the Lion stalked towards the entrance.
Immediately, Bowie shot a curious glance towards the commotion at the bar counter. It wasn't all that far from the lobby, and at the angle he was privy to, he could make out a woman loudly complaining about her order. A smirk eased over his lips as he thought of his youngest wife, Mia, who was known to bitch out attendants at every venue their group frequented. It was almost second nature that he followed the sound from the doorway to the main barroom, and without missing a beat, the copper maned figure sat himself within a few stools reach of the ornery femme. Curious hazel hues directed themselves to Lilly's seat, scanning her figure between words. As it was, Bowie could talk to whomever was present, given a reason to do so.
"Ye got a match? A light? Figure I could use a smoke, but I ain' carrying my zippo." Pausing to pull out a cigarette from his battered pack, he slouched as means of settling in his seat. "Was the drink really so bad though? Maybe they'll comp ye the cost, and ye'll get it free. While yer at it, get me a drink, too."
Their pride's lair, in it's extravagant and over the top way, was closer to modern representations of what a pleasure den might look like. Pillows were strewn across the floor, empty bottles lined the shelves on their walls, and a massive circular bed reminded the members of their closeness; their family. Regardless how dysfunctional and bizarre as it may have seemed to outsiders, it was theirs wholly, and in such, was treated like any poly-amorous ninesome should be. With respect, devotion, and absolute trust-- Minus Bowie Davis, their alpha and typical Simba laze about. He was the weak link. The sore spot. The father of twenty-seven bastard children.
The usual.
Teressa Cunningham, beta of their tribe, scowled. "I wasn't asking, Bowie. I was telling- Telling you to get the fuck up, and go see what's happening at Deltin."
"Yeah, but.. Ye know I'm tired, and ye know I ain' real good at talkin' ta strangers." Sprawled in the middle of their shared bed, Bowie was under several female bodies, all of which lacked clothing and consciousness. The tribe was sleeping, save the two conversing, though the male was certainly not awake enough to come up with a better excuse for blowing off his duties. Teressa was an expert in nagging though, and if her demands weren't met, he'd never hear the end of it.
"If you're quick, you'll be back before sunrise." Standing over the scene, Teressa addressed the leader of the pack as though she was speaking to a child. Her tone was stern, her face serious, and her mannerisms direct as one hand pointed towards the door. "So, get up, and get some work in. That way, when you sleep the next three weeks away, you can feel like you earned it."
Bowie rolled his eyes before jostling himself out from under the pile, earning disgruntled murmurs from the rest of his women. Yes, they were his Kirii. All of these beautiful women were under Bowie's care, and their children were his as well. This was his legacy, and though they were the bread winners to this particular collective, they were still bound to their alpha. Really, Bowie was one of the luckiest men in the world, second only to other Simba alphas in the shifter nation. The South African ousted their last Alpha after a week long series of death threats and scuffling, though within two days of placing claims, the red head was assured he wouldn't have to face the wrath of the Lionesses. They wanted the change, and Bowie was more than happy to usher in the new regime.
Mostly, it was for the better. He wasn't the warlord they had once been accustomed to serving. No, his touch was gentle and loving. He didn't need to dominate to earn their devotion. It came with time, with patience, and with practiced pillow talk. A man with eight wives had his hands full, but Bowie cherished each one for their merits and their flaws. Even Teressa, who proved in every relationship, someone had to be the stick in the mud. Business oriented, she was entirely right to send him off to investigate issues within the city, even if it meant interrupting the cuddle orgy he begrudgingly slipped away from.
"Fine. I'll poke around, but ye know it ain' gonna be easy." Bringing his hands to either side of his jaw, the creature popped his neck with an audible grunt. His tattoos were showing, as was everything else, and the half finished piece on his chest stood out like a sore thumb. Forgotten in favor of sleeping, drinking, and being insatiable sexually. "But when I get back, yer heels will be off, and yer skirt will be hiked up. Deal?"
Idly, Teressa's fingers were already teasing at the hem of her skirt. "Promise. Now, go get the intel."
"Ye, ye. Silly girl."
---
Deltin smelled like werecat, like countless passing patrons, and like money Bowie hadn't thought to bring. Pulling out his wallet as he exited his Tahoe, a measly fourteen dollars earned a rough snort from the male. Of course Teressa hadn't dished out any spending money for her Alpha to blow. Maybe she wasn't as silly as he tried to convince himself. All the same, he could afford a drink or two, and if he was adventurous, he could give gambling the college try. Worst case scenario, he'd be out fourteen bucks. Though, knowing Teressa, that would give her reason to rant about frivolous spending habits. Pocketing the wallet once more, the Lion stalked towards the entrance.
Immediately, Bowie shot a curious glance towards the commotion at the bar counter. It wasn't all that far from the lobby, and at the angle he was privy to, he could make out a woman loudly complaining about her order. A smirk eased over his lips as he thought of his youngest wife, Mia, who was known to bitch out attendants at every venue their group frequented. It was almost second nature that he followed the sound from the doorway to the main barroom, and without missing a beat, the copper maned figure sat himself within a few stools reach of the ornery femme. Curious hazel hues directed themselves to Lilly's seat, scanning her figure between words. As it was, Bowie could talk to whomever was present, given a reason to do so.
"Ye got a match? A light? Figure I could use a smoke, but I ain' carrying my zippo." Pausing to pull out a cigarette from his battered pack, he slouched as means of settling in his seat. "Was the drink really so bad though? Maybe they'll comp ye the cost, and ye'll get it free. While yer at it, get me a drink, too."
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I tried running from the memory and the mourning.
I tried running from the memory and the mourning.
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