[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.
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.
Forever?
Oh, my darling,
If only you could see what war has done to me.
Oh, my darling,
If only you could see what war has done to me.
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Tread Lightly [closed] - by Kat - 11-03-2015, 04:27 AM
RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - by deific - 11-03-2015, 04:30 AM
RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - by Kat - 11-03-2015, 04:38 AM
RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - by deific - 11-03-2015, 04:40 AM
RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - by Kat - 11-03-2015, 04:41 AM
RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - by deific - 11-03-2015, 04:42 AM
RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - by Kat - 11-03-2015, 04:44 AM
RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - by deific - 11-03-2015, 04:46 AM
RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - by Kat - 11-03-2015, 04:47 AM
RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - by deific - 11-03-2015, 04:49 AM
RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - by Kat - 11-03-2015, 04:50 AM
RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - by deific - 11-03-2015, 04:52 AM
RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - by Kat - 11-03-2015, 04:52 AM
RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - by deific - 11-03-2015, 04:54 AM
RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - by Kat - 11-03-2015, 04:55 AM
RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - by deific - 11-03-2015, 04:56 AM
RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - by Kat - 11-03-2015, 04:58 AM
RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - by deific - 11-03-2015, 04:59 AM
RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - by Kat - 11-03-2015, 05:00 AM
RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - by deific - 11-03-2015, 05:01 AM
RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - by Kat - 11-03-2015, 05:02 AM
RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - by deific - 11-03-2015, 05:03 AM
RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - by Kat - 11-03-2015, 05:03 AM
RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - by deific - 11-03-2015, 05:04 AM
RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - by Kat - 11-03-2015, 05:05 AM
RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - by deific - 11-03-2015, 05:07 AM
RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - by Kat - 11-03-2015, 05:07 AM
RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - by deific - 11-03-2015, 05:09 AM
RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - by Kat - 11-03-2015, 05:10 AM
RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - by deific - 11-03-2015, 05:13 AM
RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - by Kat - 11-03-2015, 05:13 AM
RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - by deific - 11-03-2015, 05:15 AM
RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - by Kat - 11-03-2015, 05:17 AM