brave_kreyu | OOM All Skate Skellig Dream Magic Weirdness -Part Seven

Reaching for her dress once she has removed it fully - and making no effort to hide the Look he gives her body in the meantime - he nods.

"I think that would be best."

After all, there are innocent humans within range of their piercing cries here, and he does not feel they need traumatized any further after the events of yesterday.

He might almost be getting USED to riding Kreyu in her dragon shape by now!

Once they arrive at the Lair, she switches back to her human shape, and pulls him in for a thorough kiss.

Her voice is low, husky. "I would quite like to tie you to our bed and dance for you. Would you like that?"

Nodding softly, he smirks.

"I would. However, before you do that..."

Skellig purposefully does NOT finish his sentence, instead swiftly wraps his arms around her, grabbing her ass and pulling her body firmly against his as he returns her kiss with a reciprocating one of his own.

Is this cheating? Absolutely. Does he care? Absolutely not.

She presses her body against his, returns every bit of fervor and want until she simply MUST break to breathe.

"Grabbing me while you can?" she teases. "I'll let you touch me as much as you please, after I've gotten you to come for me," she purrs.

Once they're inside 'their' room, Kreyu smirks. "You can strip yourself, if you like, or let me do it once I've tied you to the bed." She has the cords in her hands now, so very smooth.

Edited 2024-07-01 03:01 (UTC)

"Would you prefer me standing at the end as I was before, or do you want me lying down?"

Skellig makes no effort to untie his kilt just yet, though his hands do wander to his waist - inwardly, he is forcing his breath to remain steady, his heartbeat to stay as calm as possible. He knows once she slips that dress onto her body that he will face a struggle, so it is going to take all he has now to maintain control.

"Standing at the end please, you'll have a better view that way." She sings a few syllables and the light in the room takes on a warm, romantic, low glow. She checks on the fire, makes sure it's not going to go out.

She's so very careful when she ties his hands and legs to the bedposts, gives him plenty of give in the rope. The platform she made the last time materializes behind him, eases any strain on his body from gravity.

He checks the bonds once he has been tied up - he trusts her methods, and there is plenty of room for 'give' if he should need it - and then shakes his wings out behind him, allowing them to rest easily partially opened behind him.

"I can understand why this dress is one you use for your acts as Goddess," he mutters softly as she moves to pull the dress from the chest where it is stored safely away. "It is quite awe inspiring simply to see you in it. And then to be able to watch you dance in it, as you allow me to do so..."

He shivers gently, flexes his feet against the ground.

"...definitely inspiring."

"It fits the role," she agrees. "And they were so happy, the first time I wore it."

She removes her linen gown, lays it carefully on the chest. The beads make little noises as they rub against each other as she puts it on. Gold, stones, shells, a little symphony of sounds. In the lower light, it's much easier to look at her, but she still shines, still sparkles.

Her hips sway as she walks over to him. She touches his cheek, a featherlight touch, then trails her fingers down his body to where his kilt is fastened. It won't take long for her to get it off of him. "Want to see how every bit of you reacts to me," she tells him, voice rough with desire.

"I do not know if I should even bother attempting to resist," he admits. "I would not wish to become discouraged in my efforts, knowing how...strongly I am likely to react to seeing you."

And already, his heartbeat is quickening in his chest, skin flushing slightly as her hands settle to his waist, work to remove the kilt from his body. He works his throat in a silent swallow, gathering his wits about him as her fingertips graze across his stomach.

So badly does he want to touch her already, and she has not even started to dance yet!

"They will be most delighted to see you again, I am certain," he says. "When was the last time you made yourself known to them?"

"I would say do whatever you think would increase your enjoyment," she tells him. "Though if you 'resist' longer, I would need to dance more for you, this time."

"Ten years ago, maybe?" she replies, as his kilt slips off of him at last. "Perhaps a bit less than that. The years tend to run together a bit."

She moves several feet away from him, into a nice, open, space. "Oh, you are so lovely," she tells him, voice low. She manifests her wings, as the dress was made with slits to allow them to come 'out'. She stretches her wings, once, twice.

Skellig growls under his breath when she manifests her wings, stretches them out into the open space that surrounds her. For some reason, he had not considered the possibility that she may introduce her wings into this scenario, and it has just upped the ante significantly.

"Not as lovely as you," he mutters. "My Goddess."

He readily soaks in the image of her standing there, appreciating every inch of her as she stands in front of him - the firelight mixing with the low light in the room to cast shimmers and reflections on the walls surrounding them.

"Yours," she replies.

Skellig is something like a bird, something like a beast, something like a man, and something like an angel. Her dance, right now, is something that resonates with every part of him.

She leaps, wings coming down with powerful strokes. She glitters like the treasures with which birds line their nests, court a mate. She's displaying for him, showing her grace or skill. Beasts display for each other too, show grace, strength, power. And humans, OH humans, they do all the things birds and beasts do, and more! She starts to shimmy, shake her hips, turn her body, a dance meant to tease, to seduce, a human invention. (Do angels court one another? Perhaps. They ARE often depicted with wings and gold and shiny things are often offered to divine beings...)

Her display of courtship is resonating firmly in his soul, his body responding to the actions as she moves throughout the space, close enough to tease and seduce him but not close enough that he can lean and touch her (though oh, he tries!) with his body as she shimmies in front of him. The air moved by her wings ruffles his hair and his feathers as she leaps and turns, and he feels as if every fiber of his being is entangled with hers as she moves.

It is nearly enough to entrance him, with the intensity that he remains focused on her, though some part of his mind is smart enough to remind him to breathe, not to let himself slip fully under her 'spell' she is creating as she moves.

Skin flushing, heat pooling in his stomach and groin, goosebumps rising across his neck and arms, cock stirring between his thighs - all parts of him are alive and reacting as she dances. He flares his wings somewhat 'aggressively' as she teases him, getting tantalizingly close to him during one pass without touching.

The 'aggressive' flare of his wings makes her grin wickedly, turn away from him and bend forward to place her hands on the floor. Her wings splay low, submissive, and if she were actually a bird or a beast this would be an invitation to mount her. But then she shakes that ass, teasing, for a little while before she raises her hands from the floor and turns back around.

Her heart and her breath are fast from exertion, she's flushed, sweating already.

There are very few situations in which Skellig's 'feral' nature tries to overtake his energy - even in the moments where his chest is filled with rage and discontent (like when he stood over Akatan's form as the fool begged for mercy at his feet) it is not simply his feral, primal self that tries to take control. Choosing to let his anger and vengeance free is a calculated decision, as he knows he will suffer the consequences later of allowing the Dark to take hold of him, for however brief it may be.

But this is different.

There is no rage here, no discontent or anger, no need for vengeance. This is simply nature, his mind and body responding to what she's doing to him (teasing, taunting, begging) with her movements as she dances.

That dress covers just enough that he cannot see everything, and that is almost more tantalizing than if she were naked; the flashes of light from the reflections as they bounce off of the jewels and bits of glass catch his attention as they scatter across the walls that surround them. And his hearing most of all - every shimmy, every shake, every rapid breath she takes, every beat of her heart in her chest - he can hear all of it and it is opening his senses up wide. Eyes dark, head cocked to the side, wings quivering at his back. He can feel the faint bite of the silk cords at his wrists and ankles, but it is no more than an afterthought with everything else he is focused on.

Now she has him entranced, her net cast over him, the beast 'caught' in her trap.

Her eyes are violet, when she turns around, though her pupils are dilated enough that the purple is a relatively narrow ring.

Her dance transitions to something less wild, less frenetic. She's not used to dancing this much, especially with this much weight on her shoulders! But mostly, she slows because she wants to watch HIM. If this is a trap, perhaps they are both caught in it?

She unconsciously licks her lips as she meets his eyes, swaying slowly side to side. He looks so lovely, so wild, with his head cocked, his wings quivering, his eyes so dark, cock fully erect and flushed with blood.

She sings, her voice low, sweet, tempting. The language isn't one he knows, but it's a woman calling for her lover. The phrases are oblique, and not so oblique, references to ways they might enjoy one another's bodies. He can't understand the words, but her tone, the ways she moves her body for him, might be enough for him to get some notion of what it MEANS.

She shimmies, she shakes, she bends and sways, her wings trace patterns in the air, but she can't bring herself to look away from him.

In some ways, Skellig is grateful for the less frenetic pace of her movements, because it allows him to tamp down the slowly-rising (but oddly in this instance, not negative or full of panic?) instinct of fight or flight that is bubbling underneath the surface of his energy in this moment.

If he were to choose 'fight', it would be to fight FOR her, for the right to claim her as his own, as his mate, his dragon, his lover. If he were to choose 'flight', it would be a flight TO her, to take her into his arm and grab hold of her tightly, perhaps whisk them both off to a location far away where they could simply be themselves, wild and feral as their minds (or at least, his mind) wish to be in this moment.

He may not understand the words, but the meaning is clear enough from the look in her eyes, the way she keeps her focus locked on his gaze, the feelings he can sense pulsating beneath the tone of her words as she sings to him.

Skellig does not trust himself to speak in this moment - doesn't even know if his mind remembers how to speak, in this moment. So he does not. But he can still breathe, so his lungs are still working, and as she repeats a 'verse' of the song he picks up the melody and hums the low parts very softly, almost as if in response.

Her head tilts sideways, and he can feel her surprise when he hums, but it's PLEASED surprise!

She dances closer to him than she has in a while, when he starts humming. He might, with as much of a lunge as he can manage and stretching his wings as far forward as he can, be able to brush the tips of his longest wing feathers against her body.

Her whole body sways like a tree in the wind, her muscles flexing. He catches glimpses of the flesh he knows so well through the beads, the sight a tease.

The song is richer, fuller, when they work together, makes her shiver with want.

Owls are not known for their true ability to practice mimicry, and that is not what Skellig is doing here - he is simply using his instincts to echo what she is doing, allowing his voice to 'aid' hers in song.

During her next 'pass' of him he does indeed lunge forward, straining against the bonds and flaring his wings towards her body in an effort to touch her - there is a firm resistance from her knots (she tied them well!) that holds him back, but he feels as if maybe, just maybe, he manages to brush her skin with the tips of his wings.

(Whether it is real or imagined as part of this 'spell' she has him under, he isn't sure - but he also doesn't really care.)

And while his feathers themselves do not have nerves running through them, they lead to nerves within his wings, and the sensation of contact after being denied (he pulls firmly again against the cords - no luck!) is enough to send a hard shudder down his spine, want and desire flaring sharply in his mind.

Her sharp inhalation of breath and the stutter of her heart suggests that he did indeed touch her. The touch, as light as it is, makes her ACHE between her legs.

She's moving slow now, lazy rolls of her hips. "I can come closer, but if I do, the dress has to come off," she tells him. Pausing in her song for a moment. The dress is one of a kind and won't clean easily if something...sticky gets all over it.

Edited 2024-07-02 01:21 (UTC)

She is...speaking to him. With words. In a language that he usually can understand.

Skellig cocks his head sharply to the side, attempting to get his ears to refocus on words, but currently all he can hear is the soft symphony of the beads and stones as she lazily rolls her hips as she dances for him, her stuttering heartbeat in her chest, her breath catching in her lungs. She wants him badly, as much as he wants her. And she is speaking to him...

He relaxes back slightly in the bonds, shakes his head 'no'.

His eyes dart rapidly to the reflections on the walls, then his gaze comes back to her, looking her up and down unabashedly in that dress...he can sense a slight growing fatigue in her muscles, can practically hear her body as it works to carry the weight of it.

Then a thought strikes him, and his eyes flash with excitement, a shiver running down his spine and extending all the way out into his feathers, fluttering briefly and rapidly behind him before he extends one wing, reaching it out towards her. He nods his head towards the wing tip, encouraging her to at least get close enough to let that touch her skin...

She steps close, light on her feet, thinking she's got a sense of what he's intending.

She lets his wing tip touch her wrist, her bare skin, curious about what will happen. The dress is a heavy thing, but he CAN make it lighter. Perhaps because the shells and the silk and the leather were once part of living things?

The previous connection to the living world is a large part of what makes this ability work - as he strokes his feathers over the inside of her wrist, careful and calculated energy is sent from his stores of Light (he currently has an over-abundance built up in his system, he would be a beacon and distraction to anyone SEEKING it) to her dress, lifting some of that weight from it. Not all of the weight of it does he lift, as it would be unnatural for it to be entirely weightless, or to match even the sheer of a silk chiffon. It would not move correctly. But then again, she is the Goddess...

He can see by her reaction that it works, and he grins widely, withdraws his feathers from her arm.

"Better?"

"Much. Thank you, love."

"I think I could go leaping about all over the place, but that would mean taking my eyes off of you," her voice is a little rough with want.

She dances and twirls, shakes her hips, flaunts her body, but her eyes are never off of him for more than a moment or two.

Edited 2024-07-02 02:06 (UTC)

Skellig manages to watch her dance for another few moments without saying another word - after all, he is caught again in the trance of the sounds the beads and shells are making to go along with her singing to him. But eventually he 'breaks' and it is too much for him to bear.

"My love," he whispers, voice low and harsh. "I fear if I continue to watch you dance for me, I may find myself..."

He bites his lower lip hard to pull his attention away from the growing ache in his cock.

"I do not wish to leave you unsatisfied."

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