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To Tame a Beast

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You hadn’t expected to get this tipsy this quickly. But, strolling down the street arm in arm with Hien and giggling far too hard when one of you stumbles, you couldn’t deny you were further in the drink than you intended to get tonight.

It was a result of your nerves.

You hadn’t attended a get together like this one before, a fancily-worded meet and greet of the socialites of society. Making connections, impressing potential business partners, and intimidating competitors alike. It was your first, and thankfully, you weren’t alone.

Hien was an ever-present constant in your life, and you would never be able to properly verbalise to him how much he meant to you. He had remained by your side through the ups and the downs, the easy and the hard, the painful and the fun. Your life had become a metaphorical roller-coaster after you had seized your destiny with both hands. It was incredibly taxing, but you wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.


You had been shocked when you were not able to find a job after high school. They had called you many things. A star pupil. An over-achiever. A sports fiend. Trophies lined the bedroom walls in your bedroom, and your teachers all held very high opinions of you. You had worked hard to create a name for yourself there. Surely it would translate over to your job applications after you graduated, and scoring a well-paying job would be a breeze!

“You’re a very bright young lady,” Murmurs the aged woman across the desk, smiling weakly with weary eyes and a bone-deep tiredness. “I could get you a job at McDonalds.”

You sat there, mouth agape. You must have looked foolish, because the woman only shrugs.

“I’m sorry, but you just don’t have any experience.”

You thanked her, because you knew it wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t her fault that in that moment, you felt your hard work turn to dust in your hands. The praises and the well-wishes becoming a bitter taste in your mouth. Experience.

It made you furious. You were smart, driven, honest, and you were very good at adapting. You could learn just about anything in a surprisingly short space of time. Everything a company could value in an employee, conveniently wrapped in the mind of a dry sponge. You hadn’t been taught; you would be so easy to mold into whatever a company could want. And instead, you were offered the bare minimum. It was an honourable profession, there was nothing wrong with working in a fast food chain. But dammit all, you would never be able to be satisfied if you settled now. You had to strive for more, you had to find a way.

So, you walked out of the employment agency, crumpled your paperwork in your hands, and tossed it carelessly in the trash-bin outside the front door. Your eyes were sharp, your brow was slightly creased, and nothing could dampen the desire for success that was thrumming through your veins. An idea already forming in your mind.

You met Hien at a fashion exhibit.

After the dose of reality that had been force-fed to you, you had invested all of your time into exploring the various avenues open to you. Attended events, shook hands, met those around in your area that had aspirations, talent, and a drive for success that matched your own.

Asian-inspired fashion donned mannequins around the buildings, perfectly posed with artworks that complimented the colours of the garments perfectly. It was a small exhibit, obvious that the creator was still inexperienced as you were. But that was why you were drawn to it.

Champagne clutched in delicate hand; you were tilting your head to properly examine one particular garment. Something that vaguely resembled a kimono, dancing the line of Japanese modesty and Western ideals. The upper half was relatively clothed, though the flesh-coloured mesh and swirling patterns would argue to what degree. Meanwhile it was shorter, slitted, exposing more leg than most people may be comfortable with. It was beautiful.

You were mumbling to yourself, but you can’t even recall now what it was about, simply your thoughts parting your lips unconsciously.

“Do you like it?”

You jump, champagne almost spilling over your fingers with ears flattening atop your head as it turns to look at the source of sudden noise. A man with dark hair stands there, looking sheepish with a boyish smile.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

You relaxed at the genuine regret in his voice, ears raising again as your tail swishes gently against your own leg.

“No, no. Forgive me. I was so involved I didn’t even notice you.” You offer a smile in return, your slightly pointed canines showing in the toothiness of it before your gaze drifts back to the gown. “Yes. I like it. To answer your question.”

“It was one of my first. I have some newer ones that are better quality made, but this one is special.”

You didn’t pause at his admission. “I have seen the others. They are wonderful as well.” Your hands reach out as if you planned to touch the material in front of you, before you hurriedly remembered yourself and your hand is tucked neatly across your chest. “I thought this may have been an early work. Not because of quality of work, really. But.. I can’t explain it. I can feel your effort in it. Like you’re trying to prove something.” The kind of determination you knew well, because you shared it. “Though I wouldn’t know whether you’re proving to yourself or someone else.” You give a light chuckle as you raise your glass to your lips and look back to him. The playful expression drops, however, when you see the odd expression on his face. You freeze, unsure if you had upset him.

“I suppose it would be a bit of both.” He concedes, looking down, and then to the dress. There long moments of silence, before you hear him inhale long and deep, and once more your eyes find each other. “Can I.. get you a drink?”

You already had a drink, but it was quickly thrown back with a couple of graceless gulps. “Yes. Please.”

It was that night your co-operation began. Both unknown people with dreams too big to fit in one vision.

He wanted to expand, and so did you. You found your small group of models and assistants through a newspaper ad. You created a look book, used for both sides as your models and his clothing were equal stars in every shot. The photography was the most expensive part of it, the man behind the camera overpriced and arrogant, annoyed at having to work with amateurs. But his young assistant was kind, the crimson-haired Miqo’te male smiling bashfully at you as you gave him toothy grins.

Hien fiddled, you encouraged your models and supervised the photographer, and the look book was something to behold. It gave you something to present to possible clients.

They were small jobs at first, but that was alright with you. It provided you enough to pay your team, and carefully invest the rest.

Urianger was a dream with the finances. It was like he could tell the future, seeing what they would need money for before you had thought of it. You were in awe of him, and would strive to learn as much as possible from such a mind.

Tataru was also a gift. She had a talent for organization, being able to co-ordinate makeup artists, hair artists, and stylists at seemingly the drop of a hat. You were a little shy to admit that you would often take advantage of her connections, but she never minded. She was always happy to help.

Thancred was a common request when it came to male models. His stark white hair and pale skin were perfect for photographing, the look book showing off just how exotic he could appear in just about any clothing. His habit of seducing the women and men alike around him was a cherry on top.

Y’shtola was a cool but unendingly kind model. There was never friction with her, but she was always the first to be able to discern someone’s character. Though she was blind, her milky eyes and pale hair shone like an angel in pale light.

The twins were entertaining. Alisaie, the boastful and assertive female, and Alphinaud, the twin who seemed like he was still learning his own skin, were always amusing to be around. The niche market they had rarely fit into before had exploded after their premiere.

Your group of models was small, but deeply treasured and loyal. When it came to a name for your company, it was of course a group effort.

The Scions.

Hien was making his own strides, sweeping the fashion industry off its feet with his new Doma brand fashion.

It was perhaps bad timing, when Hien and yourself had dated. It was early, before you both had truly grasped how much your budding brands would pull from you. It was not a lengthy affair, a few months. But you would be forever glad that it had ended amicably, deciding to remain friends and support each other to the fullest extent. Sometimes, you could still catch the wistful smiles on each other’s faces when you gaze at each other.

You met a young man to the end of your first year establishing your agency. A photographer that shared your visions and wanted to help you elevate your models through his perfect lens. He was freelance, but you knew he would drop everything, should you ever ask.


He was still in your employment, though he had always had connections with larger brands as well. He just had a soft spot for you, you suspected. But you also weren’t the type to exploit that either.

Your agency was growing, the number of your models expanding, but your closest were immovable. You were here for them, as they were for you. You would do anything to give them anything they wanted. You needed to grow bigger, put your brand name out there more, build a bigger portfolio, add more clients. And you were on your way.

You weren’t made to work the line.

You were here to make your mark.


Your hair was held perfectly as you finally arrived to the venue, only thanks to Tataru’s persistent observation, make-up on your face only enough to accentuate your features. You weren’t overly comfortable wearing too much, being pampered. That was for your models, not you. But tonight, you allowed it. As Hien’s arm curls around your waist in support, you once more thanked your lucky stars for her. You school your expression, the playful blush lessening as you stand in line with your partner.

“I feel so nervous.” Hien murmurs to you, and you give an amused breath.

“I could tell.” A brief moment’s pause, sliding your eyes to look up at him as your tail taps on the back of his thigh. “So am I.”

You were wearing a dress of his design, a midnight blue gown that has a beautifully low-cut back and a higher neckline. Being relatively short compared to most others, you were thankful for this choice. His suit was also of his design, the yellow and cyan jacket a statement that was haute fashion if she had ever seen it; slung across half of his body with white fur and black patterns.

“You look handsome.” You reassured him, your hand patting his that rested on your small waist. He grinned boyishly back.

“Invitations, please.” The doorman beckons them, security standing guard behind. You reach into your clutch slung over your shoulder with gold chain, retrieving your own, as Hien pulls him from within his coat. The attendee glances them over, before smiling that customer-service smile and gesturing graciously for them to enter. “Enjoy your night.”

“Thank you.” The nerved come back to nip at your heels, moving past the man perhaps a bit too fast, if Hien’s gentle laugh was anything to judge by.

You climb the stairs just inside the entrance, focused on keeping your breathing even and your thoughts as clear as they can, though your nerves were cutting through the alcohol running through you like a knife already.

You had no one to blame but yourself for the drinks you had with Hien beforehand. But you had Tataru to thank for lecturing you and having you study names and faces of different business CEOs, because as you breach the rooftop deck, all you could see was an ocean of expensive suits and glamorous dresses.

Your breath leaves you in a rush, feeling Hien’s hand upon your waist squeeze slightly as he, too, struggles with his discomfort in such a public place. He was made for this, though. You had seen him win over many people in the span of a single conversation. He was a natural leader.

When you looked up and saw your expression echoed back by his handsomely bearded face, you’re reminded that you were the same. You inhale slowly, and then release the long breath, and you move as a duo into the unknown.

Your tail stays close to your body, not wanting to cause anyone to trip as you navigate through the bodies. Eyes slide to you and Hien, a sea of sharks scenting for blood. You didn’t pay too much attention to the stares; you weren’t chum. You make your way to the bar, Hien taking a glass of beer, and you taking a nice Moscato in your stiletto-clawed fingers. You mull the drinks but for a moment before a familiar voice calls out.

“Warrior! Hien!”

You flush at the nickname, even though you had adapted it as more of your professional alias. Spawned from a drunken night of shenanigans. A bottle too deep with your Scions, Hien, and Haurchefant had you wearing a crown of fairy-lights, wielding a steak knife dangerously and proclaiming yourself the Warrior of Light. The name wasn’t going anywhere; had only spread like wildfire through the industry.

“Haurchefant!” You greet him back, ears flicking at your eagerness of knowing a familiar face, watching the blue hair weave past the last few bodies to stand before you. “How long have you been here? You should have texted me.”

“No, I haven’t been here long.” He comforts you, like he always does. “Oh! And there is someone I want you to meet.” He looks back to where he had come from and gestures. From the fray arrives a noirette Elezen, eyes as blue as a clear sky and a smile that softens his face.

“I presume you’re the Warrior I’ve heard so much about.” His voice was like silk, and you caught yourself staring for moments too long. His gaze moves from you. “And Hien, as well. I take it you have designed your garments this evening?”

You clear your throat gently, clearing away the lingering unease and offer your hand to shake. “Aymeric. A pleasure to meet you. Ishgard truly is an innovator when it comes to footwear. I loved the pair featured in Vogue just this past week.” There was just the slightest shake to your voice, though whether due to nervousness or the alcohol was anyone’s guess.

He takes your hand, though instead of shaking it, raises it to his lips with a gentle kiss to your knuckles. He smiles to you as he lingers, before relinquishing your hand back. “The pleasure is all mine. Your praise is too kind. I have also kept up with your work, I have heard news of your agency’s efficiency at supplying models that meet the demand perfectly.”

The praise warms you, a flush raising to your cheeks as you can’t help that toothy grin you’re so guilty of showing. But you shake yourself. “Thank you. And, yes,” You pause to laugh, and gesture lightly to Hien, who had been content to wait. “I’m wearing Doma. Beautiful, don’t you think?” With no small amount of pride. A slight turn of your hips, just so the bared open back of the dress could be seen on the edge of your figure.

“You wear it well.” Instead of responding, as the conversation shifts between the gentlemen for the moment, you take a drink from your wine glass. You meet eyes with Haurchefant around Aymeric’s towering figure. The blue-haired man sidles up to your side as Hien’s arm slips from your waist, indulging in his habit of talking with too much movement in his hands.

“How have you been, darling?” You ask your friend, hand lifting to lay upon his shoulder as you regard him with a gentleness. He chortles softly.

“I’ve been well. Work has been picking up, since we’re coming into the new season. The sets are nice this time of year, as well. I’ve always preferred winter.” You crinkle your nose in distaste; that was always a bone of contention. He laughs at you. “How about you, Warrior of Light?”

You smack his collar lightly with a light, playful scowl at the name, though it soon breaks into an affectionate laugh. “I’ve been well. A recent influx of aspiring models has kept me on my toes.”

You take another drink, and the night blends. Faces, voices, names, it’s all so much to retain. You play your part, you flounce and flit, introduce yourself to as many people as you can, and offer cards to those who you could imagine your agency supplying for. Hien departs from your side, moving independently as the alcohol fuels you both with its fabled liquid courage.

Once you have broken yourself from yet another self-promotion and made your way to the bar with yet another empty glass, you heave a heavy breath, leaning your back to the bar and briefly indulge yourself in harmless people watching. Your tail curls obediently around your leg, exposed by Hien’s strategic slitting, the fur tickling on your flesh as tail’s tip flickers against the back of your own calf.

“It is a delicate dance..”

A voice to your side, and your head turns.

It takes you an embarrassingly long moment to figure out whether the male in front of you is real, or just a figment of your drunken mind, fuelled by a lonely frustration. His blonde hair cascades down his shoulders, a beautifully cut nose, and a jawline that you couldn’t help but envy. He was stunning, and you feel a sense of warmth that had nothing to do with the alcohol.

It’s obvious he’s real, however, when his head turns and he focuses his ocean-blue eyes to you.

They were cold, like shards of ice, even though his smile was gently resting on his perfect features. He struck you in such a way that you felt repelled and drawn in.

“Don’t you think?”

The soft timbre of his voice rouses you, and you force yourself to turn away from him. Even though he’s no longer in your vision, his gaze burns you like fire.

“Not so much a dance,” You murmur back, gesturing to the barman for another drink, even though you knew you should stop. “As navigating a warzone.”

“Oh? How so?”

He seemed curious, so you hum lightly, waiting for another wine to be pressed into your hands before steeling yourself to turn back to him. He’s still breathtaking. Dammit.

“Well, don’t give my opinion too much mind, I haven’t been to.. Very many of these.” Your hip bumps gently into the counter-top as you lean against it. “But it feels more like I’m wearing armour, more than a dress. People are paying attention, looking for chinks, seeing how high up the hierarchy we are, who we know. Seeing whether you’re better an ally or an opponent, depending on whether they can beat you or not.”

He doesn’t look deterred, looking at you with a slight crease to his brow, like he was considering something. So, of course, your inebriated verbal diarrhoea kicks in again.

“It’s flaunting power to whoever is a contender. You step on eggshells, steer the conversation in your favour, and create alliances. You have to make sure people know that you’re not an easy target. The difference is, you have to do it with a smile here. It’s different. Where war has battle strategies, here you have to be more underhanded.”

He still hasn’t said anything, and now it’s making you awkward. You raise your glass and practically shove your mouth inside to keep yourself from ranting again. You look up to him, his tall stature towering over your own slight form. He’s still watching you, though now with an intensity you can’t place.

“That’s.. What I think.”

“What is your name?” You frown slightly, noting the slightly breathless edge to his voice and wondering if he was on the verge of laughing at you.

“.. Warrior.” He laughs now, and your face flushes at how ridiculous you felt in that moment. Speaking of war, looking how you do, and then presenting such a name.

“Warrior.” He repeats it back to you. His voice is extremely pleasant, you wouldn’t mind him saying many more things.

“Mmm.” You hum in confirmation, though it was unnecessary. You remember yourself too late, free hand dropping to scrabble in your clutch for what turned out to be your last business card. You offer it over. “I run The Scions Modelling Agency. A pleasure.”

He reaches for the card, taking it from you and examining the small card. You wait for him to introduce himself on his own, but give a hefty breath when you’re left unsatisfied.

“And who might you be?”

“Zenos.” You claw through all the names you had been forced to memorise, though they fuzz in your brain. You don’t remember a Zenos, and you would be sure to remember someone who looks as he does. Lips part to question him further, but he interrupts you before you can begin. “Would you like to dance with me, Warrior of Light?”

He knew of you, of your reputation, and you sputter into your drink, once more flushing as you release a nervous giggle. “Oh, God.” Free hand raises, shielding your eyes as you tuck your body in on itself, still releasing breathy laughs. You don’t know why it was making you especially embarrassed to know a man this gorgeous knew of your embarrassing namesake.

His brow lifts expectantly, though his smile only grows, so much so that you can sense it. “An answer would be nice.”

“Oh! Oh, yeah, I mean..” You stutter, your brain still trying to catch up. “Sure.” Too hesitant. “Sure.” You say with more surety, drinking from your fresh wine for a moment, before placing it back on the bench.

His hand extends to you, and when you place your own in his grip, you’re fully struck with the size difference. His fingers envelop your own, and your throat tightens as your gaze trails up his arm, his large form wrapped and pressed in a perfectly fitted suit. It was no doubt to be exclusive designer wear that would have you fainting at the price tag. Who was this guy?

You allow him to lead you to the floor, moving slowly and surely, and thanking your lucky stars the natural clumsiness that comes out when you drink doesn’t have you falling flat on the floor on your way. Your eyes scan for a sign of Hien, Haurchefant, or even Aymeric, and find nothing. It has you almost pouting, before a sudden tug on your arm swiftly captures your attention, as does the following body pressed to your own. You swallow thickly again, taken aback like you hadn’t realized that dancing meant you had to actually dance.

Your free hand slowly drags up his arm to place on his broad shoulders, the cut of his form truly something to behold. You let yourself move a little further, tracing the silk of his long blonde hair as it rests on his lapel, just to see if it was as soft as it looked. You weren’t disappointed. His own hand drops to your waist, pulling your slighter body against his own, looking down at you with those cold eyes of him. He struck you as a predator, his smile disarming, but his gaze slicing like an unsheathed blade. He was a dangerous man, even in your current state you could see it. But the feel of his body against yours was addicting. But more so than that, this close you could truly begin to sense the very scent of him.

It was hard to place, but it was a heady combination that seemed to cling to him, but was nowhere near overwhelming. You hadn’t imagined a person could smell this good, and you found yourself frowning and leaning in to take a couple of deep breaths of him. Your eyelashes flutter before you collect yourself, looking up at him with a sheepish smile when you could see the action had been caught. He doesn’t say anything, and you weren’t about to either.

The music was in the background, and your bodies met in a gentle sway, becoming a fluid movement with shocking ease. He didn’t feel the need to fill the silence with words, seemingly content to keep you close with that expression like he was still considering you. You would part your lips to speak, then your eyes would catch his gaze and be enraptured once more, ears flicking atop your head as your tail’s tip darts in an emotion you didn’t want to delve into.

After long moments, his hand slides to your lower back, and you’re pulled in closer, inhaling sharply and being caught once more in that trap of his scent. You felt like a fly being lured by honey, you knew it was happening and yet were powerless to stop it.

His voice pulls you from your state of obsession, blinking owlishly up at him.

“I had always thought these events were below me. Nothing had impressed me, no one had been of much interest,” He pauses, and you tilt your head to the side slightly. “I have been most fortunate tonight.”

Whether he meant you or not, you weren’t willing to confirm, because his words had you trembling slightly in his grasp as your mouth goes dry. You don’t recall being so easy to seduce, and yet in this moment he has you in the palm of his hand. As if sensing your thoughts, his grip around your waist tightens, and he leans down over you.

“I would be inclined to explore just how much you can surprise me, Warrior of Light.”

Your nickname falls from his lips with a condescending tone, and instead of bristling, you melt, breath rushing from you in a shuddering exhale as if you had been punched. “Oh..” Is your intelligent response, eyes falling to half-mast. Perhaps it had been too long since you had been with someone in this way, since someone had so openly propositioned you and feeling that sense of desire.

“Would you indulge me this night?”

You knew what he was asking, what he meant. And you could find not a moment of hesitation.


His smile deepens into something akin to a feline having caught the mouse. When he breaks apart from you, you almost chase after him. But you’re grounded by the fact his hand remains firmly upon the slender curve of your waist. He guides you through the crowd, and it must have been your imagination that it parts for you, the bodies moving out of your way. You don’t risk looking around, being deterred from this course of action that has an unnameable energy pulsing through your veins with a slowly burning need. You keep your eyes affixed to his features, even as he continues to look straight ahead.

Had you been more sober, perhaps you would have talked sense into yourself. You would not have accompanied a stranger home, from an event that could have formed you connections in your industry, for a man you hadn’t met, and knew only the name of. Truthfully, though you would deny it later, you were not deep enough in the drink that such a path was closed to you. You could have talked yourself out of it. When he asked you to dance, when he pulled you close enough to feel the shape of his body, when he guides you through the crowds, and when he gestures you to get into his private car. At any point, you were sober enough to stop. You chose not to. The level of attraction you held for him was new and terrifying. You couldn’t resist it.

When he elegantly seats himself in the back with you, the driver at the front blocked off by a sheet of black, you waste no time unbuckling your seat belt and moving onto his lap.

He looks surprised, but very quickly pleased as his hands grip to the plush of your hips.

You pause for a moment longer, just to look at him.

And then you’re upon him.

He kisses like you imagined he would, for what brief interaction the two of you were engaged in. Fierce. Demanding. Yet a sweet coercion, as if he was trying to convince you that you were able to take control, only to sweep the rug out from below you the next moment. Your hands raise, cradling either side of his perfect face as you tilt your head into him, deepening the kiss as you press close to him upon his lap. Your lips part, and he follows suit, letting him taste the sharpness of your pointed canines with a nip to his lip. He offers back a short and quiet groan, but it was enough for your grip to tighten upon him, your hips shifting to rub against his own. He regains his stride quickly enough, invading your mouth with his tongue and leaving no room for mutiny. You let him have this moment, ravish your lips with his own to draw out your rushed breaths and keening moans. His hands run up and down your sides, before one drops to grasp at the soft flesh of your clothed ass, and the other raises to grasp a handful of your tresses.

The kiss parts as he pulls back on your hair, panting heatedly as your face is forcefully lifted to the ceiling, neck exposed. He gives a sharp growl, before descending with a cruelty on your neck. You wouldn’t call him gentle, but you wouldn’t call him rough, either. He bites his marks into you with sharp teeth, and only the barest soothing swipes from his talented tongue. Surrounded by his scent, you take the excuse to take heaving breaths of him, eyelashes fluttering until eyes close fully.

A bump in the road has your slender form bounce on his lap, and you both give a sound of pleasure as your heat rubs against the hardness confined in his slacks. The movement raises the temperature in the car dangerously. Yet, you give a soft sob as he pulls from your spectacularly bruising neck, pulling back to look at your flushed, needy expression.

“What is it about you,” Oh, God, his voice sent tremors through you, your hands sliding down over his chest, still hidden behind pressed cloth. You could feel his muscles when his breath hitches at your touch. “That makes me hunger this way?”

He wasn’t really asking you anything, so you just part your lips in response, the pointed tips of your canines visible as you run your touch over him.

“I want to devour you.”

The admission strikes something in you that was like fire, burning the inside of your skin as you growl lowly, ears pressing to your head as you sink down, maw parting to take a mouthful of his neck into your mouth and start returning the favour. He seems surprised at first, his hands stopping, but when you feel your teeth break the skin, the pleasured moan that falls from him was almost enough to end you right there.

“Yesss..” He hisses right into your ear, the hand in your hair tightening once more, but this time to press you more into his flesh, encouraging you to bite harder, more, like he wanted to feel it all. Your hands finally trail down to the firm expanse of his stomach; even further. Your fingers barely get the opportunity to brush along the length of his size when the car is pulling to a stop. Your ears perk, and you pull from him, looking from side to side as if only now remembering where you were.

“We’re here?” Your voice trembles, knowing if you look back at him, you’ll fall under the spell, so you look anywhere else.

“If not, I’ll be needing a new driver.” He murmurs the words to you in a seductive hum, and it enraptures you. Not enough, this time, that you forget your senses. You reach for your abandoned clutch, a hand flying up to your neck to try and cover the myriad of marks his left, shooting him a glare at the realization there was no way you’d be without them for some time. He just gives you that smile of his, and reaches to open the car door.

You clamber over him with no semblance of grace, straightening out your dress as the driver looks at you, and then very quickly looks away. You’re sulking, and you can feel it. Zenos follows you out, closing the door sharply behind him before laying his hand once more over the small of your back to guide you. A good thing, too, because you were way too distracted by his touch. You weren’t paying attention to where you were going, you were looking at him like he was a work of art.

It surprises you when you’re pressed into an elevator; even more so when you’re quickly lifted and shoved against the wall. You voice your shock in a cry that’s swiftly muffled by an even more distracting mouth. You don’t complain again.

Arms loop around the back of his neck, moaning into him as you arch your back, leaving no room between your bodies as he crowds you into the cold wall. His hips grind into your own, and you offer a whimper to be devoured by his hungry lips. The slick sounds of your entwining tongues are embarrassingly loud in the confined space, but his hand sliding to grasp a handful of your ass once more leave no room for thought.

The elevator arrives, and Zenos departs with you attached like it was no different than usual. His feet carry him inside, and you don’t care where he’s taking you, as long as he doesn’t stop kissing you while he does so. Your hands force their way under the back of his shirt while he struggles to open a door in front of him, and you can’t help but drag your pointed nails up his back, drawing lines on his skin that was only fueled by his earlier reaction to your teeth. This time does not disappoint, him breaking the kiss between you to give a snarl of pained pleasure, feeling him shudder beneath your hands, and the satisfyingly loud noise of him kicking the damn door open. You offer a giddy laugh, high on the pleasure you were already riding on, as well as the exhilaration of fear that tickles through you in that moment.

His hands, previously grasping you where he pleased, can’t be fought as they force you to detach from his body once more, only to be thrown unceremoniously on a bed. You cry out, raise your head to glare at him, but instead suffer another hot flush of arousal at the sight of him. His neck was marked from your teeth, his crystalline eyes with pupils blown wide from his own desire, his hands pulling on his tie to loosen it, and then the buttons of his shirt.

You stare as he undresses, before you move to take off your own dress. Halted, quickly, by him grasping your wrists and keeping them still.

“No,” He’s breathless, just as you are. “I want to be the one to undress you. I want to thoroughly savour the prize of my hunt.” That wording, it was odd. If you recalled it in the morning, no doubt you would question your sanity for choosing a loon to bed. Now, though, in the throes of pleasure and anticipation, you don’t move to shed your dress again. You wait, watching, obedient for now as he takes his time revealing himself to you.

You’re fascinated as he pulls the bottom of his shirt free from his pants, buttons finally opened and exposing the corded muscles you had only guessed at with your touch earlier. His skin was pale, his blonde hair cascading down it beautifully as expensive clothing is carelessly tossed on the ground like it was nothing. You lay there, splayed out on his bed with your hands clenching and unclenching, wanting nothing more than to feel his warm skin beneath your touch once more. You bite on your own lower lip, hips shifting and thighs rubbing together to try and get some friction where you need it. He sees the movement, eyes falling to the movement and he smirks.

“You crave this as much as I.” You almost roll your eyes at his chattiness. Of course you did. He was gorgeous.

“Are you going to stand there in wonder, or are you going to take action?” You purr the words in a way you hope is seductive, and it seems to work well enough when his body crowds you in once more. He remains on his hands leaning over you, eyes dissecting your every curve, your every move. Then, when you were close to begging, he moves to undress you. You help him, though only so much as to move the right way, to arch your back and raise your arms as he pulls the clothing from you like he was unwrapping a cherished gift.

When you lay upon his dark sheets, hair splayed out and cheeks flushed from alcohol and desire, body bare apart from your bra and panties, he takes his time with you. Hands sliding over the swell of your breasts, the curve of your waist, the slight plushness of your hips and thighs. He seems as enthralled as you, and you whimper to try and usher him on, reaching to slide your fingers along the back of his scalp. He offers you a heated breath, looking up to your gaze where it remains; hands venturing to unclasp your bra with deft fingers and remove it. You’ll struggle to find your clothes in the morning, with the way he’s tossing them without a care over his shoulder.

Breasts exposed; his hands give them due attention while his eyes never shift from yours. In fact, he raises until your foreheads touch in an intimidatingly intimate moment that has you breathless once more. He’s watching your reactions, savoring the sounds that fall from your lips and paying mind to what draws them.

After your nipples had become too sensitive from his ministrations, and your whines become those bordering on pain does he move on. He slides down your body, lips pressing softly to the insides of your breasts, trailing down your quivering midsection, his fingers hooking in the band of your panties but not removing them as he finally gets close to where you want him.

“Zenos..” You finally call his name and he acts like you had struck him, a sharp groan as he bypasses your heat to bite hard on your inner thigh. You yelp, shivering, the pain blending with your pleasure in a way that still has you wincing, but your slickness pulsating in need to be touched. “Zenos, please! Please..” You want to cry, and it’s like he hears the tears in your voice from his chuckle, and decides to take pity on you.

“I told you that I wanted to devour you.” His voice is so thick, you can only sob in response. His fingers drag the cloth of your panties from your hips, backing up enough that he can pull them down your legs, fling them away, and then kneel back between your legs again. “I intend to make true on that.”

His hands slide up your legs, grasping hard to your thighs and pulling so that your hips are just on the edge of the bed. You look down in surprise and find him watching you; the expression he wears one that you can’t look away from. He keeps that gaze with you, like he was trying to see straight into your soul, while his mouth finally descends on your arousal.

You shout in delight, back arching and legs hooking around him as much as possible as once he begins, he assaults your senses with no mercy. His tongue is a weapon and a gift, sliding between your slick folds and pressing flat to your sensitive clit. “O-oh!” The sensations were divine, and he was ravenous. Your taste had him groaning against your skin, his hands grasping tight enough to bruise just so he could keep himself as close to your heat as he could get. Your hips grind against his face anyway, tail thrashing wildly over the edge of the bed as he resembles a beast on its prey.

Your first orgasm hits you out of nowhere, a short scream tearing from your throat as your whole body pulses from the pleasure, your fluids not wasted as he groans his delight and swallows. It leaves you weak, shuddering, but you’re given no respite.

“W-wait..” You protest as you feel him begin again, though this time with more precision. He is a frighteningly fast learner. You’re over sensitive. It hurts, yet it feels too good, and you’re writhing under his hold. You slow and then stop with a whimper as the strength of his hands holding you down becomes too much, stilling so that he may continue. You pant, staring up at his ceiling as the world spins. You had never cum just from oral before, surely it had just been too long?

You’re given just a moment of post-orgasm clarity before the pleasure and the need take over again.

You grind on his face desperately, hands reaching down to take fistfuls of his silken blonde tresses and hold his mouth tight to you, head thrown from side to side. His tongue, having learned of your folds, now moves to your entrance, the tightness of it clenching before relaxing and allowing his slick muscle to push inside of you.

“Ah! Yes!” You voice your enthusiasm; you knew his tongue was impressive from kissing him earlier, bur perhaps you had also underestimated its length. It strokes along your inner walls, leaving you a panting, shaking mess as he drinks his fill of you. His huffs of breath fall from his nose, though not regularly. As if he was far more interested in your pleasure than breathing. It’s with that thought and a particularly splendid curl of his tongue, that has you building up and rolling over your second orgasm. Your jaw grits tight before relaxing, your limbs shaking from the euphoria that rushes through your mind and blocks out all but the slick sounds of him thoroughly making a mess out of you.

He takes mercy just this once, giving you a moment of rest and pulling his mouth away. You look down at him with a bleary gaze to watch him lick your fluids from his lips, though you see the slickness on his chin also.


You whimper in response. You want him to crawl upon you, to take you as he wanted, so long as every inch of him is pressed against your body. You wanted to breach his back with your claws once more, to bite and tear at his skin as you both seemed to enjoy so. You wanted to tie him up and use him for your own pleasure. Scenarios play out in your head, and your desire to see them come to fruition is strong.

For now though, strength was zapped from your limbs, so you couldn’t fight against him when he forcefully turns you onto your stomach, hand dragging you up to your knees and the other forcing your head to remain down in the sheets. Your tail flickers in interest.

“Stay.” You obey, your own clawed hands moving to take fistfuls of the sheets below, maw parting and closing around a mouthful of the cloth, growling lowly into it as instead of mounting you as expected, he grasps your plush lower cheeks and parts them. “You won’t be leaving my bed tonight, Warrior.” Words murmured lowly before he was diving upon your quivering sex once again with his mouth.

He brings you to tears, screaming into the sheets as you tear slashes into his sheets. The kindness he had offered to you before was a distant past, as he brings you to completion time and time again; you couldn’t hope to keep track. He was a musician mastering your body as its instrument, and you cursed that he was so astute. You didn’t know how much time passed. Your body was glistening with a sheen of sweat and boneless. Your legs were unable to hold you up anymore, only his hands on your hips kept you upright.

With a final wet sound, he pulls away from you, letting you fall to the bed, fully drained.

No, you couldn’t remember how many times you came that night. Not now, or in the morning. The alcohol, and the fact that your mind had been completely blown were to blame.

The only thing you remembered was the sight of him rising to his feet behind you before sleep claimed you.