Adore me, Hold me and explore me
Charlie hadn’t seen all of it before even if she did know about it; the full map of him laid bare, scar tissue raised like rivers carved into stone, the darker pink ropes tugging with each movement. For a breath, she lets her gaze linger, blue eyes drinking in every mark, but when they finally rise to his, they carry no pity, only something brighter, adoring and sharp as worship. Predators recognise each other, and Charlie has never shied away from the strength of survival, even in its most visceral form.
Her tail flicks in lazy rhythm behind her as she tilts her head, gaze wandering down the lines of him. It lingers where vein beats just beneath skin, at the slope of his throat, at the wrists that promise easy rivers if opened, and then again at those rare patches left untouched by scar. A hum vibrates from her throat, low and thoughtful, as if she were an artist assessing canvas rather than flesh. "Scar tissue doesn’t bleed the same," she muses idly, pressing the dagger’s tip into her own finger, twisting it without care as if to punctuate her point.
When her eyes return to him, there’s mischief in their gleam but weight in her words. She cocks her head, smile curving languid. "It depends..on how fast or slow you want this to be, and how much pain you want wrapped into it. You and I both know there are places where a blade will bite and gush, and others where it will only sting and weep." Her voice softens, reverent, her grin tempered into something almost tender as she adds, "The faster ways feel like dying. The slower…" she leans in just a fraction, her lips pulling slightly down at the edges, "will feel more like torture.". He'd experienced both, but Charlie would leave it to the butcher to decide which aspects of his brutal past he might most like to avoid, if either.
Her tail flicks in lazy rhythm behind her as she tilts her head, gaze wandering down the lines of him. It lingers where vein beats just beneath skin, at the slope of his throat, at the wrists that promise easy rivers if opened, and then again at those rare patches left untouched by scar. A hum vibrates from her throat, low and thoughtful, as if she were an artist assessing canvas rather than flesh. "Scar tissue doesn’t bleed the same," she muses idly, pressing the dagger’s tip into her own finger, twisting it without care as if to punctuate her point.
When her eyes return to him, there’s mischief in their gleam but weight in her words. She cocks her head, smile curving languid. "It depends..on how fast or slow you want this to be, and how much pain you want wrapped into it. You and I both know there are places where a blade will bite and gush, and others where it will only sting and weep." Her voice softens, reverent, her grin tempered into something almost tender as she adds, "The faster ways feel like dying. The slower…" she leans in just a fraction, her lips pulling slightly down at the edges, "will feel more like torture.". He'd experienced both, but Charlie would leave it to the butcher to decide which aspects of his brutal past he might most like to avoid, if either.
Mark your territory, Tell me I'm the only, only, only, only one
Hella golden retriever energy. Small unrefined horns made of ruby. Regular spade-shaped tail.
