With Pieck sat across the table, chatting away and digging into her cake, Sasha watches intently, awaits her opening. It comes when Pieck bites into a strawberry; impeccable huntress reflexes, she leans forward, catches the other half of the fruit with her teeth, fingers guiding her chin (no escaping; it is revenge, after all), lips barely brushing against the Warrior's, a drop of strawberry juice caught between twin mouths. She pulls back, cheeks a light pink. "Happy birthday, miss Finger." :^)
〈 * it was pieck’s birthday -/- @amachja
WAS THIS CAKE TOO SWEET ? IT WAS A LITTLE TOO MUCH NO? sickly & sweet / an intoxicant tart of sour berries / ah, they were not quite in season / not quite ripe. & the sugary taste / soaking in buds / soaking in the sensation of marrow & lips ― the imbue of red / blood-like, you poke a finger into the cake / are you wanting it to bleed? SOMETHING ABOUT ITS COLOR / maybe it was blood. no. no. pieck. it is syrup, the honeyed lacquered is dripping off the side / blobbing into a little puddle on your plate / resembling the effluence of rosette that comes from an open gut / vibrant, sticky & wet & there, you drip finger into the saccharine pool, & finger-pads are now coated / the way lips part ― whole to halves ―― diverging just enough for a tongue to slip out― a tongue trails. lapping away / lick it clean. [oh little bird, a little songbird. how long do you plan to watch? ] the way sasha stares / how intently, how intimate, hm, that glee she had / athirst for a deliverance of some plot. does the prey yearn to play hunter? alright. & there, a clanking of teeth / mischief will bubble at the base of a throat, a titter humming out / swallow the laugh / play coy / you don’t mind playing prey. & preen your feathers, begin your siren cry ― now, lean in ― pick a berry from your plate & take a bite [will this be the apple of eve? ] you hope so. her heart would be much more savoury.
――― OH. "Happy birthday, miss Finger." that is it?
‘ ah. really? ’ that’s it, with the separation & the peroration of celebration / a tease. are we? oh no. no, no, no. you have given her a taste / a crumb, such a measly taste? & now, like a starving beast, those fangs you hide & those claws you keep far away / they itch & grind - itch to hold her neck, grinding to taste something more human. you want more. for once you get a taste, how is that to satisfy such a hungering, the emptiness of your gut, it will begin to eat itself if you do not eat / a starvation that you held off on, this blistering warmth that is a pitting wildfire waiting to spread / yes, a reoccurring starvation for innate & fictitious inklings / & these symptoms of lust ― & maybe, attraction. they really are too much for a fragile & tired girl to fight off any longer. oh, you intend to finish your cake, & then some. [have your revenge.] interrupt, interrupt the withdrawal of she / body falls against table / ribs pressing to wood as you crawl over / knees being your support. & fingers pluck another strawberry / stealing from sasha’s plate. fingertips will pose the berry between lips (you bite it in half) how thoughtful. / but, that maw is a danger / the only thing that comes near that is devoured whole. & the putrescent presence, the anatomy you sleep in / the skin you change into is now anchoring atop the table / it is all dirty now. [ you are on top of the table. everyone is looking. ] what a fun night.
& hands captures the curvature of woman’s design / that rose complexion is not enough. you take hold / fingers pressed to cheeks / pressure applied / part that mouth huntress, & open wide, open so wide ―― those heavy eyes / coal will burn out / & pricked rows of charcoal will bat her way / this innocence you feinted time & time again, it is so cruel. CLOSE THOSE EYES / steal a kiss - lips brushing - crashing against another’s / the part of jaw / strawberry passed off from tongue to tongue. & that tongue didn’t stop there, no. you invaded her mouth / explore it fully-completely, how far did you search? how far are you wandering down? / what are you going to do? shove your tongue & that berry down her throat, you might choke her off at this rate. [shame.] & still, only after you have tasted everything she has to give. only then, you pull away. & HOW DEATH’S FINGERTIPS WILL DRAG ACROSS THOSE LIPS / wiping the mess you had made / this gentleness, index & middle fingers, you suck off the remains. it is f l e e t i n g. it is gone.
& you retreat to your side of the table / you lean back in seat. that grin is far too wide, far too pleased.
' let me know if you want seconds. '