same time next year? | 4:9 | alastor mating season fic
4 | Wine ‘N Dine
part one | part two | part three
this is part four of an nine part mini series, and can also be found on my ao3
pairing: alastor x wife!reader
divider credit: @steviebbboi
series content: fem!doe!reader, alastor is down bad and needy, male! masturbation, bickering, temporary angst, fast burn, courting, mating season, dom/sub dynamic and undertones, body worship, praise kink, biting, scent marking, knotting, soft-top!Alastor/power-bottom!reader, non-sex repulsed alastor, fluffy spice
summary: Alastor can feel his mating season approaching, creeping over his limbs like an unwelcome, burning frost. And it's all the fault of the immovable object to his unstoppable force.
His estranged wife. His better half. The only other deer demon that seemed to both illicit and satiate the sudden spike of hormones and arousal of his annual rut.
Unfortunately for him, she's as stubborn as he is, and is still pissed at him for disappearing without a word for the past seven years.
And for the first time in a long time, Alastor has to rely on his ability to woo her to convince her to spend the duration of his rut with him.
TLDR: actions speak louder than words, and Alastor attempts to seduce his estranged wife over the course of a week leading up to his impending rut.
wc: 4.8k
author's note: wow, the concept post for this fic blew up lol, ngithis is the first time l've actually felt the pressure to produce something great since it seems so many people like the concept, hopefully it's met expectations, and like always with me, this story kind of got away from me and it looks like it's going to be eight chapters of longing and horniness
plot notes: the mc is a doe demoness, she is also an established small-time overlord who specializes in theatre and is a semi-famous showgirl in hell, and while her appearance is mostly left ambiguous, she does wear a porcelain half mask over her right eye, her stay at the hotel occurs only because she knows alastor doesn't want her there, she's a petty woman and he loves it
also, oops, because this is another chapter that has to be split into two 🙃 at least the next part should out be out rather quickly lol
Angel
Sooo???
What he say?
You
I look ravenous, apparently.
Angel
Told ya.
He wants to eat ya ;)
You
…
I’m blocking you.
Angel
You don’t know how to do that.
Old.
With a slight shake of her head, the doe demoness tucked the blackening screen of her phone into the silky confines of her dress’ pockets, ears flicking as a heady sigh parted her freshly glossed lips. Her gaze flitted to the side in a quick, amused roll of her eyes, catching on the mirrors lining the walls of the restaurant’s bathroom, resigned to her fate of eternal torment at the hands of her closest arachnid companion.
It stalled there, collecting a few seconds of wordless inspection of her own visage before she turned to lean over the porcelain sink bowls and ran the edge of her thumb across the outline of her bottom lip. Lips pursed and lipstick inked. One exposed eye flitted across her pinched expression, a little more intense and nit-picky than her poor, dolled-up face was used to being subjected to.
She caught herself perhaps a little too late, having sought out and recognized the shallow lines beneath her exposed eye. An eternal reminder that she’d been forced to grow a little older than the man she had married, that her human physique has aged slightly in the seven years she’d had to endure after his uniquely unfair death. Her tongue clicked and echoed in the lonely bathroom, and she wordlessly chastised her self-inflicted critiques with an admonishing shake of her head.
She stood upright, shoulders rolled back and spine rigid. Her chin tilted up, and she breezed past the cacophonous reflections, ignoring the way her dress caught on the air of her departure as she slipped through to the entryway and back into the dimly lit hall of Ozzie’s dining area.
And again, her roaming gaze stilled from her vantage point, gaze piercing through zigzagging waiters and over the heads of sinners too absorbed in their dinner partners to pass any heed of the doe demoness stood stock still as she inspected the side profile of the man who had whisked her away from the hotel’s front porch in a flurry of careful shadows. Who had insisted she perch her hand in the crook of his elbow as he guided them past the security with a flash of golden, serrated teeth and a wielded silhouette, to allow him to be a gentleman as he led her to their table and began to chatter her ears off in that old, animated timbre about everything and nothing.
Who had been acting rather strange since he’d first found it within himself to seek her out and needle at her for attention.
She had to assume it was so that he could fill the quiet between her little hums of agreement and countering quips.
Just like he used to. Back when they were alive, and long after they’d both succumbed to the heartless hand of death.
And, if she were a little more dubious of his intentions, perhaps if she knew him a little less, she wouldn’t have assumed his incessant ramblings were those of a nervous man. That it seemed as though he was trying to make up for seven lonesome years of no words between them at all by rattling off every utterance and commentary his stumbling mind could comprise.
Or that maybe, just maybe, he was attempting to drag her attention away from the gratuitous displays of bodily unity and lustrous depravity that seemed to haunt every shadowed corner and spilled into each downpoured ray of a neon spotlight.
She’d been subtle about it. But she’d kept her eyes fixed on him ever since his skulking presence alone had been enough to encourage the line of sinners and hellborn alike to scramble away from the front of the queue outside. Waiting with bated breath and teeth in her bottom lip for the moment realization dawned upon him like an ice-cold sweat.
That he hadn’t acquired a table at the haunt of loving couples sharing conservative affections and conversations.
That, by his own chaste standards, he’d brought her to a glorified sex club.
And her wordless endeavor had proven to be fruitful. Because she’d spied the first twitch in his brow when he’d scoped out the skimpy attire of the waiting staff. She’d watched as his poised posture stiffened and straightened under the harsh glow of bright neon colors as they were chaperoned past tables occupied by lust-addled sinners. And she’d had to bite back a harsh laugh at the sudden collapse of his expression when the waiter had bid them a temporary farewell at their table with a sliding hand along the forearm of her husband and a small whispered flirtation she didn’t have the privilege of hearing. Just witnessing the paling reaction of her spouse was enough.
It was cute, she supposed. The little wrinkle in his nose, the slight squint to his eyes, his desperate attempts to hold her attention with his boisterous voice.
It had forced her to grapple with her visage to suppress an expression of circumspect fondness, the very edge of her lips warbling around an amused grin as she’d watched from over the edge of her menu as he fumbled to stifle a growl of annoyance as hearty groans emanated from the table beside them and interrupted his attempts at conversational distraction.
She’d realized it was a losing battle when his carmine eyes flitted upward as the itching creep of her scrutinous stare burrowed into his skin.
Her face had split into a wide, satisfied grin that could rival only his own when the steadfast hold he had on her eyes was broken by the obscene sounds emanating from the darkened table beside them, face paling and static screeching.
She’d had to excuse herself, chomping down on her bottom lip to impede the bubbling giggles ruminating in her chest before scurrying away from the table and hiding away in the women’s bathroom and leaving her husband to his disturbed devices.
And as she’d encroached on the table she’d abandoned to conceal her boisterous laughter at the buck’s distraught expense, her ears perked and twitched around the clinking of glasses and thrumming rhythmic music to catch it as her estranged spouse grumbled under his breath.
“Oh, dear,” Alastor grimaced, brows wobbling into an ill-concealed, downturned scowl as another duo of drunken sinners stumbled into each other as they slipped past him. The corners of his omnipresent grin twitched around an agitated frown when they, consequently, eyes closed, lips locked, and entirely unaware of their surroundings, fell into the table behind him. His ears collapsed against his skull in a vain attempt to block the obscene sounds pouring out between their open mouths. “How distasteful.”
“Where’d you hear about this place?”
The sudden reappearance of his wife’s voice made the demon jolt, and she had to fight off the urge to curl her fingers around the curve of his shoulders when they hiked up by his jawline in reactionary retaliation to her question.
Limbs stiff and throat tight, Alastor swallowed thickly around a keen of static when the distant touch of her fingertips brushed along the tightly drawn bow of his shoulders as she passed him.
Alastor coughed into his fist, flustered chagrin heating his cheeks, and air punched from his lungs as the floral aroma that seemed to orbit her arrival invaded his lungs on the sharp inhale. His claws bunched in the fabric of his pants leg, impeding on their instinct need to reach for her, to curl into the silky fabric of her dress, and to pull her down into his lap. To bunt his cheek against her own and inundate the flowery scent with his own musk. To mark her as his, and his alone. To keep keen eyes from roving over her figure, to prevent other wayward sinners from sullying her image with their lewd, wandering thoughts.
“Oh, you know. Through the grapevine,” he answered lazily, claws tracing the rim of an emptied champagne glass as he tilted his head to avoid her scrutinous gaze, waving down one of the waitstaff in a muted effort to proffer an alternative route of discussion. “Little birdie.”
She hummed, doubtful and skeptical and entirely enthralled by the falsehood of his nonchalance, nodding along slowly.
The sound was epilogued by a loud sound of impact, and both deer sinners’ heads turned sharply to locate the source. To the pair of sinners that had rolled off the edge of the table and onto the ground next to them.
Her eyes fluttered back to her husband to gauge his reaction.
Suddenly looking a little less sure of himself, a little more apprehensive, she watched as he let his newly doubtful eyes wander over the pair of sinners in their blissfully unaware exchange of saliva and lustrous touches with an air of distressed snootiness.
“What is this place?”
He’d said it under his breath, shining his claws against the lapels of his jacket, tilting his head just a little. Enough to look down his nose at the debaucherous scene playing out like a reveling performance of bare skin and public humiliation. It was quiet and to himself, a twinge of panic plucking at his horror-stricken heart when he settled the corner of his jaw on his thumb, fingers massaging careful circles over his temple.
She watched him from over the rim of her champagne glass, a cavalier smirk tempting the corners of her lips before she chirped at him, a little too peppy to be genuine; “Ask your birdie.”
“What-?”
“Because I actually looked into it a little,” she interrupted him, leaning back in her chair, elbow perched on the backrest as she twirled the stem of her glass between her fingers. “Turns out this place has a whole franchise. Started in the Lust Ring, of all places. D’you know that?”
She cocked her head, brows pinching above narrowing eyes as she watched him with an air of immovable scrutiny.
He gulped around a small, panicked noise. Because he knew that tone, all sugary sweet and pointed. Because he had long since familiarized himself with that knowing drawl of hers when she was privy to a certain parcel of knowledge that he hadn’t yet procured for himself.
But he’d never been one to claim ignorance, too proud in his damnation to admit and concede and beg for enlightenment.
So instead, Alastor nodded stiffly, hands steepling and mouth pulled back in a tight-lipped smile, waving off her catechism with a haughty roll of his carmine eyes; “Of course.”
His voice was tight, clipped, and apprehensive, chin lifting slightly as he eyed her with a growing sense of dread towards the unknown.
She watched him for one long, dragging moment, the corner of her mouth twitching upward with every prolonged second, every nervous flick of his eyes, or restless drum of his fingers against the tabletop. She arched her brow at him, waiting, wordlessly insisting that he elaborate on his findings in his search for a dining experience as she took a short sip of champagne.
The veil of quiet was pierced and shattered by the emergence of a voice they’d grown accustomed to hearing over the course of the evening.
“You guys look thirsty. Can I get you off?” Almost as instantly as they’d purred the innuendo, the imp had slapped an open palm over their mouth in an exaggerated expression of silly me before they tried again; “I mean, get you refills?”
Alastor blanched, shoulders lifting once again as he glared up at the imp with a rigorous fury, blinding ire burning behind his monocle as the hellborn cleared their throat with a playfully nervous giggle as they corrected themself. His fingers tightened around the fabric of the tablecloth, claws ripping through the white linens in jagged, resentful lines.
“I’m sorry, could you give us a minute? He’s…” The doe’s apologetic gaze flitted between the waiter’s expectant, lidded gaze and the stiff, forcibly enforced grin stretching along the lips of her husband. The sudden widening of his eyes, bidden by uncharacteristically flagrant panic. The violent twitch of his neck as his antlers creaked and crackled in a reflexive burst of frustration induced growth, sharp little tines spiking along the branches of dark protruding bone. “New to all this.”
“Oh, of course,” the imp nodded slowly, as though realization were dawning upon them in time with the slow backward drag of their feet. They offered her a sheepish grin of faux understanding, tucking their hands behind their back as they stole short, tentative steps back before turning to another passing waiter. Unsubtle and boorish, they cupped a hand around the side of their mouth, capricious in their thumbed gesture towards the buck in question, and muttered an injudicious; “Virgin.”
The doe scoffed at the insulting display, upper lip curling just a little around stifled admonishing declarations as her glare met the ceiling briefly with an irritated grumble and a shake of her head. And, when her irked gaze fell victim to gravity once more and dropped to reacquaint itself with her husband, she was met with nothing but a deserted chair opposing her own.
Her head swiveled, ears twitching around the atmospheric sounds of slow crooning brass and the quiet scrape of utensils on dishes, flattening and twisting in a fruitless bid to trace the room for any signs of her husband.
And then, there was a sharp snap that echoed along her ear canals.
Like the bows of a tree’s spindling branches bending and breaking away to the demanding whims of the winds.
Brows pinching in an upturned arch of dawning confusion, she slowly slipped out of her chair and knelt before the cascading whites of the table’s cloth, following the sound down, down, down.
Ears twitching still, another sharp snap permeated the constant drone of outside chatter, needy cries for a reciprocating partner, and thrums of lyricless music. She reached out, fingers unfurling and furling again when they made careful contact with the cottony fabric’s bottom edge. She pulled the draped material up, forming a narrow entrance under which bright neons poured in and shadows crept, stretching along the cavern of stark darkness until the harsh glows highlighted the hunched figure of her husband.
“Al?”
She squinted at him, exposed eye twitching with an unmitigated flinch when she was answered with another snap of twig-like protrusions, followed by a grunt of muffled frustration imbued by spiking static bursts.
Or perhaps, to be a little more apt, the sound of delicate bones snapping under violent hands.
She crawled forward, letting the tablecloth fall to conceal them both in shared darkness as she settled on her knees before him, questioning him slow and gentle. She craned her neck, head tilting a little to catch his eye. She called his name, slow and scrupulous, uttering an old sobriquet she hadn’t pronounced since his abrupt disappearance from her everyday seven years prior; “Allie?”
“I’m going to kill him,” he growled, under his breath, punctuated by the salient snap of another newly formed extremity lining his antlers coming undone in his hands, more so to himself than as a response to her perturbed tone.
“Kill who? The waiter?” The doe felt her brow pinch, thumb reflexively gesturing over her shoulder as her head cocked with a baffled squint of her eyes. “Because I’m pretty sure it’s their job to-”
“Angel Dust,” the overlord ground out, static popping like he wanted to take the spider’s agnomen and imbue its every syllable with the same vitriolic venom that bled from the side of his mouth when he was forced to endure any length of interaction with his television-headed counterpart. Like he wished to disappear in a whirl of shadows and enact a frenzied brutality upon the arachnid for tricking his desperately malleable mind. “He told me to take you here.”
“You-” Her words died on her tongue, surprise filtering across her masked visage as her hands fell limply into her lap at the biting accusatory tone. Her head cocked to the side, genuine bewilderment pulling at her features as she earnestly questioned his judgment with an air of emphasized bemusement, like it was the most obvious thing in hell; “Why would you listen to him?”
The overlord let out a short noise. Something akin to a sighed groan, like defeat was weighing heavy over his bones as he dragged his hands down over a resigned expression.
He didn’t say anything to counter her bafflement.
And she refused to fill the air with meaningless syllables if he was unwilling to grant her a response.
She settled back on her heels, fingers absentmindedly fiddling with the newly exposed furs of her thighs when the fabric of her dress shifted slightly, sliding against the muscle of her thigh to reveal the hip-high slit bisecting the skirt of her garment. Watching. Waiting.
More patient than he probably deserved, if he was truly honest with himself.
Which was why, after another long moment, untarnished by unnecessary words and apologies, Alastor let out another breath. A sigh, a resounding sound of resignation.
“He’s occupied more of your time since you first arrived at the hotel than I have in the past seven years,” he admitted quietly, like he was ashamed, brow tilting downward into a scowl, smile tight and forced. As though the radio demon, of all people, feared the verbal retaliation of his wife if he uttered his failings as a husband into the hellscape of their eternity. “I assumed you’d spoken about places you wanted to go. Things you wanted to do.”
“Oh…”
It was all she could say.
Pleasant surprise painted her expression in place of a spoken response.
The sound of static warbling around them refocused her eyes on the man emanating the distressed signals. And her gaze zeroed in on his shadowed face, on the downward trajectory of his stare. On the subtle wobble at the corner of his mouth, as though he were fighting the instinctive urge to frown at his foibles. In the slight waver in his voice when it came again; “You must think me a fool.”
She hummed in wordless agreement, eyes softening and lips tilting into a tentatively encouraged smile. All the while, something worn, wary, and undeniably soft throbbed inside of her, beneath the slope of her sternum, protectively caged behind bone and muscle and years of painstakingly built fortifications.
All crumbling down around the delicate, fragile echo of her heart in a matter of melting seconds.
And after a long, drawn-out moment of quiet. After a prolonged, dragging moment of watching her husband curl in on himself until he somehow managed to make his tall, imposing self look a little small, did she decide to have a little mercy on him.
“I’ve known you were an idiot for decades,” she shrugged with an aloof twitch of her brow, lips edging upward as she sat in shadowed viewing as her husband stiffened under the drawling, humored affront.
Something akin to amused pity twinged at the threads of her soul when his fingers tightened their hold on his hair, a short, muffled whine rumbling in the back of his throat serving as the sole flustered response to her teasing.
Maybe, if he had been anybody else, she would have reveled in the inward curl of his body in weakened retaliation to her words. She would have cackled at the mere thought of hell’s most powerful overlord withering under her tickled gaze.
But he wasn’t, so she didn’t.
“But, no,” she mused slowly, a small hum parting the veil of dolorous quiet that had fallen upon them as her hands reached out to his buried face. She didn’t pry, didn’t tug at the tresses of scarlet hair peeking out from between his white-knuckled grip. Instead, she imprudently plucked an incongruous fallen piece of brittle, broken-off antler from the fluff of his hair, letting it clatter to the ground between them as she scooted a little closer to him. “I think it’s sweet.”
And, only when the light brush of her fingertips disturbed the tuft of his fringe, as all the practiced and sharpened edges framing her tonality softened into something old and fond and so uniquely enamored, did Alastor’s head lift from the cradling hold of his cupped hands.
It felt as though she’d doused the feverish burn ruminating under his skin, like she’d simultaneously reignited the fiery desire of his loins with just a careful brush of her fingertips.
His lips parted in wordless astonishment, hands grasping at the air as he instinctively nuzzled his head forward and into her gentle caress. And she huffed a small laugh through her nose, bemused delight sparkling in her exposed gaze as her head cocked and her eyes crinkled at the corners.
“I think we should get out from under here though,” she murmured, ducking her head so that she could meet the lowered cast of his gaze, instinct puppeteering her joints as the edge of her thumb grazed above his brow bone. The corners of her painted lips quirked at the hazy look that haloed his dilated pupils, at the fleeting bonelessness that seeped into his joints before his slow-to-rouse mind seemed to register her whispered suggestions, eyes twitching up to find hers in the darkened canopy of their table. “They’re gonna start thinkin’ we’re doin’ something other than talkin’.”
He blinked at her, jaw working slowly around a grasping utterance of a quiet; “Oh.”
She swore she could feel the flood of heat that rushed to the buck’s face, fleeting as the feeling was when he scrambled to emerge from beneath the tablecloth. The doe demoness let out a huff of puzzled amusement, brows pinching as a bemused grin broke out across her visage, and she mirrored the hurried retreat of her spouse, crawling backwards and out from under the cascading purple tablecloth.
By the time she’d fully surfaced, the porcelain curve of her half-mask glinting under thrown neon glows, her cheeks were aglow with a warmth that wasn’t entirely unfamiliar and yet, somehow, felt garishly brand new and uniquely girlish.
Alastor kept his gaze downcast and hardened, cheeks alight with flustered chagrin as his fingers fiddled idly with the silvery twists of his fork handle. And when she couldn’t help but huff an amused little laugh through her nose, lips tilting into a sanguine simper as her head tilted and she watched his awkward shuffling of hands and stiff throws of his gaze in her direction, his shoulders hiked up by his jawline. “I didn’t mean to cause a scene.”
She hummed, jerking her head to just one example of their company’s distracted, lust-driven depravity before whispering with a conspiratorial reassurance; “I don’t think anybody noticed.”
Alastor’s eyes flicked to the side, lids lifting enough for her to notice his quiet and gradual reprieve, surprise filtering across his visage as his fingers slowed in their fidgeting.
“Yes, I suppose they are a little…” He shuddered and grimaced, voice trailing off as his gaze trailed over her shoulder to the gratuitous displays playing out behind her. The fluff of his ears fell back and along the curve of his scalp, pitching static warbling through the surrounding air before the overlord concluded with a troubled mumble; “Preoccupied.”
The doe made a short noise of agreement, eyeing her spouse, gaze scurrying over tensed shoulders and folded ears. And when her roaming gaze snagged on something hidden in shadows and smoke, something heinous and deliciously scandalous, her lips curled around a knowing smirk.
“You know…” She started, swiping a matching pair of bubbling champagne glasses from a passing waiter’s tray and offering one to her husband.
Alastor accepted the offer with careful claws, ensuring that his larger hand didn’t overlap with hers. He wasn’t sure how he’d survive a brush of her skin against his if she refused to let him near her once their night was over, if she realized and decided he wasn’t worth the wait of seven years.
He downed the beverage in one fell swig.
“That guy’s married. Brings the missus to my theater every month,” she confided putatively, flicking her eyes to the side with a purposeful intensity. “And that’s not his wife.”
Alastor’s eyes darted to follow the sharp trajectory of her own, lids lifting in surprise at the shameless display of infidelity.
“Yep,” she nodded in confirmation, answering an unspoken question when his ears stood tall to invite the whispers of gossip. The doe felt an amused grin creep along the painted flesh of her lips at his renewed enthusiasm, felt as something old, worn, and slowly reconstructing twinged deep within the cage of her ribs when the deer scooted his chair a little closer to the table, subtle as anything as he rested his elbows on the table and cradled the angle of his jaw in his hands.
She felt her own spirits lift a little under his rapt attention, tentative bashfulness blooming across her cheeks as his gaze resigned itself to remain fixed upon her expression. She had to smother the urge to mirror his lax posture, to let her limbs abide by ancient habit and a longing to inch closer. She found her tongue lay heavily in her mouth, momentarily useless in her endeavor to alleviate her husband’s unusually uneasy countenance when she found her eyes locked onto his.
What she found was nothing short of spellbound awe, admiration twinkling in his lidded gaze under the low lights flashing throughout the dining area in time with the rhythmic pulse of music. And it only made every working impulse inside of her halt any imprudent efforts to demand that she close the distance between them and coax the old flame embering dimly between them into a blazing burst of light and warmth.
Her breath caught as she cleared her throat, forcing her eyes away from her buck so that she could scope out the rest of the restaurant’s patrons. Her grin stretched around glinting teeth when her probing eyes encountered yet another family face among a sea of seduction and revelry.
“And that lady?”
Alastor’s eyes twitched to follow the curt nod of his wife’s head, roaming over the enticing slope of her neck and shoulder until his squinted gaze landed on the sight of a female sinner seated just a few tables away. To her tossed-back head and wandering hands as they skittered along the broad shoulders of the two taller sinners ravishing her neck and lips with open-mouthed kisses and bites.
He felt the origins of a disturbed grimace begin to tempt the very corners of his grin as his brows dipped over wide eyes when the captivating allure of his wife’s whispered tonality demanded his attention in its scandalized utterance.
“She runs a women’s club way down south for practicing celibates.”
She leaned into him so that he’d hear it. And the overlord leaned into her because it was the most subtle opportunity to invade her close orbit.
His ears perked instantly, teeth showing in a dangerous expression of delight at the mere idea of such a scandal, glancing back at the display of hypocritical debauchery with a newfound appreciation for the ignominy. “Really?”
“Oh, yeah,” she guffawed, nodding earnestly, mirroring her husband’s instinctive lean, resting her elbows on the edge of the table and letting her chin sit atop the flexible stage her entwined fingers provided as she angled her upper body a little closer to him. “She asked me to join a couple of years ago.”
Alastor made a small noise. Akin to a hum, closer to a grunt before he asked her slowly; “Did you accept?”
She blinked at him. And the quiet almost killed him.
He felt his ears twitch with the urge to sheepishly press flat to the curve of his scalp. Felt the impending dread of a sudden and gentle rejection born from his too-eager inquiry.
But then, gentle and sudden, a little tentative and a little probing, almost as though she were testing the waters just as much as he was; “I’m here with you, aren’t I?”
He tilted his head, avoiding her steadfast gaze. And though he approached the suggestive finality of her riposte with cautious exhilaration, he felt the familiar swish of the fluff of his tail strumming against the base of his spine as his ears caught the softened tone she’d adopted; “And that means…?”
She hummed, head tilting against her fist as she eyed him from the very corner of her vision, the edges of her painted lips quirking upward.
It made something twist and writhe with unexcised desire inside of him. The enticing lift of her cheek as her lips sharpened into a coquettish smirk, perfectly kept brows arching over the slight crinkle at the corner of her exposed eye. All serving anew as a wordless reminder of just how attractive he found that arrogance looked on her.
His claws twitched against the tablecloth with an inhibited urge to entwine his fingers with her own.
And then, something else, like a warm chill skittering along his spine, a rattling shiver through his bones, echoed along his nerve endings when he felt something foreign and all too familiar all at once. The tentative brush of a hoof against the hem of his pants leg, skirting just under the shadows of his slacks so that she could caress the side of her hoof against his shin with a purposeful, coy look playing on her expression.
Carmine eyes met lidded ones, and his pattering heart jumped in time with the careful thrum of her own as she grinned up at him and proffered a glinting show of teeth that made his breath catch slightly in the back of his throat.
“Depends on how you behave.”
notes: So? Whattya think? I'm trying to work out my writers block by working on this mini series, but I'm not a hundred percent on my prose at the minute, so any feedback is appreciated.
Surprise, surprise. The word count for this chapter got away from me again, so it’s been spilt into two lol.
My initial word count goal for this entire fic was about 20k. But alas here we are; 20k and not even halfway done. Hope you guys don’t mind the longer chapters lol.
Let me know what you think please. I really appreciate and love reading all of your lovely comments. Feeds my ego 😈
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next part coming soon…
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