That night
"Rrrrrrrrnnnh...you...think...you can...take me...?" His breath is ragged and hot, coming in quick, short bursts; you love that sound.
"I know I can..." you reply as calmly as you can, even as you strain and push the muscles in your svelte, coltish legs to overcome him...to conquer him completely and utterly.
Your powerful thighs contract and push, and you scale further up the rough, chalk-stained wall. Your fingers shoot out and catch in a crevice, barely appropriate for grabbing but not only are you light, you're *strong*. Stronger than you've ever been, and even as your arms burn from the effort of hauling yourself up, you kick up and catch your heel on the edge of the wall. A sinuous motion, and you're up, over the top, looking down at Mizrah and smiling that serene, rose-lipped smile. You perch upon the edge, your legs - in those new, overpriced green cargo shorts - dangling temptingly over the side.
"Come on, handsome man. I'm waiting for you."
You call a sweet invitation to your lover, still a few meters down. At about seventy pounds heavier, and honestly lacking the kind of leverage afforded your long legs, Yusuf is fighting manfully, putting up a good effort to get to the top. Rock climbing was something you'd done before with your friends, and while the vague temptation to call them up and summon them ran through your mind, you really wanted to just...spend another day with him.
Was that so bad?
You brood on the topic as he snatches at a bright yellow knob, missing it and almost falling as he scrabbles to keep his grip. You knew for a fact, Isabel, that few men enjoyed doing something he wasn't good at in front of a woman, especially if that woman was having sex with him, and
especially
if she was better at it than he was. You'd seen him climb before, back at the pier, and truth be told, enticing him to something you knew yourself to be skilled at wasn't exactly fair...but he was a good sport who couldn't turn down a challenge.
It wasn't exactly fair to be taking this much of his time either, right? He had a band, and you'd heard him sort of...brushing off Percy and Delilah last night to spend it with you. Your brain constantly told you that he'd grow sick of you, or that this was just some hot fling for him - the old voice of self-sabotage in relationships burbling up from the gravedirt of your mind - but...he never seemed to want a break from you. During the few hours you'd caught alone after crashing your work's account system, you found your mind inevitably turning to him...and clearly his thoughts were on you, as evidenced when you checked your phone's messages; you'd carried on a long conversation about an obscure fantasy series you'd read as children, about a knight in brass-chased armor. Then came the photos...selfies of him at what looked to be some sort of...meeting? Bleacher-seats around a firepit, at least three dozen other individuals sitting around them, limned in shadow, listening to the speaker seriously. They seem to group together in fours and fives, but he's one of the only ones alone. His expression is utterly casual and disrespectful...you remember he had a bit of a
thing
against any sort of organized structure.
Maybe...he just...really liked you. Maybe he saw something in you that you just couldn't conceive of on your own. Was he deluding himself, or had you somehow tricked him?
"
I'm...almost...there...!
" You watch his sinews bulge against his skin as he pulls himself closer to you.
Look at him. Look at him fighting to get closer to you.
You flip over onto your belly and reach down for him. "Take my hand Yusuf!"
"No! I...can...do it...!" His face is red, a vein is standing out in his temple; he's clinging to the wall in a way that is wholly unnatural, more spider-monkey than werewolf.
"I know you can, but remember you said? You'd let me help you?"
"That's...diffREEEH - "
He's pitching backward, missing his grab for the edge. You shoot forward, snatching his wrist in your hands, your belly over the edge...only your legs, the strength of your back to keep you both from tumbling over.
You fight for him; you pull him closer, and he scrambles up and over to join you.
Once again the both of you lie panting next to each other, soaked with sweat...only this is the first time you're doing it clothed. About a minute passes, and you finally roll over onto your side, slicking his hair back from his forehead and touching his chin with your thumb.
"You did it! I knew you could."
"Yeah...well...you...you still...win..." he wheezes. You unhook the little steel thermos at your side and pour a bit on his forehead, sluicing the sweat off gently and doting over him and only poking a bit of fun. As you're doing so, your stomach growls painfully, and not for the first time. Mizrah's eyes open and he casts a glance at your talkative gut - you pour a bit more water on his face.
"You're supposed to pretend you don't hear that."
"Lady even I heard it, take that girl out for a steak dinner ya mook!" a wiry old man grouses at Mizrah, shaming you both as he effortlessly ascends the lip of the wall nearby. Your lover gives him a wry stare and pushes to a sitting position, his hand sliding over your aching, hungry belly; your hand follows, fingers tracing over the back of his palm to interlink your fingers with his.
"That does sound good but it feels like whatever I eat just...evaporates. Not even empty calories Yusuf; what's up with that?"
He glances once at the old man, and then at all the other mortals around you pointedly before climbing to his feet and pulling you up with him. "Let's clean up and I'll tell you all about it - and don't you go worrying about her gramps, she gets the VIP treatment from me - tell him Isabel."
You blush, the old man loudly wretches and rolls his eyes, Mizrah snickers and you both make the descent on firemen's poles down to ground level. The sun has already set, and a wretched thunderstorm is threatening on the horizon, rolling in from the Gulf. It's mercilessly humid as you walk out into the parking lot together. You're telling him a story from your concert days, your skin sticky with sweat and humidity, unlocking your car door.
"...he didn't actually dress up like that outside of shows but he still got the reputation for being this burlesque-type - "
You're interrupted by the feeling of his fingernails, sliding along your torso as he presses himself to you, your perspiration mixing - it's a particular scent profile that lights your fire; memory, so closely tied to smell, plays the amazing sex you've been having lately with this man in high definition through the theater of your mind. You exhale with a shaky laugh, straightening your body and reaching behind with one hand to slick your fingers along the sweat on his neck.
"You smell really good..." the Persian musician's voice is like velvet smoke against your ear, and you feel the sharpness of his canine against your earlobe; your own teeth itch against your gums, becoming like a wolf's as you turn your head to speak against his lips.
"Nnnhh fuck, so do you...I didn't know you were into that, Yusuf - I'm all sweaty and gross..."
"I
love
it, it makes me really hot for you...you don't know what a chore it was in that gym to keep decent Isabel." His hands come up underneath your sky blue T-shirt, and you find yourself alarmingly sensitive with the tantalizing risk of being caught necking in public like this; your nipples make themselves known through your sports bra and your T-shirt, and an awfully unChristian sound breaks your lips when his hands cup your breasts. You cast your gaze about, reaching down past the waistline of his workout shorts, of his boxers, and find his manhood curved and hard, his glans fulsome to the touch.
"Ohh god, okay...come on, get in the car," you entreat as you pull open the rear passenger door and push him inside. You desire his skilled touch, his loving kiss, his thick cock...badly enough that you're willing to basically fuck him in public - you've never done this before, sex in a parking lot, but the smell and taste of the pheromones clinging to your bodies does to your better judgment what booze does to a mortal's.
Before long you're straddling his hips, pulling his shirt off his head with vigor before he can do the same to you; a feral sound rises from your throat as you lean in and lick the sweat from his neck, tasting each individual bead carrying the potency of his pheromones. The blood is rushing through your veins, lewd promises of desire pouring from your lips before your teeth find his throat; you can't help it, you bite and taste coppery red.
"Affh, Isabel..." He whispers, but you barely hear or understand words. His potent, life-rich blood on the tip of your tongue causes your heart to quicken; you don't even notice your fangs growing sharp, long as the tip of a man's pinky...the claws that drive from your nailbeds...the indigo light dancing at the corners of your gaze.
"You taste...fantastic." You whisper in a tone that is liquid with desire, threaded with the overtone of a growl...or is that your stomach rumbling?
The ache in your gut causes you to curl forward against him, your nails drawing red lines down his chest before he firmly intercepts your wrists, pulling your claws from the tanned hardness of his pectorals.
"You're hungry again, aren't you," he notes as you idly lick his blood from your fingertips, muttering aghast self-admonishment. "Hey it's okay, it happens...it isn't your fault, besides. Do I look like I'm leaking?"
Sure enough, the rents in his skin had sealed almost seconds after you made them. "Mizrah I'm so sorry, I didn't know," you begin, but he interrupts you with a gentle bite on your full, red bottom lip, pulling and releasing; it makes a -flp- sound and you can't help but laugh with him.
"It's my fault, I should have been teaching you to Hunt and take down prey, I just got...y'know."
