[Something about the word herbivore tickles something in the back of his brain. He's not entirely sure what it is--or why the way that his face settles into Leona's hold feels like more than just part of the performance. Like a dog yielding to the hand of its master.
The Savanna is starving. Cater...hadn't he been doing everything he could to fill the emptiness inside of him with the people he had between his legs? He swallows, eyes going half-lidded as if the mere presence of the predator he was at the mercy of was dizzying.]
[Leona uses just a little pressure to turn Cater's head to one side and then the ohter, as though getting a better look at him. whatever he sees is still filtered through this haze of dream-fueled madness, though, and all Leona sees for now is someone he wants to devour.]
Then you're exactly where you want to be, aren't you?
After tonight, you'll never be hungry again.
[the laughter shared between the hyenas this time is a bit more sinister, and so is the smirk on Leona's face.]
[Leona's words were just as much a threat as they were a promise. The kind of end to hunger he was being offered very likely had nothing to do with having a full belly--but just the opposite. And that, now that he was here, felt even less of a problem than before.
He was scared, he found--but less so scared of the fangs and claws all around him than he was of how appealing it all sounded to him. So what, if he was handled like a prize cut of meat? Better to be that than something altogether discarded. It's bold of him, he knows, but as Cater's eyes stay trained on that thrillingly ravenous smile, his hands start to run up Leona's legs.]
My bones better be clean by the time you're done with me.
[Leona's learned to find a thrill in being feared, but there's a thrill to this, too. Cater offers himself like he really wants to be devoured, and that's new, somehow. Leona leans back again, pulling at Cater just a little bit as he does so; not forcing, but commanding Cater to follow him.]
In this palace, not a morsel goes to waste.
[We'll eat the bones, too! chortles another hyena, and this time Leona really does seem like they're far from his mind. he continues, guiding Cater into his lap;]
Do you fear your king, Cater?
[he hasn't been given this subject's name, but he knows it. locked deeper in a dream than he's been before, Leona can't clock that as being strange just yet. of course he knows the name of this man.
[Is he maybe a little too eager to be beckoned up, into Leona's lap? He barely has to be pulled at all, climbing onto him like it's a seat he's already well familiar with.]
Fear's not the first word that comes to mind.
[Was there no fear? Not exactly. But the fear didn't matter--the fear was inconsequential, compared to everything else. Cater's eyes dare to scrape over the body he's perched upon, from the tussled mane to the bloody clothes, and runs fingers down that exposed chest.]
[to Leona, for a moment, it feels like there is no sound but Cater's voice. whether that's true or not doesn't register to him.]
You should be.
[he should, shouldn't he? that's the way this should be. Cater should be in awe (or was it, he should be afraid?) and Leona's hand should be on him exactly as it is, cupping Cater's face, dragging his claws down Cater's cheek and neck and into the collar of his top—
into the fabric, clutching there, so he can pull Cater closer. it's almost into a kiss, it seems, at first, but then Leona goes further, mouth meeting Cater's neck. his teeth graze Cater's skin, but his focus is more on taking in his scent at first, and he glides his rough tongue over the path he'd just traced with his claws.]
[Oh how easily Cater's worlds blended together--how much was him, how much was the whore? How much was the want to be craved and how much was the want to be torn apart? And how much of all of that was just part of this dream? It didn't really matter, ultimately. Leona draws him in and Cater shivers under him with palpable delight. Every taste of tooth and claw and tongue was a promise of more, that every piece of pain would come with that much more pleasure.
Fuck, he wants it. Wants these strong jaws to reduce him to shreds. Feeding his king would be the best thing he ever did. Cater presses forward into Leona, arms coming around him in an embrace that's just as needy as it is tender--and it's obvious, already, that he's aroused.]
[Leona confirms, his whisper like a growl. he holds Cater where he is, the blood and ink on his chest soaking into Cater's top, contaminating that space. beneath Cater, Leona's arousal is apparent as well, his slacks already undone from the hyena on his lap before.]
I want more.
[and with that declaration, he sinks his teeth into Cater's neck, sucking at his skin as he does so. they press hard, without the restraint Leona shows awake, and heat begins to dribble down between them. at the same time his claws drag up Cater's back, pulling him into the rocking motion of their hips, desperate for that contact to be made.
as he loses himself in Cater, though, the hands and claws of the hyenas grow as dark as their faces, eyes lighting up white. they reach for Cater, cackling as they do, but all their own efforts do is tear the fabric fom his shoulders, freeing him from the cover of his shirt. sycophantic and chattering, they surround the throne, whispering of their hunger— how good Cater must taste. how satisfying his bones will be.
remember, boss, leave enough for us, the voices hiss. remember, boss, he's ours when you're done.
even this throne is ours when you're done.
and though they continue, Leona hums against Cater's skin, pushes one hand into Cater's hair and holds him tighter.]
[How can Cater care about all of it--any of it--when jaws are closing around his neck? His breath pinches with so much more than pain as he curves inward, following the trace of Leona's claws against him. It doesn't matter that his clothing is all but shredded off of him. The blot coming off of Leona mixes so perfectly with the inky marks all along his own body--a fading patchwork of compliments begging to be refreshed. A well-fed beast was better than anything that could be written there, he's already decided. Surely, he had enough to give for all these mouths that needed feeding.
But the rest of them could wait. His own fingers claw into Leona, into his beautiful mane and his royal clothes. Cater moans, eyes fluttering. It didn't matter, did it, if that mouth came away bloody, if he took his jugular right from his throat? He'd work and he'd work and he'd work until their hunger was sated. And then, maybe, finally, so his own would be.]
[day after day it gnaws at the core of his being— that hunger of Leona's does. the petty complaints of the hyenas around him can't move him to care about their needs. they don't understand his pain. they will never understand this itch, deep, persistent, profound—
oh, but the metallic tang of Cater's blood is as hydrating as sweet water in this parched savanna, the sound of his voice more filling than the meat he's been brought for weeks, months. years? he can't remember, he doesn't care, it doesn't matter. nothing matters, and nothing is fair, but this feels like something.
Leona pulls away from Cater, mouth dripping red and black, and licks his teeth as he admires the mark left and the way it almost seems to glow from how strangely, unrealistically red it resonates in this dream. that redness seems to overtake all color in this dark, barely-starlit throne room, becoming the gentle light that connects Leona and Cater in this moment.
he leans back in almost immediately, kissing down Cater's neck and collarbone and chest, painting kissmarks in blood, smearing away words with it as though he can rewrite the tapestry of praise in red, ink, and teeth. hand braced against Cater's back, Leona lowers him between his legs as he does, so that Cater's shoulderblades and head will be braced against the ground before him, as if Leona intends to crawl over top of him.]
[It was better. This was better. The praise that he'd received from all his past customers--he couldn't remember. Colorless, faded compliments. The red between them was brilliant and vibrant even if it shouldn't have been. Even if that vivid color draining out of him should have been causing him to languish, Cater felt more rejuvenated than ever.
Leona lowers him back and Cater raises his arms toward him, limbs an outstretched invitation, eyes full of so much of everything that should be fear but isn't. Lust and longing and eagerness. Lips parted and panting, Cater manages a hazy half-smile at the predator poised above him.
He's not running from this--but how could he? It didn't matter that there was no escaping when nothing about him wanted to.]
[did he need that invitation? it feels like everything to be welcomed into Cater's arms. he could tear this man to pieces— intends to!— and yet Leona finds himself pressing into him intimately, joining him there on the stone tile and pressing their foreheads together, nuzzling their faces. his body seeks the affection his mind can't remember it's allowed to find.
he draws his claw up Cater's chest in a line, and that bright neon blood follows it. why does this neon remind him of Cater, anyway? why does this blood feel so much like him? the more Leona presses against him, the more that blood spills from Cater, the brighter it glows— the more it feels like he knows him, like he's tasted Cater's kiss before.
what is this scent? why does he know it? why does he want it? why is he hesitating to turn this man to sand?
that glow contaminates the both of them with Leona's nuzzling, and with his hand coated in it, he presses his palm to Cater's cheek. while he settles between Cater's thighs, cock hard and flush against Cater's own arousal, he tugs Cater's face again into another kiss, revelling in Cater's embrace.]
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no subject
The Savanna is starving. Cater...hadn't he been doing everything he could to fill the emptiness inside of him with the people he had between his legs? He swallows, eyes going half-lidded as if the mere presence of the predator he was at the mercy of was dizzying.]
Always. More and more every day.
no subject
Then you're exactly where you want to be, aren't you?
After tonight, you'll never be hungry again.
[the laughter shared between the hyenas this time is a bit more sinister, and so is the smirk on Leona's face.]
no subject
[Leona's words were just as much a threat as they were a promise. The kind of end to hunger he was being offered very likely had nothing to do with having a full belly--but just the opposite. And that, now that he was here, felt even less of a problem than before.
He was scared, he found--but less so scared of the fangs and claws all around him than he was of how appealing it all sounded to him. So what, if he was handled like a prize cut of meat? Better to be that than something altogether discarded. It's bold of him, he knows, but as Cater's eyes stay trained on that thrillingly ravenous smile, his hands start to run up Leona's legs.]
My bones better be clean by the time you're done with me.
no subject
[Leona's learned to find a thrill in being feared, but there's a thrill to this, too. Cater offers himself like he really wants to be devoured, and that's new, somehow. Leona leans back again, pulling at Cater just a little bit as he does so; not forcing, but commanding Cater to follow him.]
In this palace, not a morsel goes to waste.
[We'll eat the bones, too! chortles another hyena, and this time Leona really does seem like they're far from his mind. he continues, guiding Cater into his lap;]
Do you fear your king, Cater?
[he hasn't been given this subject's name, but he knows it. locked deeper in a dream than he's been before, Leona can't clock that as being strange just yet. of course he knows the name of this man.
what doesn't he know?]
no subject
Fear's not the first word that comes to mind.
[Was there no fear? Not exactly. But the fear didn't matter--the fear was inconsequential, compared to everything else. Cater's eyes dare to scrape over the body he's perched upon, from the tussled mane to the bloody clothes, and runs fingers down that exposed chest.]
I'm awed by you.
no subject
You should be.
[he should, shouldn't he? that's the way this should be. Cater should be in awe (or was it, he should be afraid?) and Leona's hand should be on him exactly as it is, cupping Cater's face, dragging his claws down Cater's cheek and neck and into the collar of his top—
into the fabric, clutching there, so he can pull Cater closer. it's almost into a kiss, it seems, at first, but then Leona goes further, mouth meeting Cater's neck. his teeth graze Cater's skin, but his focus is more on taking in his scent at first, and he glides his rough tongue over the path he'd just traced with his claws.]
no subject
Fuck, he wants it. Wants these strong jaws to reduce him to shreds. Feeding his king would be the best thing he ever did. Cater presses forward into Leona, arms coming around him in an embrace that's just as needy as it is tender--and it's obvious, already, that he's aroused.]
How do I taste?
no subject
[Leona confirms, his whisper like a growl. he holds Cater where he is, the blood and ink on his chest soaking into Cater's top, contaminating that space. beneath Cater, Leona's arousal is apparent as well, his slacks already undone from the hyena on his lap before.]
I want more.
[and with that declaration, he sinks his teeth into Cater's neck, sucking at his skin as he does so. they press hard, without the restraint Leona shows awake, and heat begins to dribble down between them. at the same time his claws drag up Cater's back, pulling him into the rocking motion of their hips, desperate for that contact to be made.
as he loses himself in Cater, though, the hands and claws of the hyenas grow as dark as their faces, eyes lighting up white. they reach for Cater, cackling as they do, but all their own efforts do is tear the fabric fom his shoulders, freeing him from the cover of his shirt. sycophantic and chattering, they surround the throne, whispering of their hunger— how good Cater must taste. how satisfying his bones will be.
remember, boss, leave enough for us, the voices hiss. remember, boss, he's ours when you're done.
even this throne is ours when you're done.
and though they continue, Leona hums against Cater's skin, pushes one hand into Cater's hair and holds him tighter.]
no subject
But the rest of them could wait. His own fingers claw into Leona, into his beautiful mane and his royal clothes. Cater moans, eyes fluttering. It didn't matter, did it, if that mouth came away bloody, if he took his jugular right from his throat? He'd work and he'd work and he'd work until their hunger was sated. And then, maybe, finally, so his own would be.]
loading this dream up with tlk musical references
oh, but the metallic tang of Cater's blood is as hydrating as sweet water in this parched savanna, the sound of his voice more filling than the meat he's been brought for weeks, months. years? he can't remember, he doesn't care, it doesn't matter. nothing matters, and nothing is fair, but this feels like something.
Leona pulls away from Cater, mouth dripping red and black, and licks his teeth as he admires the mark left and the way it almost seems to glow from how strangely, unrealistically red it resonates in this dream. that redness seems to overtake all color in this dark, barely-starlit throne room, becoming the gentle light that connects Leona and Cater in this moment.
he leans back in almost immediately, kissing down Cater's neck and collarbone and chest, painting kissmarks in blood, smearing away words with it as though he can rewrite the tapestry of praise in red, ink, and teeth. hand braced against Cater's back, Leona lowers him between his legs as he does, so that Cater's shoulderblades and head will be braced against the ground before him, as if Leona intends to crawl over top of him.]
as you SHOULD
Leona lowers him back and Cater raises his arms toward him, limbs an outstretched invitation, eyes full of so much of everything that should be fear but isn't. Lust and longing and eagerness. Lips parted and panting, Cater manages a hazy half-smile at the predator poised above him.
He's not running from this--but how could he? It didn't matter that there was no escaping when nothing about him wanted to.]
no subject
he draws his claw up Cater's chest in a line, and that bright neon blood follows it. why does this neon remind him of Cater, anyway? why does this blood feel so much like him? the more Leona presses against him, the more that blood spills from Cater, the brighter it glows— the more it feels like he knows him, like he's tasted Cater's kiss before.
what is this scent? why does he know it? why does he want it? why is he hesitating to turn this man to sand?
that glow contaminates the both of them with Leona's nuzzling, and with his hand coated in it, he presses his palm to Cater's cheek. while he settles between Cater's thighs, cock hard and flush against Cater's own arousal, he tugs Cater's face again into another kiss, revelling in Cater's embrace.]