Private A Fever You Can't Sweat Out

[Vatrës Dhalis]

The clatter of Gerra's treasures sweeping off the table and onto the floor was as nothing compared to the rushing of blood roaring in Vatrës' ears as her pulse pounded painfully in her temples and her throat and throbbed in the gash she had sustained in Vahl's possession. Her fingers curled into the front of his shirt as he lifted her onto the table, arms flexed between pushing him away and pulling him closer, deeper -- an indecisiveness that played out across her entire being.

Vahl loomed large even in absentia, though her presence was vanishing then, replaced by the overwhelming presence of the Qhan. His broad, tall body was nearly all-consuming, warm and hard beneath her fingers even through the fabric of his clothing. There was something reassuring about his size and obvious strength. Something exhilarating about his power, palpable even in the absence of the Force. Something frightening about his disregard for the wishes of the goddess, and his devil-may-care attitude toward the consequences of this behavior.

Yet, in that moment the Avatara could not resist him and found that without the seething, hissing goddess in her mind, she didn't even feel the desire to do so. Still -- some token of resistance, in case Vahl could see despite being separated from her somehow, would be appropriate. She broke away from his kiss, turning her head slightly so that his mouth worked against her jaw. "You absolute -- " and here, the Avatara made a noise she could not, would not dignify with a description that began somewhere in her throat, " -- brute!"

Hasuras Na-Gerra​

 

[Hasuras Na-Gerra]

Teeth gnawed and worried at her jaw, raking skin in a manner utterly primal and animalistic as though he might suck the very marrow from her bones. Gerra cared not for the propriety of man, or even gods. Only the taste of her skin, the salt and bitter tang, consumed him in this moment.

Only for a breath did he pull away from her, his eyes hot as twin glowing brands, searing her with gaze alone. His hands rose, gripped the two halves of her tunic - already partially ripped.

“Yes,” he snarled, “I am.”

Then he tore the garment clean in half and tossed aside the shreds like so much useless debris. They fluttered briefly in the air, helpless and frayed, drifting toward the deck.

In an instant, his teeth returned to her neck, scraping and sucking as if to consume her blood and marrow.

Strong, calloused hands roved her form.

And Vahl, blinded by the necklace, knew not what happened next.

Vatrës Dhalis