"I...." Her tarnished silver and spoiled milk gaze fell away from him. Her gentle lips moved, straightening into a line before attempting a smile that ultimately turned into a frown. Lucero held onto the table with both hands thinking about what he had said. It wasn't the first time someone had told her that she needed a cane and it wouldn't be the last. She tried to pretend that his comment about her needing sleep was what had really bothered her, hands suddenly attempting to fix her hair.

How would people feel when they saw her with a cane? How could they believe that she could help them, heal them, when she herself was blind and needed a seeing dog and a cane? It was different if she only held onto a dusk knight's arm, then it was like she was being escorted to them. On a battlefield Lucero doubted that anyone would care about something so trivial when their guts were spilling out of their stomach or they had lost an arm at a shoulder. But she wasn't always on a battlefield, more often than not, she was inside someone's home, promising them that everything would be alright.

She dipped her head pathetically. Her working fingers stopped trying to make sense of her hair and fell to her lap. Not even a second passed before one of her hands went to Rois to hold onto him.

"I know I am a burden. I know having a cane might make me less of one." Lucero said bitterly. "But it feels like if I have one then I am admitting how much I... " She searched for the word, the right phrase, but nothing poetic came to her mind. Sure, she knew what she wanted to say in the language taught to her from her parents, but translating it never quite held the same punch. "How much I suck. How weak I am. How powerless I am to my own affliction. I have appearances to keep, you know. People won't take help from someone they pity, and my eyes already freak people out."

The soft sigh that left her lips was hardly cathartic. She didn't share with Rois the dreams she had about standing in a room, seeing a thousand faces, a voice telling her to find her own. Even if there were only a hundred, or ten, Lucero would still stand there unable to recognize her own face. She didn't share with Rois how she was beginning to forget everything, her father's face, her mother's face, Sijtli's face.

Her new sight wasn't entirely horrible, it did let her see that Rois was lying. She canted her head to the side like a curious bird. Lucero would rather talk about this than her disability.

"Oh?" Dark brows furrowed curiously. "Then we have a dilemma. I hate drinking alone, so you're going to have at least one drink with me. And before you object! Alcohol is poison so I can heal you the moment you start pulling your coin purse out." An effortless smile was back on her lips. "Besides, Rois, you're a big guy, one drink wouldn't even get you tipsy."
 

“...”

There was a way to get around things you didn’t want to talk about.

It was not a delicate solution, it was not something that oozed subtlety of any kind, but it was a notion that could only be performed by the bold and brave and desperate enough to pull off such a move with such little effort-- and that is to simply ignore. Just pretend it was never spoken aloud, as suddenly ears were stuffed with cotton for a select span of time and move on to more important matters, namely, the shunned sadness that encapsulated Lucero’s speech.

“... If everyone can already see you’re blind, how would a cane add any more weight to it?” Rois regards her with a little indignation, not quite understanding her point of view-- if it helped it helped. The world was awash with normality, they were the outliers, it was a chore to fit into a world that did not heed them in design and any tool that aided in the unsung struggle of the disabled in every-day life was a gift. And maybe the butcher seems a little cruel. It isn’t his fault he speaks shivering baritone and with the bluntness of a man who loved to cut to the heart of the matter, better than faffing around, this was the truth,

“You’re not weak because you’re blind, Rabbit. You’re weak because you are walking into things when you don’t need to be.” Adamant sounding in his belief, “People no doubt have been accepting your help whilst already noticing your eyes; I assure you… a little help from a stick won’t change anything.”

Casual-like, statements so gruff yet somehow still so soft at its core,

“Besides, your eyes are not… ‘freaky’. They are… like pale moons, silver speckling and all.”

 
Shoulders slumped, her hand that had found Rois's forearm went to hold onto his bicep instead. It was the same argument she had heard from Silas before.

"I got a seeing dog after our first... encounter," Lucero admitted quietly, "His name is Moose. He's quite big and protective. I thought about bringing him along but I kept worrying about if something fatal happened to him... I mean, I don't want anything to die on my behalf. you know? Even if it's a dog, it's still living and has feelings." There was a slight pause as she debated over something silently. "I wasn't born blind. My father... he had a hypothesis and used me to test it out."

She was unable to tell him the rest of what had laid dormant in her heart for years. The frustration, the hate, the grief of it all all because she had agreed to something that no twelve year old girl could possibly understand the consequences of. If only she could go back in time....

"My eyes don't creep you out?" She asked instead of continuing with her melancholy and then laughed slightly to herself. "I don't know why but I thought someone like you would have hated them most of all. You're so big and strong and... you know. Not even my ex liked my eyes, I always had to close them around him." Lucero hopped off the stool, her warm hand left his arm, and she wagged a finger at Rois with playful mischievousness. "I'm getting us something to drink other than water. You're having at least one with me even if I have to force you to drink it."
 

“A cane doesn’t need feeding or keeping alive.”

Comes the soft argument, watching chipped fingernails dance against his shirt to hold onto the breadth of a sturdy arm. Un-sound logic kept spilling from the healers tired lips, if it had been another rooted against the seat behind him, Rois knows for certain that the moment would be swiftly shoved onto its side and abandoned for the promised comfort of a plump bed-- it took effort to care. Care about anyone other than himself or the girls or the rest of his crew, the very little fucks he had to give could not be meated out to strangers whomst held no entangled future with the butchers own life… alas. Lucero was Lucero and she had since proven herself to be a stalwart thorn in his side, not the kind that prickled with pain at every slight movement, but the minutely barbed surface of a stubborn thing that could not be removed. Not that Rois wanted it removed. It was just…

A solemn closing of ruby eyes.

People always did this. They wandered about him and let his harsh utterings sink deep into their skull and figure, ah, this person, this erratic, tone-deaf person would be the perfect target for my troubles. And then would come the nagging disappointment that he had nothing to offer but the growling out of practicality in its stoic coldness when they wanted something else, a gentle cuddle, hushed reassurances, sweet and false, it’ll be ok. The amount of times that very phase had come down from a heavenly place of good intention just to be time and time again comprised of bitter false hope, he did not want to hear it any more, it wouldn’t be ok, their conditions were incurable, it would always be what it was; hard. As hard as it was to spit out feeling, Rabbit was extending something out and wanted him to bite and he’d rather not tackle the concept of past trauma when all he wanted to do was smoke and sleep after riding for hours non-stop snugged up against someone he didn’t like and having to steal food and having to work come sun-fall in a dangerous environment--

But because it’s Lucero… she is allowed a little time. Not a lot. Just a little.

“Your father… did what?” Comes the slow response, watching as she hops to her feet in a beat of renewed excitement for something that he didn’t want, Rois rests an elbow against the tables scratched surface and cradles a hand there with half lidded eyes. Just… fifteen minutes. She is captured by crimson segmented by heavy lash-fall,

“And your ex… did what? Rabbit, I am in no position to punish others for their disabilities; I’d be a hypocrite… and I am many things, but I’m not that.”

He couldn’t even conceive of such a cruel notion, hiding yourself to please another-- little sparks within his chest ignite in the beginnings of annoyance at the idea, the Celestials knew that any who crossed paths with he and found his sickness to be a liability to their personal tastes was well and truly axed from his life, never to tread the same dirt again. Of course she didn’t stick up for herself. It wasn’t in her nature. Staggered comes a heavy sigh as Rois draws himself to a stand with a semi-stretch to straighten out that hunched spine---- wait.

For a stretch of time there the red-head had been content to simply settle into sleepy thoughts halfly lit by be low-burning embers of a desire to not allow his erratic companion to slip into throes of depression (and scraps of pity for his poor, tired self), so much so that the last thing she had stated there did not even register until a half-minute later. Cognitive lag. Not that she’d know, but suddenly the man seemed visually more alert, the beginnings of subtle shock--- why had she said that specifically---

---- Did she… know something? See something?

The big man suddenly crosses arms across his chest in a flurry of motion, as if the extra flesh there would hide whatever those mystic-grey eyes glimpsed inwardly, a shield, it exists to hide the barest licks… of want. Want. Primal and shining gold fringed by the stranger scarlet of other people, of normal people, not him, not upon the back of a horse or when in the bed, no, lust did not exist within he of no desire. Yet... want glimmers on, threatens to turn the shade of roses blooming, Rois furrows a suddenly tense brow and squints downwards at the healers head with another attempt to mislead the poor woman--

“I told you, just water is fine.” Lie. “I’ll take your glass back… because it would be terrible of me to watch you walk face-first into something and smash it.”

Truth! It would be very funny, though.
 
"You sound so surprise, did you think I was born blind?" Somehow that felt more insulting, although Lucero knew that wasn;t how Rois meant it.

With the efflorescent smile that was Lucero's signature default look, one hand holding onto the table, the other finding the beam, her eyes began to glitter once more. With time vitality would slowly creep back into Lucero. She hadn't felt the need to explain to Rois that her use of the shroud was the in between of herself and herself, a strange concept to behold until she explain that half of her was filled with life, the other with death. Two sides of the same coin mirrored within Lucero.

"Yeah, Rois, water." She would have winked if she could, and she could have, but the gesture had never made its way into her repertoire. There was the briefest flash of desire, so unlike the rest of what he felt, that Lucero was sure that deep down inside Rois wanted a drink. Lucero hadn't lied upon confessing that she hadn't drinking alone. What person wanted to feel like an alcoholic? It was morning but nothing other than something strong and bad for her would truly calm her nerves.

She pushed herself off and way, towards the bar, her stomach bumping into the countertop before she could rest her forearms against the wood. They were in the Free States and this meant that there was a chance to find pulque or mezcal or tequila. Any of them would taste and smell like home. She'd even settle for bacanora or raicilla.

Upon talking to the tender of liquor, there was no bottle of pulque, but they did have mezcal, the smokier and deeper herbaceous cousin of pulque. She had no idea about the difference in color, could only ever taste the difference. She had coin that she could spend, though it might have been better for her to hold onto it, regardless the allure of feeling light and fuzzy. Mezcal was stronger than pulque, and there was a part of Lucero that was glad that this was the closest thing they had to what she had originally wanted.

After paying for it, she carried two glasses -- the bartender had wisely placed the glasses upside down on the uncorked bottle of mezcal -- back to Rois, finding the beam, then the table and once again her seat. She placed the bottle on the table before pulling off the glasses.

"Pour me and yourself a drink," Lucero said, looking towards Rois. "If I do it I might spill and that would be such a waste."
 

His lack of answer tells her yes, actually, he had thought she’d simply been dragged into life as such.

Rois does not understand why she’s still holding onto the whole drinking aspect of this arrangement, and he further doesn’t know why he isn’t just… leaving. If he was so opposed to the idea it made logical sense to simply flee the scene with rushed excuses, an emphasis on that numbing tiredness coming to wear down his bones, threatening to slowly slip eyelids closed. Cigarette. Bed. This had been the shining dream of a simple man in love with simple concepts like not being exhausted for his very first mission with the lot of still questing knights; there was no shame in admitting this life was taxing for he of carriage and stall. The butcher wasn’t a knight. There was no obligation to live any short period of time as they did.

So as his eyes follow the stubborn healer on her adventure, he finds himself actually… not following dimly after her like a spectre of intended safety. If there was a misstep and the chance to wander straight into a fixture Rois would give a jump and start forth to set the woman on the correct path-- but she does well. Well enough to allow a single eyebrow to raise. There was no need to be condescending (even if his statement had absolutely come across as such), did such little achievements bring her any semblance of joy, to be able to do things that others perceived she could not do…? The red-head hopes in that moment that Rabbit’s little triumph over the tables, chairs and structural beams honestly does give her a lick of happiness to have proved his worries wrong, for those above knew it’d bring him pleasant emotion in turn.

A sit, a glance to whatever she had brought over; he is not a drinker, so he doesn’t know what that slender bottle could possibly contain. But knowing it was alcohol, so close, this proximity, it stirs up memories… good ones. Ones that cause the bridge of his nose to crinkle with the lightest shades of red and small pupils to dart about the male’s unassuming facade before looking to Lucero and back, Lucero and back again, no no, this couldn’t happen. Not with her there. When Rois begins his little protest the man’s voice is a little lighter, a little pitched,

“Rabbit… I cannot drink!” Begins the protest, shoulders rising, round eyes pinning her upon the spot…! “I… can’t…”

Oh, but he wants to. Golden hues wash over an eager form, fingers come together in a distracting toy, good memories of men and women and bars and dark corners and fucking and hands and nails and blood and biting and stinging tastes, coopery tastes, sweet tastes, beneath the curls of a long fringe Rois is so, so thankful his companion in the moment is blind and cannot see the way his golden-brown skin flushes red at cheeks in a pathetic yet natural response to the mere idea of drinking. A single bead of sweat slides down a sculpted cheekbone, hot, it’s suddenly hot in that corner, maybe some fresh air was needed to slow the rising desire creeping through veins like molten liquid that begged him to try, just try--

“Uh…” It is so unlike someone like Rois to suddenly be unable to find words that it is laughable, they stumble out through fingers raised to clasp at his mouth, “I… how do I say something like this.”

Mumble-mumble, quiet whispering, clumsy delivery, trying not to be claimed by a whine,

“I don’t drink because it… you know. Surely you know what, somehow I feel like you can see… because, yeah. It makes me… feel things. Things I shouldn’t be feeling in times like this, and no, it isn’t an abnormality, people like me are able to find things rousing, it’s just they usually aren’t focused on the body of another like everyone else. We have desires, just peculiar ones. So to avoid the inevitable I will pour you a drink, but I will abstain for my own sanity, there is no need to be… switched on right now, nor does anyone deserve to deal with that.”

Never has ‘it makes me horny’ been uttered in such a lengthy manner.
 
This was another one of the strange moments Lucero often came across. Seeing emotions hadn't been quite the insight she thought it would give her. Her perception of emotion often led her down a path that made the other confused at best, uncomfortable at worse. Usually the latter more than the former. Sometimes it was better to pretend that she hadn't seen anything at all, to pretend she didn't see the disagreement if she said something stupid. Lucero couldn't quite ignore the conundrum of Rois's words versus his feelings.

At first she had suspected that Rois needed a little friendly push to drink. Maybe he had lied because he wanted to be seen as serious, maybe he was nervous about what the others would think? That didn't seem quite to be the case now. With him speaking the truth freely, emotions laid bare, the pitch shift from the usual baritone drawl, Lucero thought she had a better understanding of it now. Instead of relying on his words alone, she considered his voice, the emotions, the cadence in how he spoke.

In this moment, everything about Rois was just completely, utterly, irrevocably...

Cute. The briefest, tiniest hint of a whine coming from someone like him? Cute. The wash of golden bright effervescent opaque hue about him? Cute. His fumbling of words, an explanation that took more breath than was needed?

"Cute." Lucero whispered, eyes widening upon realizing she had said it aloud for only them to hear. Did he like this? Did he want this? Did she want it? She felt hollow, could only feel the pump of her heart, it's quickened beat. The rhythm thrumming in her ears, skin flushed. Something warm and thick like hot syrup leaking out of a jar could be felt in her stomach. Surely Rois was just exaggerating. Besides, what pecuilar desires could he have that was related to drinking? What was the harm in finding out after only learning hours before he did not feel desire like she did, only for him to now act like this?

Lucero wanted to know. She wanted to see this side of him, too. Even if it was wrong of her to want such a thing, even if a part of her was screaming at her to stop, to take his no as a no. But did Rois want her to stop? That was when Lucero realized that that was the question she wanted to be answered. This was her only chance to find out.

"But I wasn't asking, I was telling." Her heart got louder, faster, despite Lucero holding her breath. She leaned close to him, propping her chin on his shoulder, voice hauntingly low. Her hand on the crook of the soft inside of his elbow, nails digging into the pominent, large vein; the one that Lucero always loved to touch, to feel another's heart as if it were her own.

"Pour." Thump. "Us" Thump. "A." Th-thump. Was it her heart or his? Did it matter? "Drink."
 

Cute?!

Rois tries in great vain to swivel his head all the way away from the eager woman with the heated scrawl of flush bright upon his cheeks, teasing curl ends and making them stick to the heat of rouge, mouth fixed in a wobbly line of uncertainty. Embarrassment was a fire coming to lick at that stiffened body, she now knew and yet she was still pressing it, maybe, maybe the play had really been just to leave, because now the man was pinned in the very same corner he had taken refuge in from the nonsense of knights… now there was a hard (no pun intended) decision to be made. To deny Rabbit’s sunny-seeming intentions, or to give in to the vigorous rising of heady, liquid heat rising in his own body, the lustful tinges of red smearing against gold about the thought, just the thought was enough to turn him evermore onto the brink of desire--

… And then she leans her pretty little head against his shoulder, carefree and dandy. All whispers and seduction and orders, nails against the soft flesh of his inner arm in a way that stung so good, beneath the contact his pulse surges in a prominent up-tick, faster and faster to shake delicate fingers, revelation. Revelation that did not need words, that did not need clarification, this… is what she wanted, almost frighteningly so. This little rabbit and her eagerness to jump straight against the jaws of a predator was noble, but as eyes flick to the other end of the inn and back Rois can’t help but think critically that the soft, whimsical healer had no idea what she was getting into.

But she could learn.

Blasted man could barely let the words form in his throat, the mere notion of engaging in strange pleasures causes his cock to twitch to life with every beat of a furious heart like a beast awakened and eager to sink itself into something soft, Luce’s ears are subjected to a rushed whisper that teases the shell of the woman’s rosy pink ear,

“... Think, if this is what you really want… ” Words tumbling over each other, stiffly hands drag the cork from the bottles neck with unexpected ease, jostling the clear liquid within, glass after glass filled with something that stirred his nose with interest in the way of a dog-like sniffing that causes Lucero to bounce a little upon her perch…

“... Then you hold the glass… and pour it in my mouth.”

She would learn that control is so easily snatched away from her. Rois wants to argue this is how Luce seals her fate. This is how Rabbit ultimately gives consent for whatever erotic murkiness was surely coming her way, but really… erratic thoughts about the simple makes him sick with excitement. Causes a thick thigh to shift slightly, sliding with friction likes sparks against her own to allow a stirring arousal more room to breathe, muscles come taunt beneath her touch, giddy anticipation, the lulling of that great chest comes ever-faster with rushed breath, desire, he gives into it and rose-petal red flourishes into a dark pink haze. And now, speech is concise. The statement is akin to gravel-drag, a guttural growl that physically shivers her flesh, bitten out with clacking teeth is a semi-sneered command,

“Make me drink.”
 
A hard, dry swallow over a lump in her throat as he warned her, desire framed his want, red and gold like Autumn's noble crown, red and gold like a hungry fire scorching through a field. When people saw smoke they were to run the other way. Was self preservation really such a foreign concept to the young woman who had always been hunted, always had something lurking in the shadows ready to take her? Why was she constantly throwing herself into the jaws of a beast, into the clawed hands of a man that had once threatened her?

The allure of power that he dangled in front of her, all cat and mouse, and Lucero wondered if she could keep up this facade. Already she felt out of her element, her demanding, her rushing into danger? The thrill was hot beneath her skin, liquid fire coursing through her veins, blossoming all about her lower half. Yes, she wanted it. But she needed a bit of liquid courage herself, first.

Lucero looked away from Rois as she took one of the glasses, throwing her head back to swallow without savoring the complex notes that Mezcal was often known for. It burned the back of her tongue, the back of her throat, but like fire to an unkempt and dry tall glass, the warmth spread pleasantly all about her. She sucked in air through her teeth as a frisson shivered down her spine.

Words could not describe how she felt now, the new burst of courage pushing away contemplations and worries. All she had to do was move, that was it. Her hand found the other glass as she stood up, using the height to loom over Rois, face serious and fixed with something that was like an unsaid promise.

The hand on his arm roved up his bicep, finding the large expanse of his chest, fingers grazing over the just of his thick collarbone. The drink was lifted, the smokiness filling both their noses. Hand continued to climb, from bone to shoulder, the sturdy curve of his neck. Jaw to chin before fingers pressed hard, dragging down so his mouth would open. Chest protected with soft leather rested against the side of Rois's arm as she angled his head to be dipped back.

If only she could see this, his expression, did he close his eyes, was a part of him surrendering to her after all? The lip of the glass almost clinked against his fang, using her thumb to rest against his lower lip for leverage as she tipped it over. All of the liquid inside poured out instantly, if Lucero had more control and sense of the situation, she would have done it slowly, forcing Rois to endure it, to let him suffer with the intensity of the drink and work to keep it from coming up.

It was a sloppy pour, but all Lucero could hope that it burned Rois the same way it had for her, for the two of them to both bask in this shared, mutual heat.
 

Her hand moving against the rough spun fabric of his shirt was like the sizzle of electricity come to scatter goosebumps against skin that wished so dearly for pressure, harder, drag, scratch, tear, Lucero retains the steady sweetness of normalcy, but fuck normal. Fuck tenderhearted sentiments whispered about the swirling rush of excitement, fuck the little kisses of eager finger-tips, fuck the gentle leaning at his side, if this was desire then it would be desire in all its fury storming forth like loose horses caught in the midst of frenzy; her clumisness is perfect.

Thumb against tooth, the sudden introduction of burning liquid against the back of his throat produces a off-key whine and the barest of spluttering, a muffled, deep split-second of choking that only she could delight in with her closeness, crimson gaze flies wide open in alarm and elation and against Rabbit’s leaning form that massive body shudders like stone caught amidst the quaking of the earth; when jaws quickly close to capture the bottom lip of the glass Rois makes sure to reward her kindness. Her eagerness upon their moonlight ride had not been forgotten. Jaw hitch, snatches up her resting thumb against the danger of a rising fang and hooks it against the sharp, tactile grooves; the glass is stopping the set from trapping Lucero’s skin, safety from scissor-bite, but only just. Thumb-nail is wettened by alcohol but not for long.

Throat opened to eagerly gulp down the stinging, smokey touch of Mezcal puts rolling neck muscles to work in long, fluid motions, tight, grandiose swallows violently pushing adams apple up and down beneath reddened skin with the waves of searing sharpness felt the deeper it flowed down to smoulder against an already sizzling stomach now prickly with not just alcohol, now with feeling, too, tastes like sweet firewood, tastes like acidic sugar burned, tasted like fanatical excitement. Muscles of that heavy-set jaw are taught against the mottled skin of Lucero’s eager palm, visible pulse crazed, God’s, it felt like lighting-strike, rolling tongue and subsequent contraction forced, the need to breathe but not being able to till every drop was greedily taken in, some dribbles sloppily to wind a shimmering line against the healers wrist, the motions are rough, fluid rushing past her thumb-tip catches her in a subtle tug with the force of its downwards descent till the glass is empty.

More.

A hand relieves her of the empty cup, with its safety now gone one would expect that horrid bite-force to snap the nail of her thumb into fragments… but no. It’s deliberately slow. Rolling pressure forces delicate skin against the jagged edge, not enough to cut, just enough for the uncomfortable-ness of its mountainous peak to turn the crux of the joint pale with cut-off blood… more. Clink against the table, hand takes hers by the wrist and raises it with jaws opening to test that set of shark-like chompers against the quick-throbbing veins of a delicate wrist, teeth scrape, tongue winds heatedly in a vigorous press to drag itself in a rough slip upwards to lick the runnings of warm Mezcal. Beneath the flurry of his fringe eyes close to savour its taste juxtaposed against the salt of her sweat, the point of a canine turns itself against those pinkening stretches of skin and drags upwards in a pluck, a snag, a pinprick of blood smeared by spittle… a wait to see her reaction. Consent.
 
A whine with velum as he choked sent a frisson down Lucero's spine. She gasped from shock rather than pain, finding that prick of tooth to set her body aflame more than if he had said he wanted to fuck her. Control had been briefly wrestled from her, so enraptured by the tooth and the pressure it could inflict upon her without breaking through her skin as it surrendered against it. She felt her heartbeat in her thumb.

Mouth turned into a small "o" as Rois pressed his mouth about her wrist with no intention of a kiss. His teeth made way for his tongue, wet and hot and somehow strong like the rest of him. Her legs shook, another gulp of anticipation. Lucero winced but kept quiet this time. Cool air found the smallest of wounds and with it, Lucero sighed with a dreamy softness.

Her white cloak had fallen to the ground, forlorn and forgotten. It got caught around her ankles in a feeble attempt to shackle her from Rois, but dirty boots trampled over the fabric, leaving marks worse than stains and bruises, marks like scars that would never leave the skin no matter how long it had been. She was all over him now.

"That's it?" Not a whimper, not even a whisper, only breath, the barest movement of wanting lips. Her body quivered ever so slightly, Lucero's boldness able to withstand only so much crude and carnal passion. She was a sweet girl, she should act like it if she wanted to be the healer she dreamed of being, innocent and pure and tender. Her hand was not gentle as it gripped onto his thick thigh, muscle hard and firm.

She felt the way down to his knee that was bigger than her fist, imagined the bone and cartilage there. Her hand began roving up, only on the top of his thigh, tracing the length, fingers pressing hard against where femur remained hidden with red muscle's aid. But she knew where it was, if she wanted to use her sight, she could see the parts of him that no one would, a part of him for her eyes alone.

There was more allure in not knowing or seeing, only feeling. The fabric of his pants, the sturdy thigh, the slight upward climb as it rounded and bulged before tapering neatly as muscle softened near his hip. She hesitated a moment, pretending to wait for him to stop her, but instead gathered up her courage once again. Cheeks red, she trailed her curious finger tips down the side of his thigh, finding a part of him that she hadn't thought possible to feel this way.

"That's all you're giving me when you're like this?" Lucero whispered, using only two fingers to glide along the length of his shaft. She tried to keep herself from blushing as she traced his shape, feeling the stretch of fabric denying her greediness to feel how thick he was. Her palm and fingers moulded around it firmly, the heel of her palm nudging the curve of his head. She was careful with the friction, giving long, slow strokes instead to encourage him further, enticing him to fall into the same grave that Lucero had dug for them. "After practically nothing? How... pathetic." The last word was meek, Lucero's fragile facade breaking the more she felt his desire.

It wasn't for her, he hadn't seemed interested in her whatsoever, had treated her more like a nuisance. If anyone was pathetic it was her, wanting something bad for her, something that could damage her reputation, ruin her relationships. But she wanted it, she wanted him, she wanted to be fucked and to feel his teeth while it happened. Most of all, Lucero wanted Rois to find her soft and sweet, easy to rip and break like he had the first time; she imagined he would split her skin from the middle of her breasts down to her stomach with only a claw, tear her ribcage apart to claim her still beating heart, stupidly fighting for life like how she stupidly had reached out a hand to help him, and when he took a bite of it... if he took a bite of it...

would he taste the flavor of her heart and realize that it matched the same flavor already on his tongue?
 

The minute quivering of Lucero’s tender legs was all the answer he needed.

At first he would allow the blind woman her little act of cute rebellion, the gentle skirting of a familiar palm coursing its way downwards with nothing in the way of resistance; it was what he wanted after all. Wanted to be treated like an object of simple but fever-point desire, wanted to be grasped and groped and reduced to nothing more than his sex, want me, use me, abuse me, thin pants do nought to muffle the protrusion of winding veins about his girthy cock throbbing violently against her finger-tips-- Rois brings no hands forth. He wants to pretend he can’t, wants to believe the table would stop this action, he is just a helpless victim of her perversion, with hitched breath stuttering in the man’s throat he allows himself a deep inhale of pleasure to bask in the moment of stiffening contact--

And then come words.

All he’s giving her-- pathetic-- only two fingers-- so slow-- grasp, leads into sharp, heavy gasp, surely she did not possess a dominant bone in her little, fragile body. Surely this was getting him to metaphorically and physically rise to the occasion, and fervent wishes would be granted, because like fuck if he wasn’t going to suddenly bristle with a renewal of lost energy to bat the table away so harshly the room echos with the squealing of its legs against cobblestone, space, Rabbit is all childish delight and barely restrained smiles and Rois sought to savagely peel them from her face. With heavily swelling member curving ever-upwards against the gentle kneading he seeks to teach the woman her own lesson, two could play at this game, a hand comes round to suddenly invade the small gap of her thighs by way of force--

A single thumb-claw presses itself vigorously against the healers concealed slit, nail-tip giddish in its quick-slides, point catching the impression of her stiffening nub over and over aggressively as a heavy lean-and-scoot once again causes a ruckus in their dingy little corner-- he needs her. Needs her skin, needs her flesh, needs it painted red and black and blue and shoving both her chair and form against the wall with the frightening assertiveness the butchers mouth captures the crux of Lucero’s throat in a bite that shakes against her flesh, jaw trembles, please, hold back, have restraint, don’t go all in so soon. The weight of his presence causes Rabbit’s bones to creak, the butcher has pinned her there, completely covered her dainty form in shadow and seeks to flip the abuse backwards... the deprived, non-sexual man is so horny so little and rarely that whenever the opportunity arose sometimes, in the poor things excitement, he forgets to take things slow.

Slow, slow like the mouthful of salt-kissed skin as teeth begin to pull backwards, tug, threaten to break the surface and do, just a smidge, tongue lathers itself against the pale surface, a deep rasp of a moan,

“I want you, so I’ll have you.” Those breathless, grunted words are a real demand with teeth gnashing against sore flesh, they signal the release of an action that has planted itself against her collar as a red ring of glistening blood and flesh veering brighter shades of green that would soon tumble into black-- intrusive fingers are curling about her clothed opening below as if demanding entrance, almost lifting her entirely off the seat-- they want in, regardless of where, regardless of how she felt-- harder and harder still she is crushed against the wall-- her wanton hand is filled with the twitching stiffness of a cock spear-like in its determination to stab, all anger and weeping head dotting ruffed fabric.

“I’ll show you how much I can give--”
 
At first, when Rois moved suddenly and without warning, Lucero had thought she had upset him like back on that mountain. Her mouth moved to apologize, sound dying in the back of her throat as his claws found a piece of her that ached to be touched. It hurt, the clothing she wore hardly soft against skin, feeling more like a rash than a wave of relief, but she didn't care as finally, finally.... Lucero whimpered at his weight pressing against her. Like the prey she was her legs spread for him, one arm reaching around his shoulder to cling to him, her other hand still holding onto his hardening member.

Fingers dug into his broad back, nails wishing to tear through that pesky fabric, knuckles white. A strangled moan as he bit her, body flinching, every instinct she had telling her to shy away from him, push him off, run, but a twisted part of her killed it as savagely as Rois wanted her. His tongue laving along her neck in a soothing caress, pain momentarily subsiding. If Rois bothered to pull away and look upon Lucero's face he would see her wicked open mouthed smile, starry eyes scintillating devilish euphoria. All the life and color swam back into her, flushed and warmed just in time for her to breathe out a mezcal laden "Yes please."

She sobered upon seeing the barkeep come back to the front, no longer busying themself in the back with something from all the ruckus. Worry and anger, surprise and fear, all of it coalescing into a person that could see him against her, that might shout something and possibly get the attention of others. Lucero sucked in a quick breath to steady her voice from the high pitch keen and staccato breath.

["I'm okay, don't worry!" Lucero said before they could make any noise. Her skin burned, hips hitching still against his hand that seeked to invade her. "He caught me before I could fall off, I-I'm blind and clumsy," A hoarse, unconvincing chuckle that might have been misconstrued for a strangled choke of a laugh. "Two things you don't want together." She saw that they were unconvinced and against better judgement pointed at them, no longer clinging to Rois as she sent that invisible wire of shroud to calm the onlooker on.

Heart pounding it was difficult to think of something calm. Rois's hard cock in her hands, her foolish want to feel him, hot skin against hot skin, in all his glory. She ended up having to think of her grandmother making her chicken soup, remembering how meat fell from the bones. Lucero selfishly lifted his hard shaft up so it would be flat against his stomach, continuing her incessant rubbing and stroking of his member, hardly concealing her grin as she touched him openly, knowing his back covered the movement of her hand and arm from the barkeep.

"Hey," Lucero whispered, craning her bruised neck so her lips could press against his ear, his hair brushing against her blushing cheek. "Rois, don't you have a room?" Softer, gentler, her sweet voice better fit a bunny than a rabbit as she added a pitiful, "I... don't want you to be rough with me." A pause, longer than intended, her hand gripped him tight, harder than what would be deemed pleasurable to most. "I want you to be brutal to me. So somewhere private would be best, right? Then you could eat as much rabbit as you want...."
 
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That whimper.

It made the man flinch-- not in the way a person waiting to be struck would flinch, in the way someone surprised and gleeful at such a surprise would, more and more, her strangled moan was hymn, Rois wanted to crush her lungs so tightly more sounds would follow it by way of force as she’d struggle to keep the noise inwards--

Oh, right. They were in public.

So?

Rois stops his vigorous assault on her and leans a touch away to give poor Lucero some breathing room as a glare is shot in the direction of the woman afar and her worried expression, probably thinking she’d caught them amongst the act of rape-- hot, hot-- but alas… Rabbit’s clumsy words and dedication to said lie is unconvincing to the point of nonsensical, their cover was blown. Not that there was actually cover to start with. They have to move, they have to, but the sneaky healer and her conniving hands that seemed to be possessed of a far harsher spirit than the rest of her body are causing a strain in his lower half with the tenacity that he’s worked with, in an instant the expanse of thick thighs against the womans thin knuckles begin to quiver violently with uncontainable pleasure, now he’s the one having to bite back moans, but it’s getting more and more difficult as the edges of his mind begin to fuzz--

Suddenly, a swoop. Effortless, easy, Rois comes to an unsteady stand with hands running themselves against her back and the crux of limber knees to lift the knight as if she was but paper in a bridal-style hold. Steady, now. It was hard enough to walk with a savage erection let alone the seeping of alcohol into his rigid form, stiffly the butcher begins to carry his prize away… past the bar maid. Past whoever else was occupying the inns front. A wobbly ascent of the stairs, his grip on her is diamond, against her shoulder he breathes uneasily, in short, sharp huffs, a drip of sweat absconds the point of his chin and spares its sizzling heat to the patterned stretch to beautifully coloured skin of her throat,

“Y-You can’t say things like, brutal, Rabbit.” Half-lidded eyes are afire with ecstasy, but, it is his own sadistic brand that could go too far-- “You need… to tell me, w-what you don’t like before we start anything.”

… Does it give her happiness, to see this titan dragging himself forwards with the air snatched from his lungs due to her actions? To see the way shoulders kept rising in raging bliss as head-tip scraped cotton, upwards, quiver, downwards, heart-beat an out-of sync marching band playing a song it did not fully know, bed, they needed a bed, he sloppily turns the door-knob with a ditzy elbow and shuffles them into their room with a buck-kick to slam the door shut-- immediately, that warmth leaves Lucero. This is only because she is tossed upon the bed like an object discarded (but not for long), bouncing upon the mattress just a single time before the grip of strong hands clasp plush thighs with nail-points downwards to pin her against the fresh, clean mattress cover, the duvet thankfully folded at the beds head. Not yet. Just a few things before they start… and it pains him to have to stop at such a crucial point, but…

“Things… just a few things…” Rois squeezes his eyes shut, teeth glimmer in the morning light, it is not pain that creases his features but the denial of pleasure causing that great body to occasionally seize up, “One… I’m infertile, s-so I can’t get you pregnant, so don’t come to me… if you’re ever knocked up, or sick… ‘cuz, you can’t catch anything from me.”

Weight. Leaning weight down upon Lucero, he wants to start, these rules are a rope around the bulls snout keeping him at bay,

“Two… I don’t do mouth kissing… my teeth… lips…” … Rois didn’t like kissing like that, but also, people kind of needed their lips intact! “And finally, if I do something you… really don’t like… you say ‘vanilla’ and we stop. Got that?”

Stop getting closer. Stop leaning harder, looming, the butcher attempts to manage a smile and is barely able to, his words, their gaps, their pronunciation… it’s all beginning to fail with the Mezcal’s delicious, cruel touch. Beginning to lilt and dance and turn with the thin edges of a foreign accent…
 
Lucero squeaked as he lifted her up, swinging from the chair to against his chest, his strong arms around her. Her teasing was forgotten, both arms going around Rois' neck to hold on, feeling the sway of his steps. The sullied cloak left behind and not even a thought in Lucero's mind.

Within his grasp, the devilish smile returned as she watched the flurry of color within him. Shades of red gathered about him in certain places, like his head or chest. She knew if she looked down she could see it in his nether regions, too, and considered unlacing a hand around him to go back to her taunting. Both hands stayed in place, his hot and heavy pants feeling like a warning that he was at his limit and would possible throw her onto the floor to take her like a dog in heat.

Corrupted attention tuned in to Rois when he spoke and her pair of lascivious opals roved back up to his face with a curious cant of her head. What she didn't like? She wasn't sure, had never been asked the question before, either. She hadn't talked about sex, even with her ex lover, nothing beyond the confirmation of desire and definitely nothing spoken afterwards.

Even when he opened the door, knob turning more difficult than it should have been, Rois did not drop her. The slam made her flinch and it wasn't enough to prepare her for the brief flight through the air. Arms grasped at nothing, even when she did hit the bed gasping and shuddering, beginning to curl her legs up until but he was upon her; pinning her thighs, claws digging into her skin, fear turned to thrill and thrill melted into rapture.

There was a nod of agreement as she listened because that was what she always did. It didn't take long for her to catch on to his uneven tilt of speech as if he had not been created to discuss matters before fucking someone. Such a great burden he forced upon himself in spite of what he had been designed to do like it were an act of rebellion.

She found his shoulders first. Dark hair splayed across the sheets about her head, his red curls falling upon her slender hands. The smell of him encompassing her, his weight more comfort than fright. Where she was small and slender he was large and broad. A rabbit that liked to dance between jaws, tempting danger to come and chase her. Lucero nodded, grin softening into a gentle smile despite the fire Rois had stoked between her legs screaming at her to keep her mouth shut and take her clothes off.

"I understand and, um, I don't really have your experience so these requests might be silly but I'd like to touch you. Everywhere, or at least as much as you'd let me. And would it be alright if I keep my eyes open, too? I like... seeing you want me... even if it's not real." She had an ego, too, and even a small ego enjoyed the satisfaction of being desired. "Oh and... your mouth, I like that and... your voice, your tongue, your... t-teeth."

Lucero realized she hadn't told him what he wanted to know at all, that she had instead forced him to suffer as she laid out her silly whims. The blind knight cooed a soft sound of pity, brows briefly furrowing together. Turned out she could be cruel, too.

"You're doing it again, Rois." A simple murmur, hands moving up to touch his face. Selfish fingers against his skin, feeling the tremors of his restraint, the tight pull of skin over pained expressions that matched the anguish in his voice. They barely slipped beneath the bandages, excited but careful, just like he was now. She would be his salvation, the one to undo his chains. "You're being gentle with me. But you don't need to be, I can handle it. All you got to give... I'll take it all."
 
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