His mouth lulled open, as if to welcome all the paradox that found him so wantingly crushed against the floor. A wet, bloody, mess. Sticky and slick as all his competitor's weight bruised upon him. "Aysel," the name sizzled out of him. Like he was just some fried piece of meat on flat iron. And she was just gonna squeeze all the juice out of him. Didn't matter how much he spasmed or gasped. Whimpered.

"You lost."

He growled. He moved. With her. He pulled against her. Her grip. The sink of her nails dug deep like sweet sharp claws. All painless pinpricks turned red hot with stinging heat that flushed all the way through him as he strained. And she kissed. Wet, sticky presses of her lips that just made him think all the more of that hot mess pooling and sticking there between them.

Fuck. Fuck. FUCK.

He didn't even feel her let go. His breathing hot and heavy as his spine shuddered and he twitched under her. His cock stiff as sausage split open from burst and still getting squeezed out. Extra crispy. Extra juicy. Extra mess.

He wanted it. He wanted her. Loser. Filth. Fuck it all. And all her damned evil little nips and grinds and whispers.

"...Your name."

His hands remembered they had fingers. He grabbed up at her hair and grapsed onto her mane, tight. Pulled her down and gulped her down. Tried to eat her. Nothing soft or easy as breath and body sputtered and pressed, pushed and pulled. Some gasp there, with all of his wreck dug up into all her thick meaty heat. He gasped. "Diaz," gnashed and licked and bit the side of her face as he growled. "You call me Diaz," as his fingers dug down to the bone.
 
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Tongue and teeth, a playful fight more than it was a dance. There was no choreography, no push and pull that was beautiful and perfectly timed. It was one beast to another, ignoring music and classical queues. It was hard and heavy, bitter and bloody. How Diaz and Aysel kissed each other, pulled and grabbed at each other, only feral humps and moans to connect them back together, could only be described as frightening, like watching the hunter enjoying its kill before the prey was fully dead.

"Diaz," his name rolled off her tongue like her favorite piece of fatty meat, thick and buttery. The sort of name that felt good to think about saying as much as it did to say it. It felt like a reward, knowing his name, hearing it said from his own lips not once but twice. There was a sort of pleasure in how her tongue pressed briefly against the roof of her mouth, near the back of her teeth to then only widen at the end. It felt like trying to cage a wolf that refused to be a dog.

His fingers dug into her scalp, furthering entangling into her dark hair, make knots upon knots so that even the slightest shift had Aysel whimper within her throat. Just as the pain around her crown felt unbearable, enough that she felt the need to lash out at him, she became acutely aware of just how right he was rubbing himself against her, his hips rising to meet her as he continued to pull her down towards his rough kisses and brutal hands.

"No," Aysel growled back at him. "I call you Meat." Her eyes narrowed in half serious 'fuck you' as he bit and scratched at her. She gave him a open mouth smile, letting him have his way in trapping her against his chest so he could shimmy against her in a sloppy dance, although when he did get his hips just right Aysel felt her eyelids flutter shut for half a second. Her knees were bruising against the stone floor, his hands squeezing her head.

Her teeth clamped hard onto his shoulder, a full bite that made Aysel's jaw hurt, so many of her teeth marking Diaz well. Her teeth pressed harder into Diaz, bruising him like she was tenderizing a big beef chuck. His sweat and salt filled her mouth, leftovers of his adrenaline exciting her further, the inside of her thighs damp. The growl rumbling through her chest was one of satisfaction, heavy like thunder that moved the ground below it as well as the sky.

Aysel raised her lower torso up in the air, letting Diaz control her head and shoulders, letting him bite her as if it was the only way he knew how to kiss. Her legs were skinny but strong, easily holding herself up without needing the aid of her arms so her hands could slither down his body. The werewolf was quick, knowing the fastest, surest path. Over the ribs, past the navel, through his hips.

"You're mine, Meat." Aysel huffed. She didn't bother feeling him under his pants, didn't even bother to pull his pants all the way down, just enough so she could clumsily grab at his thick length and pull it out. She barked out a laugh. "Hard and hot," she told him, "and fucking sticky. Bad, stinky Meat." But Aysel kept touching him, both hands stroking up and down his shaft, fingers gliding alongside the underside of his cock before tracing up and around the velvety crown. "Naughty, naughty Meat."
 
"MEAT?" A growl through his grin as they tangled and humped. Thumped and bumped. Clawed and dug at each other his hands slipping from her hair and grabbed the side of her face as he glared half hazed daggers at her. "You fucking called me, Meat," he laughed as his body just kept moving however felt good. Grunts turning to moans, and breathy shakes of the throat. Didn't right now how to feel for her feeling good. Didn't right know if he cared. Because damn. He felt good. And damn him if he cared about anything else. Church. Meness. None of it mattered save this feeling this Aysel had him hunting for.

Heard those little pitter patter whines mixed in there with the sucks of air between teeth.

She bites him. His eyes grow wild. Grin wilder as he grunts guttural in his throat. Spikes so sweet all the way down his spine and tickling his taint to pucker right up and press all up into her, smothering.

"Fuck me," he gasps as the warm-wet-slop-stick-mess of all the heat shudders out of him, and he feels all the strands of wanting slobber lolling in his mouth. "That fucking hurt," but he's laughing. Grinning. Cock all the harder for it. And he can feel her pressed down on him like she wants to swallow the whole of him up. If only they didn't have skin. Or bones. Or all that fucking CLOTHES.

Her growl shakes him through the marrow so good he feels it down the seem of his sack, and he shivers with delight. Hands about her wide hips. Meaty. Even through the pads of her coat. Doesn't even feel her shift her hands until ones already down his pants.

"What, woah!" he says wide eyed. Looking down.

You're mine, Meat.
​
He laughs. Nervous as the feeling changes. Still too good. Still too hot. He squirms. "What the fuck, hey," some level of sobriety there in his mind as her fingers grip tight. This was wrong. This was a sin. "Hey..." he growls.

Hard and hot...
​
He moans. He gasps. He squirms. Nails her arm with his teeth. Chews his way up with chomps up her shoulder. Neck. Sucks it down like she had. The mess.

"and fucking sticky. Bad, stinky Meat.
​
He whimpers as the passes work him up and up. Shivers. He's gonna spill. He's gonna sin. Again.

"Naughty, naughty meat."
​
He chokes. His cock throbs and twitches and he spills out another mess of sticky white steaming cum. Splats about his stomach like way too much sauce over all his glistening meat.

"Shadows, fucking, damn it," he says. Squirming like a cut sizzling on the griddle. "I'm your meat," he gasps. "I'm your fucking meat!" he growls. "Teach me!" he growls, and gasps and tries to kiss her. How she showed him. "How to be a good Meat," Moved. How she moved. At least sort of. Still hungry for more.
 
It was shocking how little it took to get him to make a mess over his stomach, making a mess in her hands. He was still holding onto her, biting and kissing and licking anywhere he could find. Blood was rushing in Aysel's ears, a torrent of lust and adrenaline roaring at her to take, take, take. The werewolf shivered above Diaz, hands ceased their stroking, letting him ride out his high. She found it to be such a shame that he lacked the discipline to hold on. Didn't he know better?

But he didn't. A suspicious gray gaze looked over his face, wiping her hands over his stomach, smearing the hot globs of his seed over his naval. She didn't kiss him, turning her head from him, finding his arms that had once tethered her to his chest to be loose and limp. It was easy to push herself off of him, rising above him with a bright moon encasing her head. dark shadows hid her face, everything but the glint of gray from her eyes as she inspected her prey.

"Teach you?" Aysel echoed. She felt the heat in her core, the throbbing that told her she needed him or something else to push inside her. The very idea of it had her relax, but only for a moment. Eyes snapped back open. The intensity was back, her gaze steeled against his pathetic, gaping face. She got to her feet, off balanced, hands pulling up all the skirts of her dress. She was wearing tight breeches, the sort that felt like a second skin. It was needed, the partial shift always made her hair grow quick and thick. Aysel tried to hide it when possible.

"How pitiful. I need to teach you? Too stupid to know what to do? Of course you're stupid, you're just a big piece of stupid, stinky meat, aren't you?" Her toothy smile was feral. "If I teach you, you do everything I said. No more of your... improvising. Do as I say and this will be your reward." She gathered her skirts well up and over her waist, pulling them towards her head.

Aysel used her mouth to hold up most of her skirts, hands fiddling with her breeches, sliding them down over narrow hips and knobby knees. Her stupid shoes were in the way. Fuck it, Aysel thought as she ripped her pants in two. Quicker now, her hands went to the pair of linen shorts she used for underwear, as if to distract from the patches of dark, wiry hair on her thighs. She didn't bother pulling down the shorts, instead finding the seam.

Her nails were long and sharp, pointed and curled. Not as much as they would have been if she shifted all the way, but they still worked well in pulling the thread out from it's tightly woven seam. It was easy to pull out al the others, to rip a large, wide hole to free the moist heat trapped inside. All Diaz would see would be more of the dark hair from her thighs, still wiry but now curling.

The scent of Aysel enveloped both of them, like a stew bubbling over a fire, filling the entire home with the promise of a delicious meal. She released the fabric held tight between her teeth, hiding the sight of her from his mismatched eyes. The scent of her cunt still lingered but now as an afterthought, the aftertaste of a meal had an hour again.

"If you want to see my cunny again, get on your knees and lick my hands clean of your pathetic cock." She held her hands out in front of her, fingers splayed wide. Aysel laughed, light and giddy and surprisingly girlish. "Now, Meat."
 
"I'm stupid," he nods along. The confession rolled out of him like a greasy truth spilled behind a priest's screen.

... Do as I say, and this will be your reward. ​

His eyes grow double quick. His cock, thrice as hard as she pulls her skirts up and over her head. And his eyes are huge as his grin hurts from how wide it spreads and how all the bites and stings and claw marks ache against him. When he hears that rip in her pants, he shivers. Laughs a little as he nods at all glistening beads and strands and mess there to greet him as he sees those full lips wet and drooling out with all their sticky juice.

He almost chokes on the smell. And if he did. He would have died happy.
The skirt falls heavy. The smell lingers.

The smell. Goddess of darkness and mercy. The smell.

That alone was enough to make him sin. Again and again. He could feel it. Spill it all without a care in the world of the proper time and place of how and when his holy seed was meant to go. He just wanted to feel it. Felt himself whimpering there in the back of his throat. And even that felt good.

Like muscles, too long without stretching finally getting the blood going nice and easy through them.

Her smell fills his breath in that rich buttery way of only the tastiest things. Something just a little bit funky about it. Complex. Hard to describe. Sweet, but not too sweet. Sour. But in that way of fresh things. Juicy things. Things he wanted to shove down his throat and enjoy every bit of it on his tongue as he gave it all a squeeze.

If you want to see my cunny again, get on your knees and lick my hands clean of your pathetic cock. Now, Meat. ​

His eyes narrowed. His teeth bared. He huffed. Shook his head as he got up and on his knees. sat back, heels against his ass. Bows. Robes ripped down and splayed about his waist. Cock still half out of his baggy trouser's waistband. Pressed up against his belly like a bad reminder. Too nosy go away. But it tick, tick, ticks with the pulse of his heart. Waning. He growls, and takes up her hands as if they were offerings at communion. Licks them.

Licks them clean. Lap of tongue by lap of tongue. Gets in the nooks and crannies. The lttle webs there between each digit. The well beneath the curl of each claw. Hates how sticky it all is. Doesn't go down his throat easy. But he's used to doing things that aren't easy. Licks. Licks. Licks. Until its all gone and he's left panting. Sees some trailed up her wrist. Bright in the moon's light against the veins of her arm. Looks up at her with his mismatched eyes, and blush red across his nose. Licks that away too.

Didn't even ask.
 
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His tongue was wet and hot between her fingers. For a long while, Aysel was silent, watching him work. She appreciated how thoroughly he was, appreciated even more the fact that he listened. She knew she had not tamed it, that he only obeyed because she dangled in front of the most delicious feast of his entire life before his mismatched eyes. Simple creature, like a sheep that thought it could wander out beyond the pasture. His previous hunger meant little to Aysel, she would fulfil her needs tonight and if he was left starving then so be it. But every movement of his tongue, breath hitching in his thick throat as he cleaned himself off of her had her thinking this was exactly where he wanted to be. How he wanted to be.

"You look so fucking pathetic," Aysel growled between her sharp grinning teeth, looking down at her well behaving meat. Groveling worm, Aysel hiccuped a giggle, hedonistic loser. Was it the dirty alley or was it her? Was it them? She could see the jut of his shoulder blades, how his back muscles worked to allow his tongue better access up her wrist. She caught his face with the hand he had just finished cleaning, nails digging into his cheek, jaw and chin.

"Did I say lick my wrist, Meat?" Her gray eyes beat down on him like the scorching sun in a desert that had gone years without rain. "I didn't, did I?" Sharp nails pressed ever tighter into his skin. Such a handsome face, his eyes having an upward tilt that reminded her of a sly fox. Her canines were longer than his. He was merely a fox pretending to be the big bad wolf, wishing he had the size and power she had. The thought of it was intoxicating, all of it going to her head.

His tongue reminded her of the texture of the meatballs she had in the sandwich that seems so long ago. A different time, a different place, a different Aysel. No longer prim and proper but wild and untamed, almost wishing for Diaz to fight her back,. But if there was anything Aysel wanted more than anything else, it was control. She had learned from the best of the best after all, true power was absolute control.

"Open your mouth, Meat, stick out your tongue."
 
Pathetic.

Fucking pathetic.

Yeah. Maybe he was that. After all the years he had spent locked away in that obsidian place. All the verses he had failed to recite. The prayers he could not remember. For the Mother. For the Sister. For the Daughter. He was pathetic. In how he knew all that he had already spilled was a sin. Was wrong. That he licked it all up. Passed it down his belly.

It was all wrong.

And fuck if he didn't get the harder just thinking about it. Cock quivering each time her harsh tongue lashed him with insults.

Thats right. Thats what he deserved. Filthy sinner that he was. Didn't even have the decency to cry like all those pious brothers he knew so well.

He moaned when her fingers clutched at him. Squeezed. He pant. Tongue lolling. Eyes hazy. Merciful fucking shadows, he just wanted it all the more.

Did I say lick my wrist, Meat?
​
He stopped. Because he wanted to feel it the more. See it the more. Smell it coming off her hot like all the mess he had made. All of his sins. So when she picked him up and gave him a command.

He stuck his tongue out. All the way out. Fat and swollen with all its work and slimy, sticky want to be filled up with saucy dripping, hot, everything. He'd be the best Meat for it. Number one Meat.

Meat a la assassina.

Twitching and throbbing. Panting and dribbling. Pathetic. Oh how he wanted to smile. But she didn't say he could.
 
A low rumble of satisfaction built slow in her chest, getting stuck in her throat, completely guttural. He offered himself to her completely, she could see it in his eyes. She bet she could slap him and even if he flinched he would still kneel before and try his hardest to please her. Aysel had exactly what he wanted and it gave her so much power, so much control over him. Her face flushed red, mirroring his own blush. She was being so, so, so mean to him and he still stuck his tongue out.

One strong hand still gripped his jaw, her other pressed her spindly forefinger and middle finger together. With only the pads of her fingertips did she circle the center of his tongue, rubbing up then down and around. Tongues were funny things to look at, human tongues especially. Cow tongues were delicious when cooked or raw, always fatty and juicy and meaty. Cat tongues were weird because they were scratchy, but cats didn't like her much anyway.

Diaz's tongue was fat and wet and soft. It was warm and smooth, fingers able to glide easily over it. Aysel liked how pink it was. She pinched the tip of his tongue between her two fingers, getting a good look at his teeth, counting them, angling his head back. He had a lot of flat teeth and molars, only four canines. She had more sharper teeth, less molars. No wonder why he was servicing her after running from her, he really was prey, her meat.

Which must be why he was sloppy, everything he did lacked skill, too much fire, not enough control. He was surely a bad cook. She thought about their kiss, how he ground himself against her, making a mess on himself. Did she want to teach him everything? Aysel let go of Diaz's face, gray eyes still assessing him, even as she stepped back, no longer touching him, watching every facial change.

"The best thing about you, Meat," Aysel said in the dark, dirty alleyway, voice echoing around them, "Is that you keep good eye contact. You never look away, do you?" If he was like her, truly like her, not prey but a predator, then perhaps they would have been the same. Intense, keen on keeping others in their place, always needing to work on something, restless. Would she have liked him more or less? She took another step back from her thoughts.

"Crawl to me and beg for what you want, Meat, until you're under me." She lifted her skirts just above her knees, feet far apart. "You better remember how my fingers moved on your tongue."
 
Pity. Disgust.

Good eye contact

He snarled. Then without his muzzle. Teeth bared, eyes glinting like knife points. All the hot haze that had been worked into his tongue gone off him like so much steam whipped off by a cold breeze.

"You think you are better than me." He snapped with his teeth. Didn't matter if she was. In every way that counted. He wouldn't have it. He wouldn't lose his soul for something as vile as pity. "Well remember these eyes, doll," he stared as shadows swallowed up his fingers. Worked up his arms and over his shoulder.

Clean. Cool. Always there. Even for a lowly sinner like him. Wrapped about all the warm gooey goodness. Made it clean again. Proper.

"They'll be the last thing you see."

Spoke the pool of darkness he'd become. Mismatched eyes all that was left before that too, blinked out.
 
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