middaeg | [closed]

[ that was— too much. the target was a miss when it didn’t have to be, too much power in one stroke that causes half a tree to collapse. unluckily, it was one of the trees eren had been using as a reel. luckily, his reflexes were experienced in acrobatics— he changes based as quickly as he would from a falling titan to a sturdier house. it’s his turn, and he won’t use his bullets for it. quick demonstration: ]

You’re inhaling too sharply. [ he swings in, perhaps even closer to the target himself, to make sure he gets it in the way he wants. see, these were good— it gave him more of a “bird’s eye view” of what was needed to be worked on when there’s little time to think. eren’s breath intake is almost invisible; it’s small, and curt, and when he exhales the exact same way, all that comes is a short, quick burst, but one that still maintains an ample amount of impact room. he doesn’t stop moving to hit his target, and doesn’t do so on the bull’s eye— but he does hit it, burning a hole onto the side and slightly ranging for the middle. ] Shorter breaths, weaker hits— [ he says “weaker”, but: ] Just remember that it’ll never be weak.

[ and one last piece of concrit, that he says once he hangs from a more stable tree by his hips— with wire and all, as you’d see a mountain climber. ]

Don’t hesitate to get closer. You want aim above power.

[ then they could work on power. ]

[ soren covers his mouth to muffle his final coughs politely as he listens and watches. he makes it look like he was born a dragon. to express that he understood, he nods, then straightens up. ]

...Inhale less sharply; draw on less power; try moving closer. I will keep all of this in mind next time.

[ he thought that he had healed considerably since the rathmores messed with him, but rawness burns within his chest after that last blast. he can't let it interfere with his progress, especially when he feels so pinched for time... but easing up on his forcefulness may avail him in that area. soren takes a normal deep breath in and out to refresh himself, physically and mentally, and spots a different target further out. the curiosity for eren's equipment just keeps growing, but he withholds his questions for when it is more ~~in?~~appropriate. he picks up his feet at a brisk dart and focuses first on closing in, aiming to put half as much distance between him and it as before.

this time, he tries to envision it from the same type of lens as when he used to cast magic. to be adept, he needed to be capable of maintaining a practiced sort of concentration that could skim over the turmoil of any fight, one that came second nature, without even needing to try so hard to focus on it. he'd been deft at releasing spell after spell. they'd been weaker when he first began— weak, but fast and accurate, a byproduct of having it drilled tirelessly into a trembling five-year-old: pure, bone-deep instinct. but as his power and experience expanded, he could be devastating. if he could think of it from a basic level with a clear head, the same concentration but with a different weapon...

he draws another deep breath, activating his core. the power builds. he doesn't let it accumulate so much. a shorter, weaker stream shoots forth. he doesn't quite hit a bulls-eye, but the top of the target no longer exists. it's just as eren said: it will never be weak. this is dragon's breath. this was way less strenuous on his breath sac than the first attempt; he clears his throat and pivots to look at eren for an appraisal, a flicker of satisfaction contenting his eyes while the rest of his face remains sober.

but he hasn't quite relaxed; the adrenaline still courses through him like lava spilling through chambers. he can hear his heart drum in his ears. ]

[ the same thing could be applied for dragon forms, less power and more burst, an acute blast that lasts a second rather than a chronic one that last moments and drags out the burn. of course, damage was still damage. soren proves that the first time he tries the hit, managing to chip the target off and leave the rest open for eren to challenge. he nods at his “pupil”, as the other was, but gives no other award winning sign that he did an excellent job— maybe eren was simply serious that way, though he does receive acknowledgement for it, the same way eren would’ve liked when younger.

the target is set half aflame by the time the wyvernish monster plows through the sights, a little too fast on his descent and swoop, he finds, and nearly missing, or worse— falling off course (there’s some turbulence in the way he tries to stabilize, like he’s misstepped and has nearly tripped), but fluid enough to regain his aerial footing, it’s time to get a little more serious. ]

Fight me for the next one.

[ with the new target soon to appear somewhere, eren already acts: trying to get soren away from the path with a bullet that erupts ice. not on him, but ahead of him, at the other dragon’s feet. there’s plenty of room to maneuver, but it’s easy to slip if you’re distracted. congrats! you’re doing well enough to switch to phase two. ]

[ fight me... this urging sings to his blood and lets a chill loose down his spine, enough of an effect to be rattling. he leaps at the shot on reflex like its intent is to hurt him, a sheet of ice spreading before his path instead. he pumps his wings, shoots himself through the air over the ice. he doesn't quite clear it, but skids across the frozen surface and preserves momentum on his pursuit. he wobbles and slips, balance compromised but not lost, much like eren winging above in the understory only footing it below on the forest floor.

however off-kilter his opponent's flight, there's a good chance he'll beat soren out for the distant target from that vantage point. eren's communicated with and without words that his next action is fair game, possibly even anticipated. if he wants him to serious about this — if he wants him to fight him for it — he will.

and oh, he wants to, even if he doesn't want to want to from the bottom of his wrenching gut. the monster inside of him begs to come alive. stop caging him, scorning him, denying him: release. revel in battle, the sacred adrenaline of a real fight. his eyes track eren with pupils blown wide.

it burns. in quick, ignition, out quick — his radiant breath pounces into the air to take eren down as he tramples ferns and skates past thorny shrubs to reach him. as he gives chase, his aim is even less precise... but he sweeps it through the air one stroke like a searchlight, "weaker" but faster. all he needs to do is throw him off. ]

[ the energetic pull is far less denied by eren— he gives himself the pleasure and strife unlike the taboo of hunting down fae. a fight, a brawl, it all kept his blood at a lovely boil that always asked for more. the light from soren’s mouth signals him to stay moving and keep his eyes on the ray that seeks him out. aerial acrobatics come into fair play, when eren must twist his spine into a bend as he launches and free falls out of harm’s way by some hairs. he didn’t have aim, but he was getting the hang of power maneuvering.

eren knew he had to close distance with this type of opponent. with both of them at long distance, it would only burn energy and drag out the quarrel. when eren said fight— he’d always mean fight. the dragon propels only enough to give himself some airy space into his final plunge, similar to how a child would find it better to jounce off a swing from its highest point forward rather than slipping out too early. but he’s coming fast, and closer to the earth; the remaining shots fired are distractions of sound and short burst of flames— for what he truly masks is the return of both pistols to their holsters, and eren’s front talons extending like a bird of prey’s. ]

[ before soren can get a grasp on the quick successive actions, eren grasps him by both of his arms. explosions, flame, dodge — dodge right into the trap of those striking eyes and talons too. he cries out, softer human voice tapering into a frustrated growl. he doesn't even have the luxury to curse himself for such a slip-up; he barely had the opening to react, and for the moment he's at the mercy of the other dragon's lunge.

he can't use his arms; strong as he's become, eren's stronger and he can't wriggle free. he beats his wings in reflex as they barrel through young trees and thickets to gain leverage he scarcely hopes to have, kicks and digs his feet into his abdomen to launch him off. Breath. His most accessible weapon. The seconds are slim. He butts his shoulder, sucks in air... ]

[ eren could take a hit and tumble, his abdomen was rock hard and clenching would stifle kicks as he fought for the other’s containment—but not breath. if they had a second the commend each other, eren would’ve, and would have to do it later. an excellent choice, soren, and a good show at not only thinking quick, but using your strengths in a pinch. eren’s expression alights with urgency, releases the grip of his talons on clothes and flesh, and does his best to use gifted momentum to move move move move.

it’s a sideways corkscrew he dives with that holds risk, in still being in close proximity, but he takes it as an attempt, and his tail, behind him, whipping at soren to diverge, just in case. and hopefully, won’t lose so much distance. or get himself vaporized. ]

[ eren's powerful tail snaps into him at the same second his celestial breath erupts into the sky, burning into the treetops and searing branches loose. soren crashes into a brittle, moss-covered log and shatters the decomposing wood with the force of his body shooting into it like a comet with a bright tail. it fizzles out soon after that.

momentarily, he's stunned. but his body moves without need of his spinning mind, eager to retaliate. the teeming moons exert their influence upon him, a gravity he can't deny, a fight he couldn't resist even if it were better to, can't miss out on the pleasure of. banished from his thoughts are inanimate targets, thoughts of learning and tutelage. eren is the only target his blood rushes for. the rest is a blur of bark and dying leaves.

he bursts from the hole into a gargoyle crouch atop the old fallen tree, pupiless eyes tracking his challenger through the wilde. once he spots him, with a swishing, aggressive flick of his tail, he tries to shoot him down. while he's good at predicting where he will be when his blast hits, that's a matter of eyes alone: in practice, his attack is less precise. ]

[ he knows, he knows, he knows he’s being sent back and that’s not good. eren attempts to staple his distance at that, at maximum, moving from side to side, through the plantlife and even lower, but not backwards. he can’t risk losing the distance he’s gained.

it was time to step things up another notch. in a general way, eren had wanted to win, of course, but what else burns harsher in his chest is what the moons instigate: this is your domain. these are your rules and no greenhorn would dominate so easily. soren may be trigger happy and found his strong point, but eren too, had an idea. he just couldn’t lose his head. remain sharp and calculate. he was no longer eager to rush into danger’s plan with a plausible tactic. it’s to this that eren adapts, shooting out of hiding and showing himself in full. an attack would have him move, only to show up again. and again! and again.

if getting close to him was too risky, he’d exhaust his breath sac first. the target had been lost in his thoughts; now he only has one to put in its place. ]

[ he just keeps missing, missing, missing... soren can't fire in succession nearly as fast as he would like, each time requiring a draw of preparatory air. every time he misses, eren gains ground. it's frustrating. he can't go on at this rate forever.

soren's battle instincts aren't honed for close combat as well as they are for longer ranges. he's always been a mage: cast spells from a safe distance whenever possible, for if the enemy cleaves an axe into him or rams a lance through him, his frail body would take a heavy toll. that is why when the dark and draconic form of his opponent lunges too close for comfort, that familiar guardedness forces him to shift gears from attacking to avoiding. he'd needed to be agile just to survive enemies who close in like this. that is why when eren thinks he has him, when just enough distance has been closed, he tumbles backwards off the great fallen tree and lets eren grasp at air.

but as he falls to the forest floor, he's ready to send another blast up at where eren will most likely emerge. he's never used so much breath in one go before. eren was right: he's tiring out. ]

[ interesting opposite end spectrums. eren thrives in close quarters and found his temper drawn to light when soren flees, the same way he flees soren. a game of cat and mouse, this was. a game of patience and design, both of which the had in different aspects of combat. eren reminds himself of the warhammer titan, a fuss and a troublesome opponent to defeat with such long range capabilities, and even with a formidable defense— every single one had its hole. he just had to find it, the same way with ms. tybur. her fluids are far down eren’s throat by now, consumed at the second of defeat and a burst of victory.

had he the mind to eat soren? perhaps without a bond, he would’ve harbored the thought and leaped for it. today and hopefully for the rest of his days, he only wants to pin him down. the last burst of radiated breath comes weaker. gotcha, eren’s thoughts say, latching onto the tactic and continuing the run with it. with another disappearance into underbrush, a crack sounds, like bone breaking off its frame. something slings towards soren’s front, a little more to the right, at an alarming speed and complete lack of constrain.

it’s not eren, if he could send it on its way. it’s a log, and a decoy. ]

[ ~~you can eat soren's ass instead!!!!~~

the crackle resounding off the trees alerts him that something is amiss, forces him to pay attention, and he finds out swiftly enough. the projectile soars through the air at breakneck speed. the sense of what's really happening clicks quickly in his brain. he dodges to the left. the broken tree shatters a good section of the fallen one.

he can't keep firing indiscriminately in hopes that he will eventually luck out and hit his target. his mind isn't as sharp and calculating as it could be beneath this torrential drive to attack, just attack! but he can still work out quite a bit, certainly that much. he knows he doesn't have to be restricted by just his waning breath. and he knows eren knows it's petering out.

but let him think that's the only trick up his sleeves. let him think he's wearier, weaker than he is. let him think he's dogged and determined to keep using it until he can earn just that rush of success that comes with landing even one hit. he snarls in a show of fury and razes the whole row of trees surrounding the approximate location eren should be, given the sound and the throw's origin and the trace of his scent. the wilde groans and snaps in cacophonous harmony as the trees bow to his might.

it's possible he can flush him out this way. but it is oddly satisfying just to destroy.

[ it was— in fact, eren bursts out of the forest’s way, finishing breaking some of the remaining trees in that hadn’t bent. it’s . . . rather disgusting, as his own talons pull and tear away the human husk too small for the dragon shape to grow. the neck elongates his bones, stretches his hide and ripples with scales in larger quantity than on a mostly human frame. everywhere, top to bottom. thorns compliment his wings, rips his limbs apart until they stretch out of their former proportion, blood spews and bone cracks until his size is at its medium, until his skeletal maw breaks wide to throw fire in a much larger vicinity.

the dragon shrieks something awful, like metal wailing against sharp knives, as flames and molten saliva spews from his jaws to the ground. he hadn’t gotten close enough to take him down physically, and at this rate it would take more time— time that would thin his own stamina. the sisters aid him in waning his patience far too thin. he’d end this, he’d pay for putting a really good fight and being absolutely troubling at best. it makes his veins heat up so high they felt like they could melt just like the brilliant cracks of lava from his throat to his belly, and never so quickly had he wanted an opponent under his weight.

not that he immediately thinks this in a less dominating way, but he definitely will eat soren’s ass. ]

[ his higher mind can't help but be passively perturbed by the grisly process of his transformation, the violence of erupting blood and peeling flesh and revealed bone like any scaled creature sheds, but far viler. how much more unpleasant it must be to be the one slipping out of his own skin. it's pure horror. a notion of fear cuts the air between them.

which works well for his act. the fire rages straight for him. even if he were to try harder to escape the wide berth of flames, he couldn't get away fast enough, especially when his flight capabilities are yet wanting. he moves to avoid the flames, hand diving for his wrist to clutch the spellstone wound around his wrist. he murmurs the invocation and holds up his semi-crossed arms like a last-ditch reaction to block the brunt of the breath from hitting his face; the jewelry disintegrates in his grip, and the blaze consumes him.

but he'd activated an energy-resistant barrier via magitech.

he darts through the flames and towards eren, repelling the heat like water slipping off plumage. the flames help to mask his advance. it's soren's turn to close the distance. he can't keep himself hidden for very long, and the barrier attenuates the longer it's seared into — especially by a dragon's breath. but he's secured himself just enough element of surprise that he could prepare himself for a much better vantage point.

the closer the target, the easier they are to hit.

you're mine now, revels soren, and he opens his mouth to burn his own breath past eren's.

the two forces collide. soren's line of cool blue radiance charges through eren's dying plume, causing it to flare up colorfully, explosively. if anything, eren was probably hit by his own exacerbated flames, not the brunt of soren's attack. it gains way, slows as it loses power against the other dragon's...

and then it stops.

because soren had miscalculated how much energy he had left to pull that off? well, that's certainly a factor worth considering... but also? he tripped over a root.

how embarrassing. down you go, soren, onto your face! ]

[ that. was most embarrassing and very greenhorn. surprise fails when both energy and miscalculation depletes soren of a genuine advantage. his fire ceases and has charred everything in sight and circumference. through the ash, the dragon only reaches, reaches an arm and sprawls his extended digits to trap to boy’s body between his keen talons.

his tail rattles, slow and factious, to allow him the space of his skull and the body to be no more. his breath was hot as he spoke, smelled of putrid sulfur and black cinder, and from his flicking tongue came a rooted gnarl. ]

You‘re annoying.

[ the voice comes in a thick, spitting drawl; he had little of his cheeks to form entirely clean words, but enough to speak and be heard. it’s done, but eren rose above just barely. he’s even forgotten of the target somewhere out there, still.

too busy shaking the earth with his steps, letting his tongue dance over his catch and breathing on his formidable assailant. ]

[ soren groans from the exertion, the burn in his chest, the crash, and from wriggling beneath the claws that encase him. oh, great. just like that, one small opening, and he's trapped. what's most humiliating about such a slip-up is how it's not the kind of mistake he would expect himself to make here, but perhaps he had poured far too much focus into just getting even one shot that he'd forgotten how to run with those legs of his.

to be fair, they've changed, and so has his sense of balance. it still seems stupid, and his insufferable, embarrassing pride as a dragon wounded. and this is just getting gross now. ugh... ]

You're creepy.

[ ~~how cute; they're flirting~~ it comes out disgruntled and strained, very growly. he hasn't given up, putting up a fight beneath those talons to wrest free of him. he can't even flip over off his belly. rotting ash saturates his nostrils enough to taste, and it also tastes a bit like his defeat. that said, his full moon madness is in full tilt, and his senses haven't quite righted themselves. he's just an angry, spiteful lizard continuing to twist and jerk beneath another of his own kind, the primal urge to come out on top and pin him to the smoking earth, mark him still simmering beneath his scales, even more now that he feels the physical weight impress upon him. he tries flapping his wings, pushing up, thrashing his tail, anything to give himself an inch here. ]

Get... off!

[ creepy was a new one, he’d expect the usual scorn, or the occasional empty flattery, but creepy-? he’s almost curious. eren’s jaws snap against each other and accent a flippant click (the way a human would with their tongue); his talons bury into wilde dirt and his words hiss out from the crevices of stained ash teeth and dripping with saliva— saliva that steams with heat the second it drips to grass. ]

On your watch, no. [ his words twine with snarling to lift one talon, just enough, to curl it against soren’s head, tip it up. it’s been ages since he’s fought another dragon, on full moon no less— one that gave him trouble, one that formidably opposed him and proved himself to be watchful of.

there was no training now, only territory breached and similar scalding to their equal tempers blown out of place. except eren, as the veteran, must show where he stands at times like these. he was not one to bend, or feel sympathy when what is his was his by right. soren feels hot, or had it been the flat space of his skull pressing against the other’s, eye to eye—? ] My space, my will.

[ freedom for all was romantic, and eren was not philanthropic enough to share it beyond his boundaries. not at home, and far less here. and maybe that had been some advice to take. ]

I don’t ask for my freedom, I take it. Remember that.

[ only then, would his talons uplift earth and shower the smaller with mineral and debris. ]

Edited 2020-04-21 21:25 (UTC)

[ it's not a lesson soren needs to learn. there isn't an idealistic bone in his body, and while freedom had never been a value clutched so closely to his chest, he's too used to the way the world really works to harbor illusions that men and women are entitled to their freedoms. it's something they work for, sacrifice for, kill for. it can be bargained for, sweet-talked for, tricked into earning. asking for freedom is not completely worthless if the suggestions are calibrated efficiently.

but here, as eren uproots his claws from the soil after the unshifted dragon just demands with no clout to back it up, he just... gives it to him after asserting his dominance through snarls and teeth. and he doesn't understand where the feeling comes from, but that pisses him off even more if he had kept letting him struggle to exhaustion.

no. they're not done here.

had soren not been affected by his transformations, the moons, and the searing adrenaline of the fight, he would not have found any value in preserving something as worthless as his own pride. he never used to take any pleasure in combat. but his draconic blood surges, he's not quite himself anymore, warped by the various influences bearing upon his increasingly animalistic brain, and he longs to keep fighting until he can't. or... something else, something else scratching at his hindbrain that might satisfy the same itch. where that particular vein of carnal inspiration comes from he can't care to discern, but close-quarters contact he doesn't usually receive certainly doesn't help matters. his voice slithers out low and seething and verging on inhuman. ]

Then you won't mind if I demonstrate what you just taught me?

[ soren's wings flip out, the rocks and dirt and plants ricocheting back at eren. in the same move he twists and pounces, goes for the neck with a bite and a grip to throw him over so that he can come out on top, the muscles of his arms swelling enough to tear his sleeves, assisted by the sharp slate keratin plating that has erupted from each side of his clavicle. his strength is only mounting, pressurized by duress. ]

[ eren’s neck, even in the beastly form of a dragon was thickly scarred, from a bola incident to another animal going for his throat when he was too young of a dragon to have the scales to protect him. armor is metallic and threatening for the teeth. the obsidian monster wastes little time in swiping at him fully, talons bare to curve into his shoulders, and with an uplift, on his hind legs and swinging his skull back— he drives his crystalline horns into the earth with a quaking upheaval. he does it again, blow after blow to throw a well meaning strike in and shake him off.

a popping snarl erupts from the dragon’s ashen teeth, his throat burning bright with iridescent heat but no stream of fire and lava to show for, yet. only the smell, acrid and smoggy, and the equal desire to fight without an end. it’s what he’s done since the day he was born.

the dragon’s rippling muscle slacks, steams— from tearing at it, soren would find that the body is becoming a husk without its puppeteer. the true eren rips himself out of wet flesh and bone the same way it grew around him. bare, with his armor pendant tossed and nothing to cover his skin beyond black scaling, his tail whips, shatters their grounds with a rattle and he bleeds the feeling of potency. of hotness.

of energy with nowhere to go but ahead. ]

[ soren gets no leverage, no blood, nothing of eren's. soon, even eren's body becomes none of eren's: just a shell of himself. the steam alerts him to the change taking place and he drops in alarm.

his jaws tingle and ache from digging into metal, his balance teeters from getting bucked. if soren were more centered with himself, had his clear mind, he would have been more rattled by the massive carcass doffed like a meat suit. the stench would have wrinkled his nose. but the pungent quality mingles with something else in the air, something sharp and irresistible that hits him hard in the gut. and then he's punched again by the sight of him bared: the attractive luster of his scales, the hard slopes of his muscles, the thump of his tail reverberating through the earth and through him, a primal shockwave. that tail action works him up in more ways than one.

disoriented though he may still be, he does not submit. he postures, the crimson fins on his forearms fanning out, his wings unfolding to make himself look even bigger against the dragon almost two feet taller than him. look!! he not small, he big!!! he shows his teeth, the new dewlap he sprouted fanning out in aggression, his eyes glow like fanned flames, and his long tail waves back and forth sinuously, jerking every now and then, the spines at the tip sticking straight out. daring him to come near. he sends a chemical message, too. paraphrased for lizardbrains:

henlo lizer. helllo you STINKY LIZARD u want sum fuk??? FITE ME

mixed signals?? no! he's an aggressive, horny lizard, and they can't BOTH dominate! speaking of FITE, soren takes a flying lunge at him, claws extended and teeth ready to strike any perceived weak point he can manage on the exposed dragon, ideally to bowl him over or get a good grapple on him. and his neck looks more biteable than ever... ]

[ relay message: what if

which rather meant: memo received, agreed and improved. eren’s nape, just below the bone that connected his skull to his spine was a brilliant, brilliant orange underneath the gnarl of his hair and the webbed dorsal fins of his vertebrae. a weak point that bore the thicker lines of scars, but not left unguarded. close quarters combat was his specialty, and if anything— the way he carelessly swings his taloned wing was meant to be the tempting feint of a “sucker punch”. in no clear mind to keep up with the rules of combat (arms up, guarding the head, stance helpful), his grace is animalistic at worst, smart at best.

eren ducks into a clinch, receiving the year of claws with a rushing hiss that spewed more adrenaline than care, scales a blast of radiant sunset colors and wanting, very much, for the space between them to be none.

he wants him on the ground, belly up, and would relinquish his targeted areas in exchange for the toppling taste of victory. ]

[ they are speaking the same language now. soren's instincts lock more securely into this urge, the tight heat expanding in his loins. he's never felt it so strongly like this and targeted toward another body before. he's too feral to be shocked by himself. this is natural. he wants it, wants him.

he's wrapped up into the clinch as his teeth sink into his neck, his claws score his bicep down the membrane of his wings. the flaring eventide hues at the corner of his eye impress him as much as they incense him — how dare he be so fit, so beautiful? the dragon he wants to mate with the same as the one he competes with. he fails to break any skin at first, so he quickly readjusts his bite over a weaker spot where the scales aren't so tough. not his nape, though. he can't reach that from this angle. (it would be nice to claim, though, as he forces him down and mounts him... though their size difference would make that particular configuration very difficult to achieve.) his teeth have sharpened since the moons, since he started fighting, and the force of his jaw breaks for blood.

his mind reels.

and then he's hurled to the ground, right where his opponent wanted him. trapped, just at the perfect moment when the piercing desire for freedom surges within like a white-hot blaze. his throat unleashes an unearthly, screeching roar, spines erupting from his vertebrae back-to-tail and staking through his clothes, the earth below, as well as eren's arms. he writhes in his clutch and bites, beats his wings in vain, his own squirming beneath him kindling his arousal further. ]

[ he’s got him. it didn’t matter how wet the spot on his neck had become or the trickling sting the puncture at the contour of the base of his ear and jaw bled, he’s got him. the smell and taste of arousal was an incessant cycle to be feeding off of. what surged in soren billowed through eren, then right back to the dragon his talons have clutched enough to pierce both shoulders. the contest is harsh and thrashing once eren (after outrageous effort, truly) mounts the other monster by the hips, thighs buckling down to bond him from dislodging.

the pressure he exerts is intentional, legs spread enough for his hardening, exposed erection to meet with the clothed lump soren bore underneath. contact made his tail wave, his cock tug and his balls, his abdomen, every carved muscle tighten. their chests only don’t squeeze closed by the force his arm wings applied to flesh, scale and earth. his voice comes as deep gnarr that sears with the fever of conflict, hovering nose to nose and breath to breath: ]

Don’t stop moving— [ he didn’t want the catch of the night to stop right there into a rag doll— he wanted every bit of life soren has allowed himself to pour, and to match the bite received, eren gives: a bite that starts under the neck, closer to the chin, harshly and fervently drags up to the opposing dragon’s lower lip until he catches it between fangs and pulls down. ]

[ soren's writhing body is the very essence of life itself: of struggle, of determination, of desire. ruby eyes scintillate like licking flames, his throat crawls with rumblings of dispute and shrieks of rapaciousness stoked ever brighter beneath his conqueror and now his mate.

the hard slide of eren's readiness against his own sensitive and everted protrusion drives a primal shockwave through soren's system that drags a particularly feral gnarl screaming from the bottom of his lungs, and along with his own flexing and arcing form, that erect, muscular appendage sports a life of its own, twisting and convulsing within the dampening confines of tight trousers as though spurred to wrest control over eren's, even from beneath. he soars to an echelon of burning hot pleasure he's never experienced before. oh, what he longs to feel now. his daggerlike nails dig, rake, and clench his adversary in intermittent and contradictory bids to push him away and to cinch him more securely to the spot, and in this instance they dig. but any amount of constraint, however insignificant, inflicts madness upon soren, so much so that the simple barrier of clothes becomes the target of his sharpened digits. his claws scale the solid peaks of eren's abdomen to his waistband and the shred of fibers breaks the smoldering air as he revels in the satisfaction of this small dose of freedom.

his tail thrashes like a viper and coils around eren's like a constrictor, seizing it, blurring the lines between captor and captive as he ruts feverishly against the larger male's shaft while scarcely needing his hips to do so. being able to directly run himself along the hard, tantalizing expanse of subtle ridges and tease him with his own textures trumps the mere suggestion of it, and soren groans like a shameless animal. ]

[ they had to get the rest off and while they had all the time in the world, patience had been a hurdle eren could do without. both of them could in the way a curling moan entraps the larger dragon with a wonderful, buzzing rize of heat from beneath the flesh that made his groin. talons hook to drag down, snare what was left of fabric that caged his new mate. freedom had a purpose and eren hoarded every aspect of that symbolism until he felt high— ripped and torn from the other’s legs, he didn’t care whether they flopped close to his thighs or discarded around the ankles. it was gone enough for crisp air to hit soren’s pleading cock to eren’s own.

he’s audacious with his friction, blinded by its euphoria as it wrecked his loins with fervor. hard and thick had also been the voice that seeped from his fangs, loud and brazen to the side of the other dragon’s ear. his earlobe, then, had been as tempting as leaving marks on his lips, so there he went. the tip of eren’s tail rattles violently, loops around the other’s coil until fuck that blur, the blue of an inverted scale being coated and pressured. he can feel his eyes nearly to heavy to keep open as his body surges.

to keep the edge, he goes bold, searching rather desperately until he had the other’s dick pressed into his palm and balls at his fingertips. eren grabs, with breaths skipping, and strokes it thickly against the bumps of his abdomen until it grazed his shaft. ]

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