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Curled up in the crux of her bed in the bellhome, Hornet has been prying her fangs into the lifeless but connected shells of tiny pieces of food. Among her sheets, snacks left for later or times of intense hunger between long bouts of rest after particularly difficult wishes or long days, remain now being picked to pieces and leaving empty stores.
She’s only somewhat conscious of it– instead fixated on hooking the sharp ends of fangs on the ridges of tiny shells in order to pull body from limb, and joint from limb, and puzzling apart a little morsel and guzzling it down before discarding its nigh completely hollow shell beside her bed– but while she’s been distracted the sound faintly echoing the inside of the bellhome has evolved from the simple scrapes of chelicerae against chitin to the adjoined chorus of little huffs and the most muffled of growls that burble up from her throat alongside the saliva that dampens the sounds of her chewing. With her legs fixed beneath her, kneeling into the smooth fabric protecting her cushioned sort of mattress from minor splatter and chipped pieces of scrap that may as well be crumbs, her form hunches over the tiny thing in her claws, monstrous, ravenous, and drooling.
Hornet’s trance in the throes of hunger, gluttony that had caught her off guard and quite frankly eviscerated her prepared storage, distracts her from crucial details that perhaps she may have otherwise noticed. Things often unnecessary but perceived regardless, like the sound of foot-traffic of the bugs outside that reside in bellhart, travelling to and from their homes in the city shaken yet repaired, but also things that certainly would have drawn her attention or at the very least her composure and a rush to adjust her mentality before attending those things, things like..
The first gentle rasp of the heel of a claw against the door.
Distracted in her feast (quite pitiful for a feast, the tiniest shreds of food that have been preserved, but to a starving spider, any flesh may seem a shining spool), the woman hasn’t even noticed the way her setae bristle with awareness of the sound. The points of her claws sinking into the miniscule cracks of the food in her grasp, her chest exhales a heavy huff as she swallows down the remainder of the piece. Unfortunately, or fortunately, the little sound that makes it past the door seems to have discouraged her visitor. However, the first attempt has beckoned a second...
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Lace has been toiling around Pharloom throughout the entire day, and had been JUST about to speak to the bug she’s fulfilling a wish for when she had been interrupted! The blasted spider had been sleeping for almost two days through, after returning from a far-too-ambitious attempt to bring resources back to the repair effort of the kingdom that had taken her nearly a week of carrying things to-and-fro, clearing the path for any bug who insisted they could help her, and clambering back to ensure nobody foolish enough to assist in such a tedious task had been hurt. Which, unfortunately, left Lace to deal with the minor plights of the citizens of Bellhart! Fetch me this, clear the way that, deliver this there, ohh how she could just throw the door of the Spider’s bellhome open and demand that she resume her duty! Though, unfortunately, Lace knew quite well that said Spider would do so with little more than a sigh and resign herself to work without rest until she collapsed who knows where in Pharloom. Her despair over the miniscule tasks would have to persist until the kingdom’s some-called savior arose again.
… So when she heard from a certain honorable warrior and map-maker that had been concerned for the spider’s lack of appearance that noise, movement, and in fact GROWLING had been heard faintly through the door of the bellhome, Lace was downright infuriated! With a hurried and somewhat curt thank to her informant, (who she surely had better thank properly later,) the woven maiden climbed the platforms mimicking porches for the residents of the bellhomes and promptly pounded her fist against the door- before deciding Hornet’s injustice of ignoring her for longer than a week deprived the Spider of her right to privacy and opening the door with her own copy of the key.
They say the vision of hindsight is near perfect, but in truth, its decisivity on the intention of a choice can be quite frail. Lace’s fury pivoted to confusion, completed a pirouette to disgust, leapt between pity and the incredible temptation to mock the spider, and landed its stance on.. Fascination, at observing the creature before her. It even took a moment, amidst the tiny shells littering the floor, the dimness of light, the disorganization of the room evidently spun through the search for food, and importantly, the roiling growl that faced her, for Lace to even realize it was Hornet she was looking at. Her hand somewhat instinctively landed on the pommel of her pin, with the way the Spider’s eyes landed upon her in the doorway, seemingly following her silhouette as she paced closer by the moment.
Lace’s gaze is at last met by Hornet’s, though the difference in intention shows clearly through. Her intention had been spun and whirled around a flurry of other emotions, but importantly, she found her attention and fascination resting on the creature in front of her, whose hunger had evidently driven her beyond her usual meticulous reason. The peculiar thing lifted itself from her place kneeling on the bed, surrounded still by separated limbs and hollowed shells even as she traces her feet instinctively through defensive stances on the floor. Honestly, Lace isn’t even sure what her role in this situation may become.
The spider's gaze remains steady, dark eyes fixated on the silken maiden who, although fairly recent in union, she certainly did love. Her claws trace the fabric of the blanket as she paces slowly, almost cautiously toward her lover, drawn in but held back by that tiny, hidden part of her consciousness that assured her each torn thread of silk would have to be later replaced at her own hand. The much larger, stronger, ravenous side argued that she would be mending the tears in Lace’s shell regardless. With heavy breaths, she drew forward, only the gentle cold of the air outside her bellhome that drove a small shiver up her back and through her fur told her that the door had been left open by Lace in her surprise.
Lace herself seemed to have realized, however, that this was no-longer an open-door-to-all-of-bellhart ordeal. Her previous fury at the Spider’s ignoring her presence and incessant sleeping perhaps would have made a good spectacle, but this creature that stalked slowly towards her would not be the pride of her lover’s hours. But with the door closed, the escape route for Lace had been sealed at her own hand.
Finding her companion stood in front of her, and with the door shut to leave only echoes within the bellhome’s walls, Hornet slowly approaches. Before her, her current (and hopefully more permanent) mate. With only the faint light of the fixtures casting shadows that paradoxically seemed to highlight the intricacies of the details she had silently admittedly begun to love. Wrapped up in the weave of the silk they together had been exploring the work of reshaping.. If she were thinking any clearer, the miniscule would have meant the world to her, and she would happily lay praise upon it all.
At the moment, however, the sharpened drive of hunger pulled Hornet forward. The drag of having someone right in your grasp, and they’re yours.
And Lace’s hers.
Lace’s grip on the handle of her pin stays steady as she raises a hand warily in the direction of the approaching Spider. They were plenty messy in their play on the occasion, but this was something new to her! Fascinating to her. Fixing her expression back into its usual smirk for chiding, she mockingly gives her a dismissive wave.
“Spider! Don’t be rude. You’ve been out of reach for long enough, and this is how you greet one so gracious as to check on you?”
Hornet gives her a little growl in response. She’s sure she meant something like, “Lace, you tease me,” or “it’s rude to throw open one’s door without knocking,” but what leaves her is low and deep, with the overwhelming drive of hunger.
Hornet’s fangs are on display, not hidden beneath her mask and with mandibles slowly gathering the faintest bit of drool. Lace, both as prideful and as reckless as ever, takes a step forward and leaves her hand mid air, reaching out towards the ravenous creature. Unconsciously, it’s a goading gesture. An open palm to eat out of, yet empty. Fortunately for Lace given her circumstance, the Spider before her runs on restraint in most moments.
Lace stifles a gasp as the beast kneels before her, placing the smooth curl of her mask in the soft palm she’s presented, and pressing the sharp hooks of fangs against the weave. The little pin pricks amidst the fabric pull a tiny giggle from her place above, amused by the lack of words given in response.
There’s a low rumble from Hornet as her face rests in Lace’s hand, a quiet thrumming purr at the touch of her lover, something she’d only recently rediscovered. It’s new-ish, and beastial, and it reminds her of her origins. It had begun with embarrassment- she was not a child lying ignorant and safe against the warmth of a mother, and such unconscious displays that couldn’t be suppressed left a weak spot, somewhere her favorites could be seen. Yet in moments recent, she began to grow fond of it, and the way it quickly bought her the mild fascination of her partner. Who currently was grinning, smirking down at her, so softly cupping the curve of her mask and allowing the sharpness of her fangs to puncture the weave of bright, pale silk. Her maw slowly opens, the tiniest drops of gathered saliva soak into the silk of her touch as she manages an audibly restrained,
“Please.”
Again, Lace chides in response, “Is that all you can manage?”
With a faint little huff she attempts again, “Please, Lace.”
Lace feigns a sigh, simply hyperbolizing for the dramatic flare as she gestures vaguely and dismissively with her pin. “I suppose if that is the utmost of your ability, I must oblige your pathetic show of desperation,” she teases, before pressing a thumb into the point of her mandible, “But-! Perhaps I could hear it one more time?”
It was unfortunate for Hornet just how delightful she seemed when she was beneath her.. Pharloom’s savior reduced to a kneeling, begging, creature which drooled at the sight of anything she could sink her teeth into. Lace grins, imagine if the door had been left open, if Bellhart could see its precious protector in such a state like this! Maybe then the people of the kingdom would ask less of her, and consequently, leave less overflow of tasks for Lace to deal with when she fixated on something. Maybe then, she’d have more free time to torment the creature before her whose- tongue?! Seemed to be lapping at her hand!
Hornet whiiines (what pitiful a sound!!!) and presses her long, slender tongue against the silk of her palm, pressing mouthparts against the weave and slicing thinly through precious thread. She scuffles a little bit adjusting herself closer, quivering jaw stopping her from tearing through the fingers so dangerously close to her mouth. Dark eyes reflecting the gentle string lights above as she tilts her head back to look up at her object of fixation. Muffled by the touch and semi-conscious caution to not damage the digits in her maw, Hornet strains to manage,
“..Please, Lace. Please.”
“What was that, Spider?”
The repetition earns her a growl. But it also earns her another,
“Lace. Please.”
Which she supposes she’ll accept! She plucks her hand from the pointed fangs that have been leaving split single threads in the Spider’s mouth and instead takes her tongue between two fingers. The motion makes her whine, high and needy and hungry. Lace seems to be examining the interesting thing, its motion and texture, and maybe wondering how she should toy with the tool later.
It wets her fingers- the desired outcome, Hornet thinks, but can barely notice beneath the thin but rich taste of the silk strands holding her tongue. Lace’s fingers pinch, and it’s only a little bit painful, the sweet and stinging kind that feels like the pluck of a far too tightened string when one’s mind is blank, filling the empty skull with a resonating echo. It’s enough to pull Hornet’s focus from the way her jaws have been quivering with the tension of being held open on restraint, and let it slack to gently close around the plush fingers. They’re soft, and satin, and Hornet slips her tongue out of the grip it’s held by to lather the threads in her saliva. To have something in her mouth, something with taste, substance, and form, seems to have begun to satisfy what she’s looking for.. But the minor filling of it is clearly only the beginning.
Lace can’t help but laugh, (it tickles a little!) as Hornet’s mouth caresses her dainty fingers. The sight of the poor thing, Savior of Pharloom, reduced to a drooling pet at the treat of the taste of her hand, pools confidence in Lace’s palms. She tilts her head to find a better view of the spider kneeling beneath her. Knees parted as she sits on her setae-fluffed heel joints, a glance of light reflecting from the smooth of Hornet’s abdomen behind her, and importantly, as the bathing and gentle biting of Lace’s hand continues, there is a pooling wetness between the spider’s legs that only dares to kiss the place she rests against Lace’s foot.
How fascinating! Perhaps this creature really had been reduced to a mere pet at the taste of her, aroused to drool at the licking of a treat alone. Perhaps, even, the spider would be susceptible to similar methods of teasing… Lace presses the point of her pin into their flooring so that it may stand on its sharpness, then brings her spare hand to trace carefully from Hornet’s forehead and along her horns in long, slow strokes.
To her reward, the previously merely purring and drooling Hornet beneath her lets out a deeper sound, low and smooth. How interesting! She modifies her approach slightly each time, bringing the stroke along the underside of the horn (a most definite success), or adding pressure and strength to her grip (similarly victorious! what an interesting thing!), or using fluttered strokes of her individual fingers to distract Hornet from the way she in fact leaned into the moment, pressing her shin against the core that had dampened it. There, interestingly, paired with the somatically manifested praise, she found her boldest chord as a cry from the spider that required her maw to release the thoroughly soaked fingers.
Hornet’s body twists and presses against Lace’s touch simply and instinctually, her mind clouded by the invigorating rush of the contact so much so that she doesn’t even notice the way her own hips roll against the weave of her lover’s soft fabric shell. Instead of finding her fangs wrapped around Lace’s hand again, however, Hornet’s maw finds its purchase with hooks on Lace’s thigh. With mandibles fixing her in place, Hornet’s tongue craves the taste and begins again lapping the plush texture, soaking it through a little bit more with each round. It’s so much, her mind has slipped from her, quickly discarded alongside the pin that still stands tall out of the ground beside the two.
And then, as Lace strokes the underside of her horn, soothing and yet gauding in one motion alone, she pulls her closer. To only a little bit of her surprise, it promptly spurs the spider to sink her fangs into the puffed and ruffled fabric. She doesn’t bother hiding her giggle, nor the shrill little sound she makes with delight at the tiny pricks of pain it sends up her center, cascading the nerves that almost seem to warm her otherwise cold body.
Beneath stifled snickers, Lace beckons, “Spider! Surely such was not your intention, to leave me so neglected! Show some more affection.”
In response Lace receives a rolling purr, marbled with a soft moan from Hornet, whose arms wrap desperately around her feast’s leg, the seemingly shrine at which she worships if the kneeling and wordless pleading was anything to go for.
Satisfied with the reaction, but eager to pry more, Lace calls to her feeding pet again, “Much better! Come closer, I will not bleed at your simpering attempts at a bite. Do you not expect more of your companion?”
Which seems to drag a much stronger drive through Hornet’s workings, a bet so heavy on her instinct’s pride but with a reward so plated in gold. Again, the spider sinks her fangs into the soft fabric of her lover, this time with a little growl amongst her quiet moans, and a ferocity that delighted the woven maiden with how little effort it took to unravel the restraint of this creature usually so defiant in her hesitance when escaped from this state. Lace would simply have to find what drove Hornet to this status and pry control of it into the palm of her own (albeit still wet) hands.
The initial tears of her outer fabric itself were no longer cause for worry anymore, with the assurance that once this was over, her form would be repaired however she saw fit. Which left her with much more space to appreciate the little shocks and growing pressures of the fangs hooking on her internal threads, stuffing and structure indistinguishable to the way they were pulled but sending electrified currents of bright and glowing pleasure up to her center. Even more so was she distracted and delighted as Hornet’s sharp teeth wander closer to her center, weeping saliva that trails from their previously soaked place of rest. Lace can’t help but grin as the hand holding Hornet’s head pulls her closer.
Hornet huffs- the feeling of having something to chew on is so intoxicating, the fact she can sink her teeth into something, the fact it tastes so divine- so Lace- so hers- she’s not coherent even in her own thoughts as her mouthparts hold her close against her meal- and her tongue, and her- horns-!!! Her mouth meets warmth and the taste of her lover, not just silk but her lover, hers, Lace’s hers, her prey, her meal.. Hearing Lace’s sound, the start of groans that’re muffled by a bite to her lip, Hornet doesn’t need to look up or pull away to know the beauty of the view before her. Nor would she, as the slowly growing chorus spurs her to focus on her task, the taste, her stifled but sung praise, any of it was heresy to stray away from.
She’s quickly put right to work and her mouth moves to action, savoring the silk. Lace’s cries spur her for more, they’re high and needy and hers. There’s something about the way it pries her mouth apart to let out such a stream of moans that gives the ravenous Hornet such vigor, as though Lace’s pleasure might yield some sort of reward for her. She needs it desperately- not for her own release but for any satisfaction for either of them. The sound drives her on, guiding each drag of her tongue in time with the way Lace holds her horns tightly for security (or whether it's the other way around doesn't matter,) that only adds to the coalescing fog of pleasure removing her proper thought.
Lace can't help the way she sings for Hornet's mouth. Her knees tremble in their noble attempts to support her amongst the cacophany of cries that flow from her mouth. Her hand repeats the strokes along the underside of her Spider's horns- finding repetition in the places that make the near beast beneath her surge as though she were hunting Lace herself. It's so much all at once, the creature beneath her, lover and starving thing, tamed or- those- are teeth!!! Hornet's mouth anchors itself on her threads as her tongue buries itself deeper, but! In the action and pleasure, the Spider bites down, pulls those anchorpoints taught- lighting sharp but not unpleasant pain among the rolling waves of feeling that carry Lace- crashing over her edge!
It catches her off guard, unstoppable and at the very least, overwhelming, tearing calls from Lace that echo the walls of the bellhome as she unravels.
Hornet, well-trained pet she appears to be, awaits further instruction once Lace's grip lets go of her head. For several minutes, even. The feat of patience is incredible, hunger seemingly satiated enough for her to sit still looking pretty as her lover braces against her and the bed for support.
When Lace at last returns to consciousness, she's far too exhausted to complain about the emptied snack shells littering the floor and instead flaps the blanket to clear its top before climbing onto the bed. It doesn't take long for Hornet to join her, mutering a polite, "Welcome home," as she curls up with her face once again resting against the soft fabric of Lace's form.