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By standards of her lineage and society she was raised in, Hornet knew herself to be an oddity in nearly all aspects. Early separation from her immediate kin certainly did not help those problems of hers – being stuck in those grand, haunting halls left her with little luck finding worthwhile role models.
Hornet was left to navigate the gentle matters of the heart by herself.
According to the word, weavers were known to rarely take mates – Hornet had only heard of the brief union between her mother and sire; of course, that bond lacked any warmth, let alone raging, violent passion often associated with Deepnest’s dwellers. As the time went on, she had also learnt that, when it came to courtship itself, she happened to lack the anticipated fire and agitation that came with it.
In a sense, Hornet was left without a supposed seal of her weaverhood.
That was not to imply she was mourning the thankfully absent need to quite literally consume her partner.
All in all, Hornet liked to think she was lucky in her affections. She knew firsthand the pleasure that came from being well-loved, and that very same affection had shaped her into a brutally soft creature. It was a privilege – usually a hard-earned one – to be able to remain gentle in a world that was changing rapidly. And a proper knight never took their privileges for granted.
Today Hornet faced a certain problem. A problem that she would always recognize right away, no matter the unkind passage of time.
Her nerves were weary, and at this particular hour she had found herself spent. Nonetheless, she was utterly and wretchedly restless; a heavy, heavy weight pressed against her shell, wrapping around her in a way the warm flesh knits itself over a wound.
No stranger to solitude, she was rarely bothered by common urges, and thought this fortune served her well all those years – with nothing to trigger those instinctual desires, her mind remained firmly focused on matters of actual significance. She carried loneliness well, perhaps with grace even, ever so defensive of her heart and affections.
But then there was Lace.
Hornet always thought her to be a great curiosity of a creature. Admittedly, both of them took a considerable amount of time to redefine the nature of their bond.
Lace was a being of passions. Not a god, not half a pale being, most certainly not mortal either. Something entirely different, unique. Wild, forceful, a tempest rather than anything else – she and her sheer presence, her endless jests and taunts, her torrid touch. Her stark, humorous gaze.
Lace and her unparalleled ability to stir Hornet’s need. Hornet’s desire that was long abandoned.
The root of the problem was that her mate, even in absence, was as much of a tourmentor as she was a lover. In this moment Hornet missed her terribly, achingly, in a grotesque, almost distressed way. Yet, strange as it may seem, she saw her this very morning. Rationally speaking, Hornet also knew her companion would return sooner than later.
But the wait was horrid. Hornet felt the fever spreading slowly all across her shell, gnawing at her insides in dull, painful ache. Oh, just how she would have preferred to be bitten, clawed, mauled by her heart’s companion. Warm thought, but so very distracting. So unnecessary.
She needed Lace’s warmth right this instant. Desperately. This was all Hornet thought about – the softness of her silken shell, the mellifluous cadence of her voice, the much, much needed relief from pain that her touch pledged.
A long, audible sigh escaped her maw, and she could not help but to shift nervously, claws clenching the sheets. She was suddenly very sensitive to everything around her, much to her own dismay: the scent of their bellhome, the outside noise, the beating of her heart, the steadily growing migraine, the fervor that filled the entire chamber like a fog.
The bed was uncomfortably warm. Uncommonly lonely, too.
Hornet was hurting, but this would soon pass, just as it always did. Stubbornly, she prided herself on weathering far worse; furthermore, this specific conundrum was of a different sort. Truth be told, there was something rather… Humiliating, about being able to tell what exactly had caused her such physical distress. What laid at the root of her vicious desire.
Why would a creature, fundamentally cursed by infertility, even experience such want in the first place?
It was getting hard to breathe properly, let alone to think rationally. Nonetheless, slowly and cautiously, Hornet continued to tread the very thin line between what was best for her shell and what was best for her mind.
Her desire was simple, she found herself thinking time and time again – to remain level-headed and collected. Functional, too, if she was lucky. She had no time for… this. No interest in shutting herself in the bellhome for god knows how long, no hunger for affirming her claim over someone or spreading herself before them. She had no need for that. She was not supposed to have a need for that in the first place.
Back when she was young and most definitely foolish, Hornet could allow herself to indulge in passions. Those were distant times – the memories blurred together, but parts of her youth she remembered and held close to her heart no matter how many years had passed.
Hornet growled when something swelled sorely within her. She was so very tired of this.
There was no denial in the fact that she enjoyed bedding Lace. Very much so. Perhaps that was the exact problem – the way her mind was set aflame the moment she thought of her beloved, the way everything within her wobbled, the way her breath caught up in her throat.
Slowly, Hornet breathed in and out for the sake of dulling fire in her gut, despite knowing this to be a futile wish.
Basically, this was purgatory.
Her mind was not kind either, suddenly reminding her of the raw want and affection she felt amidst midnight’s quiet, only a few weeks prior. She, driven and charmed, as if under a spell, resting her head in the crook of Lace’s neck, completely deafened by the frantic beating of her beloved companion’s heart.
Exactly where she wanted to be. Exactly where she belonged.
She spent yet another moment not tangled around Lace, and every single minute of it felt like a waste. Her mind continued to spiral on the memory.
Lace was not of the quiet sorts, but somehow Hornet had always expected that much. At times it even felt as though Lace had surely made a game out of it, testing waters to see how Hornet would react, be that simply for the thrill of it or to satisfy her own curiosity. Suffice to say, Hornet was nothing short of bashfully delighted just from listening to her mate’s soft demands and babbles as she pleasured her with fingers.
Good grief! Hornet thought desperately. She squeezed her eyes shut and clenched the bedding roughly, her throat agonizingly dry. Her entire shell shook in a harsh manner, almost twisting her frame in half, and she could not resist the urge any longer.
Suddenly, she pressed her maw against her shoulder, rubbing the side of her face all over it with the repeated roughness, grunting out of pure desperation and frustration.
Usually, she would do the very same to her mate, thoroughly making sure her scent would linger on every inch of the fiber. Usually, her companion would gleefully giggle and hold her closer, only encouraging her on. But she was not here. Not here to hold, not here to kiss, not here to grip and pull and push – how truly cruel all of this was.
Hornet whined softly, desperately, and immediately recoiled with the burning feeling of shame. Her fangs brushed against her shoulder – an accident, but a pleasant one nonetheless, and she rapidly clamped down, much harshly than she usually would. Hornet tightened her grip as pain and pleasure flooded her belly.
Usually, she would let her fangs linger lightly against the silken skin, teasing before her head would be forced down, compelling her to sink her sharp fangs into Lace. And each of those desperate, silent requests Hornet would oblige oh so readily. Why couldn’t Lace just be here today? Was Hornet truly forced to endure this burning by herself? No, no. No, that was not right. That would be cruel. Too cruel even by Lace’s standards.
Alas, the pain brought her little relief, and soon enough Hornet had let go of her shoulder. The pain overwhelmed her and she could not help but to breathe loudly as she licked the blood from her fangs and ignored the new wound. Now, she was too frustrated with her needful, aching body.
Tired and now properly set aflame, Hornet wanted nothing more but to be taken care of, preferably until she could not even form proper sentences. At this point she was so very desperate for affection, any affection from her lover! She would truly settle for anything, if only from her.
So then. Beastly and ruthless, the desire reshaped her grotesquelly; it forced her to growl quietly as she flopped onto her side. She was left pouting, pouting, pouting and staring at the wall, breathing heavily. She knew, of course, of the ways to make it all at least a little bit more bearable, but that alone was so very tiresome and humiliating for her.
What little logic remained in her head kept assuring that the whole spectacle would end soon, albeit only her mate’s efforts could end it for good. Otherwise Hornet would have to endure this painful yearning for no less than a week, and she wanted none of that.
But as Lace loved to remind her, Hornet was a fool.
So… foolishly, she pressed herself against her lover’s pillow, inhaling her scent sharply. Torturous, this was torturous. Hornet felt lightheaded as the world spun around her.
But oh, her core heated up just from the realization that her mate would enjoy this situation greatly, there was no doubt in that. What would she do? Hornet truly had no idea. Sometimes the most predictable thing about Lace was her unpredictability.
That was Hornet’s last straw – these gentle, unnecessary thoughts that made her lose all of her control.
The desire unraveled her harshly, roughly.
As fate would have it, hours later Lace walked on utterly spent, yet still visibly dissatisfied Hornet. Nonetheless, her exhaustion would not last long – frankly, the sight of her mate laughing uproariously at this unfortunate predicament of hers was enough to set her alight once more.
But, oh. Hers was a taste worth waiting for.
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