(no subject)
"No!" Gardenia wails, trashing around in the water, her cry interrupted by a coughing fit as she inhales some of the salty water accidentally. Her face grows as red as her hair, and her fingers claw uselessly against the glass of the tank. A glass wall that stretches feet upon feet above her. She doesn't even want to get out, not anymore, she just wants to be able to cling to something, to catch her breath-
Below her, the water moves.
She shrieks, snot dribbling out of her nose as she cries uncontrollably, fear consuming her, devouring her whole. Her nails scratching on the glass produce an unearthly scream, but to no avail.
"Please don't," she sobs, hiccuping through tears and coughs and desperate gasps for breath, "please please don't-"
But who ever says no to an animal? Her legs kicking in the water, although she knows it would be better to stay still, but if she stays still she'll drown. Legs so plump and milky white, freshly shaven, because this morning she didn't know yet where she'd be in the evening. And oh, between those legs-
He laughs, a deep sound that resonates, the vibrations shaking her very core. Nobody should be able to laugh underwater.
She's almost given up now, her movements more spastic, and the time between her fits of movement growing longer and longer still. Still she's crying, and still her hands remain on the glass, but it is visible in her shoulders that she has given up the battle already.
If he wants this to be fun, he must strike now.
And so he does.
Teeth shredding from where he can get to her, rising up from the deep, and even though he knows it is wrong in some deep, deep part of himself, deep as oceans are- or perhaps more superficially, perhaps the deep down of him wants this, wants it more than he wants her to stay with him and to stroke his hair.
Still he rises, his body stronger in the water than it is on land, and on land too he is strong. He doesn't grab her with his arms, because that would be cheating- but his teeth dig into her, into that soft, yielding flesh right above where her- oh, oh, and even if there is hair in his mouth he doesn't care, because she tastes so good.
Perhaps because he knows he shouldn't do this. Like snack food, he knows it is bad- but not for him. For her- bleeding from places she has never bled from before, and her cries surely deafening to those around them, but the water protects his ears. He shakes his head, although he thinks yes rather than no, tearing her to pieces.
He is so turned on, and so hungry.
Gardenia meanwhile: everything dark and red and black, and very lonely.
But he feeds, a feeding frenzy as they call it, but she is all his. He doesn't have to share her with anyone. He never will.
He knows she is dead before she does, and with the pink and red in his mouth and between his teeth, he backs off, and sinks towards the bottom of the tank, to stare at the mirror with eyes like a room in which the candle has just been extinguished.
Behind the mirror, someone makes a note.
No strong bond between mates in this species.
Below her, the water moves.
She shrieks, snot dribbling out of her nose as she cries uncontrollably, fear consuming her, devouring her whole. Her nails scratching on the glass produce an unearthly scream, but to no avail.
"Please don't," she sobs, hiccuping through tears and coughs and desperate gasps for breath, "please please don't-"
But who ever says no to an animal? Her legs kicking in the water, although she knows it would be better to stay still, but if she stays still she'll drown. Legs so plump and milky white, freshly shaven, because this morning she didn't know yet where she'd be in the evening. And oh, between those legs-
He laughs, a deep sound that resonates, the vibrations shaking her very core. Nobody should be able to laugh underwater.
She's almost given up now, her movements more spastic, and the time between her fits of movement growing longer and longer still. Still she's crying, and still her hands remain on the glass, but it is visible in her shoulders that she has given up the battle already.
If he wants this to be fun, he must strike now.
And so he does.
Teeth shredding from where he can get to her, rising up from the deep, and even though he knows it is wrong in some deep, deep part of himself, deep as oceans are- or perhaps more superficially, perhaps the deep down of him wants this, wants it more than he wants her to stay with him and to stroke his hair.
Still he rises, his body stronger in the water than it is on land, and on land too he is strong. He doesn't grab her with his arms, because that would be cheating- but his teeth dig into her, into that soft, yielding flesh right above where her- oh, oh, and even if there is hair in his mouth he doesn't care, because she tastes so good.
Perhaps because he knows he shouldn't do this. Like snack food, he knows it is bad- but not for him. For her- bleeding from places she has never bled from before, and her cries surely deafening to those around them, but the water protects his ears. He shakes his head, although he thinks yes rather than no, tearing her to pieces.
He is so turned on, and so hungry.
Gardenia meanwhile: everything dark and red and black, and very lonely.
But he feeds, a feeding frenzy as they call it, but she is all his. He doesn't have to share her with anyone. He never will.
He knows she is dead before she does, and with the pink and red in his mouth and between his teeth, he backs off, and sinks towards the bottom of the tank, to stare at the mirror with eyes like a room in which the candle has just been extinguished.
Behind the mirror, someone makes a note.
No strong bond between mates in this species.