She grabbed a charcoal and piece of parchment as the two of them made their way to the campfire. She tried to hide her unease as she settled on the ground, he gaze settling on him as he stretched out across an upturned canoe, allowing her access to view him in his entirety; his silhouette illuminated by the flames. In the glow of the light she really was not shocked to know he was an avatar for the god of war and death. Clearing her throat she put the char to the page and began to sketch him.
There were many things that brought the eye to attention when one looked at him, one was not sure which to focus on first. His face was somehow both sharp and soft, the features were definitive, but not chiseled. His cheekbones and jawline was narrow, while no one would dare to say he was not masculine, his masculine beauty was graceful; the same beauty one would find in a scythe rather than a battle ax. He had layers of ebony hair, while usually pulled up and out of his way, allowing his striking blue transfixing eyes to observe unobstructed, in this moment is hung down in a damp, freshly washed curtain. It looked soft, fluffy if one was bold enough to think the word in his presence.
Following the movement of his lithe body, one's gaze would follow the curve of this throat to the broad shoulders, modestly covered in a light black long sleeved tunic that draped over his tones muscles from clavicle to wrist. The cloth draped over his torso softly, yet hugged the curvatures beneath it in flattering ways. While his body was sculpted, his strength was deceptive. Should he stand next to a regular soldier one would assume he was fairly weak, yet his lean muscles held a scary level of strength that it was not uncommon to wonder if he were inhuman. If he flexed his arms his biceps would surely pull the thin cloth taut, however in a rare moment, he was relaxed. His hands were striking, despite living the life of a warrior they were not marred by scars nor were his nails unkempt. His long elegant fingers were adorned with rings, one calloused palm flat against his perch, propping himself up lazily, with the other laying on his lap. His long legs, which were always confined to leather, were in a matching set of trousers of the same materials as his tunic, with the same ability to highlight the profiles of his body.
She forced her eyes not to longer over the form of his body longer than necessary as she completed her sketch of him. There was no mistaking it, he was a beautiful man, capable of amazing things. Horrifyingly amazing things. Yet it was not his proficiency in battle that made people fear him above all else, it was his divine aura. The sheer weight of his spiritual and mythical power could render people paralyzed, many falling victim to the compulsion of his will. She shivered, remembering the indescribable sensation of his aura settling over her in the courthouse, and yet... she had been able to move. She had defied him and in the moment of sheer will power she became a shield to those around her, his aura bouncing off of her like a wave crashing against stone. It was of little wonder that he had taken her as a hostage in the peace negotiations... when one is a living god it must be intriguing when a mere mortal is able to render him powerless. She didn't know whether to be honored, threatened, or exhilarated by his interest. She was serving her country, sparing a friend, and brought closer to this living divinity.
As she began to lose herself in the art, her thoughts began to circle around him, divinity, the awe inspiring energy that came off of him when he accessed his powers, and the irritating arrogant that came with said power. He was so beautiful, he was blessed, and yet he was the most insufferable ass. He had promised that one day he would have her on her knees before him, but she smiled to herself. The only one who would bow in worship between the two of them would not be her. There was an intense pull between the two of them, that was too obvious to ignore, but her will was as strong as his, and she would be damned if she ever fell to the feet of another man ever again in her life. If he wanted her, it would be him that took the knee, looking up at her in desire and admiration. Anything less than worship and she would deny him. She huffed as her finger smeared the char on the page to fit the curve of his abdomen, thinking how he viewed her in a similar way. Only this time, she would have the satisfaction of being the first woman - or person, it seemed, - to ever deny him his desire.
She was focusing on the fine details of this mouth, the curvature of his full lips, when a loud snap came from the fire startling her. As her eyes flew up from her project, his body was suddenly before her,. She gasped, as she had not even seen him move. His piercing eyes held hers, slowly trailed to her mouth, down her throat, past her bosom, and down to the drawing now sitting limply in her lap.
"Was I a good model?" He asked, his tone full of amusement.
"I suppose," she huffed, not wanting to feed his ego. "It will do more or less, I will work on the ballad should inspiration come. Although with you I doubt I will be so inspired." She pulled out her most unimpressed sneer, looking him up and down and scoffing. But he saw through her charade with ease. Taking her chin his hand, she felt her pulse jump.
"You know Song bird, I do love your sharp tongue. If you're a good girl perhaps I'll taste your words directly." His voice was husky, low enough to risk no one overhearing. Electricity shot through her body, making her insides jump, but she forced her eyes to roll.
"No thank you. I don't think I want to know what death tastes like." If he was Death, he brought out the opposite in her. Her entire body was alive at his close proximity. There was something about his aura, even when muted like this, that called to her. His connection to the gods, to divinity, to spirit... she wasn't sure if she wanted to absorb him, be engulfed by him, or simply cease to exist and fade into the unity she could feel at the outskirts of her own energetic aura where it met his. She had never fed on a divine being before, although the idea exhilarated her it also terrified her. His body was more or less mortal, as was hers, but she doubted a fae could stand against the power of a god.
But a part of her wanted to know. A hunger began to form inside her, her center beginning to heat, and she tongue flicked over her lip imagining the taste of his energy flowing into her mouth if she gave into him and kissed him. She stiffened. No. She would do no such thing; should anything occur it would be him who gave into carnality. She had gone years without feeding, she could go on for more. While his energy was tempting, and her soul called out to connect to spirit, she would settle for prayer. One does not need to fuck a god to connect to the divine, although the image plagued her thoughts.
As if sensing the roller coaster of her resolve, he chuckled and moved closer, breathing in her scent as he ran his nose along her jaw, making his way to whisper something into her ear. She fought the urge to shiver as his lips dipped down to her neck as he said something quietly in his native language. She pulled away from him, giving him a puzzled look, and relieved when he moved away himself. She was determined not to give in to him, but her resolve was beginning to pool between her legs the longer his body was so close to hers.
"Good night Song bird," he said casually, a leisurely wave of his hand as he turned his back and walked back towards the center of the camp. She huffed again, shaking her head, and returned to the portrait in her lap. She had a rough outline of him, enough that she could embellish and create the details from memory. She had the strongest urge to draw in shadowy scenery around him, to draw his raw magical power dripping off a narrow aura in waves of ether. One day she would drink that ether in, connect with the divine spark within her own soul, and she would break free of the mortal cage she was bound by.
Soon she would be free, but he would have to come to her, on his knees with his palms open in offering. She smiled to herself at the image and went back to work, her fingers smearing the black powder deeper into the pores of the page.
