---

The skies were dark. They were always dark here, the hovering miasma of dark magic blotted the light of the sun from view, only the fading ire of its watchful glower visible over the span of the horizon. Soon it would choke out entirely and be snuffed like a candle in the wind. It didn't make his skin prickle and crawl - not anymore. Not like it did when the first inky trails began to weave overhead when he was a youth. Not like when his sister had clawed almost desperately at his shoulder to drag him back inside where they would fearfully watch the occurrence from their windowpanes. That was before they lost their house in better neighborhoods. That was before his hands were stained and defiled. That was before they knew their parents would never return home for being in lieu with the old aristocratic family.

Fingers would sift through the sack of coins, a mental tally that counted an approximate amount of the total he was given. Collection day at its finest. A bellowing scream cut the air like a knife, a brazen plea from help torn from vocals that he refrained from acknowledging. His only reaction was to shift the duality of his sharp stare from the strings of the drawbag he was closing to the previous owner. "You'd do best to shut her up." He commented, his vocals dry as the woman would again call out from beyond the bars of her holding cell. The sound echoed eerily within the catacombs, bouncing wildly from the entrance to reach his ears once again. Brows rose, a vague look of disappointment clawing over his scarred countenance. "I'm not responsible if anyone hears this and takes your shipment." The warning was point blank as he passed the satchel from his palm to his pocket. The man who had paid him looked far too nervous to be in this line of work. A far different visage than what he was accustomed to meeting with as well, though Gaughn had a bad habit of losing his temper and, as a result, losing hands to toil for him. He could only assume this was a replacement, one that was eager to breach this type of work, but hadn't foreseen the type of labor he would endure. He gave the man a simper, one edged with amused cruelty. The smirk twisting the edges of his scars, pulling slightly taut at the corner of his stare. "G' luck, by the way."

With that, he departed, listening to the vermin scurrying back to the opening that housed the newest merchandise for his boss, back to where the cries were becoming so desperate and high pitched that even as he walked away, he couldn't exactly leave the place. It wasn't until other sounds began to weigh in that he fully forgot the meeting spot. Carriages jostled along their paths, hooves of beasts of burden sodden on the muck and mire of more-dirt-than-cobble-roads. The wet squelching only added to the pleasant charm of Anderstel, disgusting as it was. Having little interest in returning to Shanton at present, his steps would find purchase on the stairs of a tavern pub, its sign long since illegible swinging in the breeze and cawing like some bird of carrion upon rusty hinges. The door produced a similar keen as he passed through it, though the crowd within was boisterous enough to drown it out. His weight would settle upon the edge of a barstool, the haggard man behind the counter sparing him but a solitary glimpse before reaching for his usual drink, pouring it before moving to the next hand hammering heavily onto the rough of splintered wood.

---

             
Humans were such vile, gluttonous creatures. Governed not only by their kings and queens and their dukes and earls, but - and often to a greater degree - their own vices and fixations. They failed to demonstrate restraint, and lived to excess wherever and whenever they found such opportunity to. Whether that be in food, in ale or in things more carnal. Even there in Anderstel, where the goods and coin were scarce, they were all too keen to indulge. And it was all the more brazen here— a derelict tavern in the center of town that had seen more use than it had love. Where the tables were scratched and worn and the floorboards had begun to buckle and lift. The cloudy windows rattled with every gust of wind that howled outside, and she was certain just by studying them at a glance that they offered little to no insulation from the cold come winter. It was inconvenience of their own design. And she lacked the capacity to so much as pity them, when they would rather spend their time in their cups than in rectifying their sorry situation. Well, under most circumstances perhaps. But her presence there had made paying attention to much of anything else an almost impossible endeavor for them. The allure of a beautiful young woman was difficult to resist, after all, when you were surrounded by filth.

She struck a sharp contrast to the drab, dismal conditions of her surroundings. A vision of light and color and youthful vitality where she sat near the back of the crowded room, hedged in by a group of sloppy drunkards. Each of them hanging upon her every word as though they'd gone days without water, and it was the melodic sound of her voice that slaked their thirst. Normally it would have revolted her to sit there and entertain their lewd stares and wearisome attempts to woo and impress her with tales of their alleged bravery and feats of strength. But the roads had been so quiet as of late, and she had found herself quickly growing bored, restless and dissatisfied by the silence and sense of isolation. So she humored their mundane stories and slurred propositions with soft, girlish laughter and an avid attention she certainly didn't feel. For whatever reason, men seemed charmed by mindless kind of company. So she said little, and boldly utilized a more physical kind of affection instead. The brush of her hand across a muscled thigh or shoulder. The act of leaning in close to whisper sweet nothings into an ear. Sweeping long tendrils of rose-gold over her shoulder to better draw attention to the swell of her breasts and bare throat. And they surrendered themselves to her.

But the screech of rusty hinges and scrape of the door ushered in another, and she no longer had any use for the fools that clamored for her.

The inhuman blue of her eyes followed him intently to the stool he eventually claimed by the bar, and she studied him a moment longer. Young. A tall, lean silhouette taut with muscle. Unruly brown hair that had been tossed about by the wind, but proved all the more stylish for it. And the beginnings of a scar she'd only just caught a glimpse of before he'd turned his back to her. For a human, he was captivating, and she felt something familiar within herself stir in response. Something predatory. 

She made no attempt to politely excuse herself before promptly fleeing the repulsive crush of bodies surrounding her, and could all but sense their disappointment and fury at being dismissed so casually. But her attention was fully preoccupied by the young man before her. By far the most superior in the room in terms of his physical allure.

"I hope you'll forgive me," she purred, and her voice was like silk as she tip-toed her delicate fingers across the breadth of his shoulders, slipping with fluid grace and impertinent intent into his lap. "Every other seat is taken." Perhaps not every one. But most. Impatiently tugging the hem of her dress up high enough to be able to straddle him without its interference, she tilted her head to one side in a show of coy interest, and flashed him a devious smile. "Buy me a drink and pay attention to me." 

---

The air was heavy with noise, with the smell of spilled drink and the soured tinge of drunken vomit. Straw was scattered about the floor, no doubt in some vain attempt to soak up the cause of these signs. It was far from his favorite spot, and gods forbid he actually try to eat anything from this hell hole, but the drink was cheap enough and enough to satisfy until he could return to Shanton. Attentive gaze dressed the room with focus one final time as he heard the liquid pouring into his designated glass, and he didn't miss the active throng of paupers swarming like bees about something. Whatever it was that held their captivation was lost betwixt them all, and he would dismiss it without interest.

He would turn back to his own drink, barely lifting the cup to his lips before the droning turned louder at his back, chairs scraping across the warped timbers. The ale was cheaper than usual, causing his nose to wrinkle slightly at the less than appealing taste. "The fuck is this watered down hogwash, Deacon?" his voice was rough with disappointment and disgust. The bartender himself looked amused, a dismissive shrug proffered in response. "Times are tough here, be glad there's alcohol at all." His expression became bitter at that, knowing full well that things were tight in Anderstel even on the best days, but the least the shithole could provide was a half way decent drink for the poor sods forced to live here. It was one of the last mostly human settlements in Crue Efros, though the watchful eyes of their overlords were everywhere. He couldn't imagine the droll affair of being set here on guard patrol. What a bore that must be, immortal or not.

He wasn't left to his musings long, however, as the disturbance behind him became even more apparent. Giving in, he would turn a bit, just in time to meet the face of Aphrodite herself staring up at him. Her gaze was clarion, eyes like the clearest of cerulean waters he'd ever seen, unclouded by the woes and turmoil of many that surrounded her. Her hair was clean, a pale pink gold decorated with sweet flowers that mixed poorly with the filth and mire of the atmosphere she found herself within. She was unblemished, untouched by the muck of this place, her skin porcelain and fair, her clothing probably the brightest thing these people had ever beheld.

"I hope you'll forgive me," her vocals alone were enthralling, the intent of her fingertips brushing over the sinew of his shoulder even more so. She would lift herself up, delicate fingertips dragging the fabric up the divine length of her legs as she settled herself within his lap. His brows rose faintly, a quirk of surprise at her bold aptitude. "Every other seat is taken." There was no denying the carnality that she invoked, and he felt with her introduction, there was no need to withhold. Hands would settle at her knees, pulling her flush against the heat of his frame with a low rumble that reverberated through the breadth of his chest. HIs touch followed the wake of her skirts, replacing the dulcet caress of fabric with the calloused heat of his palms in a wanton press. The lascivious scathe of his gaze appraising the perfection of her bodice, before returning to her countenance, a smirk pressed to the cusp of his lips. "By all means, take it."

He was, by no means, unaccustomed to those who would use their looks to ensure they got what they wanted. To say that he expected to find such a rose in Anderstel however, was far from the truth. She stuck out like a sore thumb, and he doubted that she simply chose to dress up for a night out on the town - she wasn't from here - and judging from the disappointed drunkards still hanging upon the precipice of her every motion like enthralled knaves, she seemed to be alone. "Buy me a drink and pay attention to me." He chuckled slightly, the sound dark, his grip settling against her hips, the tips of his fingers just barely hidden under the eaves of her dress hem. His stare would only abandon her for a brief moment, finding the man behind the counter, he would incline his crown. "Well, you heard the lady." Deacon stammered briefly, clearly unwilling to remove himself from the bask of her presence, but eventually did move along to fulfill her wish. "Now, it seemed you had plenty of attention from them," the simper would only grow upon the curve of his lips, eyes once more drifting to her, "so what kind would you have from me, princess?"

---

             
He seems to welcome her imposition and her impudence, but likely only because he misconstrues it as courtship. In her experience, human men are easily swayed and rendered docile by a woman's advances. Moreso when she is fair to look upon. Under any other circumstance, such boldness is considered distasteful at best. Abhorrent at worst. She has seen the sort of retaliation and punishment that kind of insubordination elicits, particularly amongst nobility. Such repulsive displays of exploitation and power imbalance make her all the more thankful that she was not born of their ilk. She could have never relegated herself to a life wherein her only means of existence was through unquestioned obedience— forever at the heel of a man who did not deserve such devotion or acquiescence. Especially not from a woman that he had not even wooed, but bought. A woman he felt he was entitled to, despite having done nothing to win her affection.

This one seems no different from the others. Not in demeanor. He still paws at her as though he has any right to. Too familiar. Too arrogant and brazen in the way he palms her bared thighs and pulls her in close. Until they're nearly nose to nose, and the swell of her breasts press up against the solidity of his chest. Like longtime lovers entwined in an intimate embrace after having spent too much time apart. The wickedness in her eyes does not seem to deter him, for he's too blinded by her superficial beauty to recognize the veiled threat in it. He smells of iron and earth and blood. Of sweat and smoke and something else that's indecipherable. Something that stirs the primal hunger in her that has remained dormant, until now. To his credit, he is beautiful in his own right. A deviation from the rest, in that he wears his imperfections with pride. The long, jagged scar that splits his sun-bronzed skin from brow to chin. The jewel tone of his eyes. One as rich and vivid as ruby, the other a blue diamond. An interesting anomaly. His body is young and perfectly chiseled. Turned adamantine from years of hard labor. He exudes confidence and raw masculinity, and stands out as an alpha amongst the others who dare not approach now that she sits perched upon his lap. As though they have already resigned themselves to the fact that there is no winning her back from the lure of a superior male.

He instructs the bartender to fulfill her request with dismissive insolence, and she finds herself surprised as the other man eventually shakes himself into wordless compliance. Granted, he seems especially susceptible to her magic. Moreso than anyone else in the room. And she wonders vaguely whether it should have been him that she'd set her sights on. Easy prey was sometimes preferable on nights when the novelty of stupid men had exhausted itself. But only after a moment's consideration did she decide that, no, this one with the mismatched eyes and the roguish smile seems like he'll be worth the trouble. Beautiful prey always is.

"The kind that's going to make me breathless," she answers coyly, running the edge of a fingernail along the hard line of his jaw with avid attention. "The kind that's going to make me shiver and drive me wild with desire for you. The kind that's going to make me want to continue sitting here drinking and flirting with you until you decide you want to take me somewhere quieter to have your way with me." 

She takes a moment to shake her long hair out behind her, setting one of her delicate hands upon his shoulder to steady herself as she half-turns to cast a withering glance at the group of men that had been clustered around her only a few moments ago, disgust evidence in the furrow of her brow and the frown that pulls at the corners of her mouth. "They're all ugly and uninteresting." The soft, melodic tone of her voice goes flat for the span of a second, but she lights up again as she turns back to bat her lashes at her current fixation. "But you're neither of those things. You're the most handsome man I've seen in Anderstel, at least. And I feel as though you'll be fun to play with. It's in your eyes." And she giggles, readjusting herself in his lap with a playful wiggle. "Something dark and feral." The girlish amusement fades, to be replaced with the very same animalistic savageness she's just accused him of harboring. "And I want to bring it out in you, if you think you can handle me."

---

The warmth of her skin was intoxicating, smooth, inviting. Her lashes were long, dense, they framed the pure beauty of her eyes with an adoration that nearly seemed unfair. Those crystalline hues that met his, settled atop proud, high cheek bones. The rose hue of abashment was absent from her countenance, there was no girlish charm to her whimsy. She was all heat and decadence, a soft voice whispered within his ear a plea of caution. A ward of sensibility that warned against the all too convenient. He had always found that if a thing seemed too good to be true, then it most certainly was. Especially in his line of work - in his social status. Nothing came easy to Anderstel and Shanton, and that included beautiful women. They existed, certainly, but not for nothing. Each and every one of them had their own agendas, their own wants and needs to meet at the end of the day, and he could safely assume that she was no different.

The swell of her chest pressed firmly into the breadth of his own, soft in comparison to the sinew underneath. Her perfume was a wild fragrance, gentle flowers and something else. Something familiar that had his wrapped and bloody, bruised knuckles flex unconsciously tighter against the softness of her parted thighs. It was then the sense of deja vu found its home. Uslín. Hers was the same demeanor in many regards. Captivating without effort, drawing forth a dark sense of possession, an unwillingness to part from her company. Selfish. Nothing new to him, but this was a more base and irresistible urge. The stark difference was obvious between the two, as were the similarities. It aided to clear the miasma threatening to smother out clarion thought, it shed a new light upon the brazen damsel. To say it deterred him was not correct, however. If anything, it only increased his curiosity.

He simply had to change the way he courted this danger.

"The kind that's going to make me breathless," his focus found the pout of her lush mouth as she spoke once again, a demand that held little in the ways of being misconstrued. "The kind that's going to make me shiver and drive me wild with desire for you. The kind that's going to make me want to continue sitting here drinking and flirting with you until you decide you want to take me somewhere quieter to have your way with me." He had to admit that he had never been addressed as such by a woman, lady or otherwise. It was surprising, and there was something about that confidence that only furthered the madness within him. It would be quite easy to merely slip under the veil of her mesmerizing spell, a thrall to her each and every whim. Her desires, and perhaps he would, but he knew that nothing in this world was free. He was not fool enough to believe that it was that simple.

"And what is it that you want from this?" he would murmur, his intonation dark regardless, his lips near the delicate shell of her ear, close enough that the warmth of his breath was present but naught else. He wondered if it was coin she desired, the thought that he had more to offer in the way of riches than any other in the present company. Though he supposed she could have such a supply from other more well bred vagrants than he without the promise of such illicit means. A tease was often enough to loosen the draw strings of many a coin purse here, regardless of how fat they were. Maybe she was akin to Tanyi, mumbling something of her mystic beliefs of the energies and cosmos and other garble that he had no such interest in.

As she turned her attention back to those who previously swooned at her every movement and hung from her words like the gallows themselves, he witnessed the truth of her apathy, of her vehement disgust. The honeyed lyrics transformed to dripping venom, "They're all ugly and uninteresting." His brows piqued faintly. He knew they were far from her league, but even then at least most softened such judgements - especially should they need further options for a later date. A certainty in her decisive dismissal. She was assured she had him, and for the time she did as her fingers traced the breadth of his shoulder, as she adjusted herself within his lap. The lengthy mane of pallid hair spilled further with her motion. Taunting were her movements against him. "But you're neither of those things. You're the most handsome man I've seen in Anderstel, at least. And I feel as though you'll be fun to play with. It's in your eyes." She could certainly consider his ego to be stroked. "Something dark and feral." The lazy simper would once again return to his features, though he would regard her in a faintly different light, unclouded by the wool of her perfect veneer.

Her expression would settle like foundations. Again, there was the absence of playful forefront, replaced by the predatory gleam of a hunter. Animalistic, the very same as she placed upon his crown. "And I want to bring it out in you, if you think you can handle me." At that, a light chuckle would brim from his lips. For a brief moment, he was almost willing to believe that's all she wanted, and yet despite the alarms that resounded within his cerebrum, he was willing to bite the bullet of her offer. "Then drink your fill." The words were breathed on a sigh of relent, hands running over the lithe curvature of her hips, pulling her down in the temptation of a light graze of a grind against him. "And we'll just have to see if I can handle you." With that, his hands would abandon the pleasures of her bodice entirely, legs shifting to better hold her weight and further part the warmth of her own thighs. His grip would instead find the glasses, offering her one of the two. "A toast to somewhere quieter, hm?"

---

             
She can sense what little resolve he'd had at the onset of their conversation begin to slip and fade. The predatory wildness in his eyes that she'd remarked upon moments ago intensifies. Smolders. Seeks to consume every part of her, the way his hands endeavor to do. Only hesitating when he seems to remember the public nature of their surroundings. Even then, he's far bolder than most. Willing to test the limits of propriety as he leans in to brush his mouth against the shell of her ear, querying after her demands. Apparently curious as to her expectations and, perhaps, her intentions. For this, she has no immediate answer. So she simply relishes in his heat and his eagerness, as the warmth of his breath stirs tendrils of her hair and tickles the bare expanse of her neck. She enjoys the feel of him beneath her. Enjoys his rapt, almost reverent attention and the way he holds her so covetously. As though he would have lashed out at anyone who might have dared approach and attempt to steal her away. Not that they would have been met with any real success. She had already staked her claim on this one, and it was with him and him alone that her interest would lie.

"Did I not already tell you in specific enough terms what I wanted?" she asks coyly, feigning girlish innocence as she reaches up to run her fingers once through the unruliness of his hair. But the brief twinge of vexed impatience at his question does not register in her sharp, angled features. She only laughs again, and the sound is silvery and bell-like. Enough to cut through the din of the tavern with relative ease, and elicit looks of venomous envy from the men gathered in the far corner. But her confusion soon melts away to become sudden understanding, and the fingers in his hair roam to the back of his head, where she gathers a handful of the dark tresses, and tugs gently. Provocatively. "Oh, I see. You're wondering if I'm a whore looking for a chance at easy coin. Is that it? You wonder if monetary gain is what's incentivizing me to ply you my undivided attention?" She allows a long enough silence to stretch between question and answer, solely to make him squirm a little. But then she's shaking her head, and her eyes turn bright and playful again. "No. I am not a prostitute. And no, I do not expect you to pay me for my time. How distasteful." There is something subtly condescending about the tone of her voice as she proceeds to tease him further: "Do you have such terrible luck with women that they will only spare their affections for you if you pay them for it?" More laughter. And though the sound itself is light and airy, there's a cruelty about it too. "You aren't going to disappoint me, are you? Like they did, over there?"

But she already knows the answer. She wouldn't have chosen him if she thought he might be as dull and uninteresting as all the other brainless ogres currently drinking themselves into a stupor. 

"It may surprise you, because most women are too shy or modest or too afraid of being publicly condemned to admit to such sinful things. But we have our own carnal needs and animalistic desires and base instincts that yearn to be sated. By a man we find physically appealing. Whether that is by his intellect or his sense of authority or his physical appearance. We ache for pleasure, too. And I have chosen you. Because I find you physically appealing, with an insatiable appetite that will match mine. Does that answer appease you?"

Her fingers loosen where they've tangled themselves in his hair, and drop so that both hands can hang lazily across the breadth of his shoulders. 

Finally, finally he relents, and she feels her body relax. Relishes in that familiar rush of euphoria at another victory and the anticipation of what it might yield as she entertains the coercion of his hands, and allows him to pull her down against him with a little more force— the seamless motion of her hips grinding shamelessly into him, where she hopes to provoke more tangible evidence of his growing arousal through the constraint of his breeches. To make him rigid and uncomfortable with want. And it must be quite the sight, with her dress bunched inappropriately high up on her thighs, and the thin cotton of her undergarments all but visible where he's eased her thighs further apart. But he procures a glass for each of them before she can further tease, and she clinks it gently against his. "To somewhere much quieter. Well ... quieter until we start to play." And she indulges in a long, generous swallow before running her tongue along her bottom lip, as though savoring the flavor of whatever repugnant excuse for an ale this was. "Tell me your name. I'll need to know it if you intend on hearing me moan it later, wont I?"

---

"Did I not already tell you in specific enough terms what I wanted?" she questions, her vocals once more that wispy indulgence of girlish coquettishness and absent the lackluster flatness she had used when addressing her fawning crowd. Her fingers pulled themselves through his hair, the brush of her nails searing with electricity, one intensified by the playful lilt of her laughter. It almost echoed around the room, one seeming to fall quiet, even the groaning of the planks under shifting chairs was hushed. He certainly knew what she had said, a claim that had settled into his skin and became hot blood coursing his veins. Her expression changes slightly, as does the hand within his hair, drifting to the back of his head where her lithe fingers close, bunching the unruly strands as she tugs them, evoking a low growl to reverberate through the depths of his chest. "Oh, I see. You're wondering if I'm a whore looking for a chance at easy coin. Is that it? You wonder if monetary gain is what's incentivizing me to ply you my undivided attention?"

She's quiet a moment, and though the thought had certainly more than crossed his mind, his opinion had changed. From the moment those carnal words had wormed their way from her lips in sordid demand, he had a very different imagery of her painted. Coin perhaps didn't interest her, but something did and he held fast that it was more than just his dashing good looks. She would shake her head, the dull song of her tune brightening once more, a dangerous array that drifted from sultry to patronizing. It bid a slow smile to spread across his lips at her honeyed condemning. "No. I am not a prostitute. And no, I do not expect you to pay me for my time. How distasteful." He would finish his drink, though his eyes never depart from the fine artistry of her countenance. Molten, mismatched gaze unbothered to hide the lascivious heat within them as his tongue sweeps the remnants from his lips. "Do you have such terrible luck with women that they will only spare their affections for you if you pay them for it?" She continues, and she laughs. Mocking, a sound alone that threatened to talk down to him, a trill that beckoned more to his humor. A boldness that indeed matched her prior demands.

A woman very accustomed to getting exactly what she desired.

He listened to her, though he could not help the want to touch her. His free hand would brush up the breadth of her thigh, unless she would stop him. One of the few lines he drew for himself. Hooded stare would watch the pout of her lips, his thumb rubbing almost idly along the barren caress of her flesh. She would speak of sin, of the modesty imposed upon other women to silence them and their more vigorous desires. Their wants as a whole. Needs she defined explicitly and without hesitation as his wandering glissade would slip under the bunched fabric of her gown. Calloused pad of his thumb would brush the fabric that stood the last aegis to barren Eden provided she had not brushed it away.

"Does that answer appease you?" His simper remained, lazy as the bar's tender refilled his drink once more. She followed his brief assistance, her hips grinding salaciously into his own. She would be rewarded with the thrum against his breeches, a searing pulse of unadulterated heat. "My apologies," he would rumble. He would be lying to say that his interest hadn't been piqued by the tone she'd adopted, by the condescending nature of her speech, and yet... "Not used to so much talking when a lady just wants fucked." He was shameless, unabashed as he leaned forward. "Talk is for politicians and snakes." He had his doubts that she belonged to the prior group, but was not opposed to tasting the venom of the second.

Perhaps it was the revel in her perfume, the intoxicating close proximity of her frame, the truth in the wanton carnality in her words. Maybe he had simply and foolishly fallen under her spell despite his awareness of it. A thrall to her desire, but he couldn't help himself regardless. "Lan," he watched her cleanse the draught from her lips, furthering the pit of ravenous hunger within himself, "you'll remember it." The assurance ended against the lip of his glass, though the liquid courage was not needed. It was almost not preferred when faced with her sublime apparition and what lay beneath it, carefully crafted imagery he did not want to blur with the heady over loom of alcohol. "And what do I call you?"

---

             
The intrusive heat of his hands as they boldly explore the velvety expanse of bare, vulnerable flesh beneath her skirts elicits a most human response. Lust. Want. A carnal yearning that coaxes her thighs even further apart and intensifies the telltale ache that pulses there, leaving her to squirm from the discomfort of her unresolved desire. For as hungry as she may have been for vengeance, the need to slake a more primal and venereal kind of appetite seems to have eclipsed it. And for all of the revulsion she harbors for him as a mortal man, he is still a startlingly beautiful specimen. Not simply for his hard, chiseled body or those peculiar jewel-toned eyes or even the provocative husk of his voice— but for the wildness and depravity and aggression that he subconsciously exudes. She can sense it. Can feel it in the way he touches her, as though he seeks to possess her. As though he aches to mark her. Restless and impatient, but remarkably calm and disciplined despite the instincts that govern him. Prey that will lash out in retaliation always prove more rewarding than those that simply surrender themselves to their fate. Because they have something more precious to lose. Their pride. And this one has an inordinate amount of it. 

"Lan." It's spoken on a hushed purr before she allows it to sit on her tongue. Tasting it. Relishing it. Committing its flavor to memory. And then she swallows it whole, the corners of her lush mouth dimpled in a triumphant smile as her arms shift and she's leaning in toward him. Until that same mouth is brushing the shell of his ear and she grinds up against the now-prevalent bulge of his arousal a second time. It leaves her wet with stimulation. Liable to ruin the delicate silk of the fabric his thumb has come dangerously close to assailing. "You've already gone and called me a snake. Clearly you have no interest in an actual name. What use would it be to a man who already seems to know everything?" There's an edge to her voice now that turns the soft purr from before feral. And then she laughs. Light but distinctly predatory before she angles her head and presses her lips to his throat. It doesn't remain tender or affectionate for long, before she's sinking her teeth in. Not hard enough to draw blood, but almost to threaten bruising before she abruptly relents and sucks gently at the abused flesh instead, running her tongue over the swelling to soothe, and then tipping her chin up to nip at the line of his jaw. Rocking her hips suggestively against his again with a little mewl of satisfaction. 

Without much in the way of warning, she plucks his cup from his hand and sets it back on the bar behind her. Expression kittenish and full of mischief and tainted by a certain measure of impertinence and lack of respect. Because she knows there's nothing he can or will do to admonish it. Because she knows that he's in too deep now to do anything more than relinquish himself to her, in the hope she might indulge him.

She rewards that blind reverence with a kiss. One she steals without asking. With the delicate fingers of her right hand clawing at the nape of his neck, and the other flat-palmed against his chest, her lips claim his, and her lashes flutter as her tongue forces itself into his mouth. Eager to explore his, as she tilts her head and deepens it with a low, gratified moan. 

The animosity she can feel blaze to life among the men that sit behind them only serves to excite her, their jealousy-induced rage thickening the air and wordlessly threatening violence to Lan himself for the sheer fact that he does not deserve the attention she's plying him with. And she giggles against his mouth, taking his bottom lip between her teeth and tugging on it briefly before reluctantly releasing him again. "You're mine," she states plainly, staring him directly in his beautiful, mismatched eyes. "Until I tell you otherwise. Until I tire of you and you fail to excite me anymore. Do you understand?" She gives him no more than the length of a breath to answer, because his response doesn't actually matter. And then the intensity melts away, and she's reverting back to the girlish playfulness from before, trapping the point of his chin between the prison of her fingers. "I intend to play with you until I've exhausted you. Until your limbs are so heavy and your thoughts are so incoherent from the extent of the pleasure I'm going to give you that you can't even begin to fathom the amount of effort it would take just to speak."

With only a gentle tilting of her head in their direction, she indicates the men seething behind them. "Perhaps we should let them watch."