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It was a shiver of potential, and not fear, which straightened Eirika's spine, and she quelled the following sliver of annoyance that she anticipated anything having to do with Valter, let alone thought of him at all. Yet--when she tried to sleep she would taste the memory of his fresh blood in her mouth, the feeling of his flesh--his eye--in her throat, swallowing it, twining them immutably together, him marked and her the bearer, and she found herself with her hands on her body, restless, twisted and damp in her sheets, wanting more, and worse, knowing he wanted the same.
Although he was permitted to walk among the army so long as he behaved, she did not allow him to sleep anywhere near her. Not because she was afraid of him--no, because she was afraid of what his hollow stare and mirthless smile kindled deep in her.
She stepped into the tent, a squat and heavy tent enclosed in treated wool. Not his. Valter was not afforded privacy. He was no longer a general, simply an infantryman with a spear, now isolated and bound again for disorderly conduct among the ranks. His wyvern had survived their original battle as well but was lead, muzzled, while her wing healed--while they decided if a wyvern who shared her rider's taste for human flesh should be allowed to live at all. At least a wyvern wasn't a cannibal.
Eirika's stomach twisted. Did he have this effect on everyone around him, or only the ones he focused in on?
Valter shifted as she secured the flap of the tent after her, kneeling with his hands tied behind him. He tilted his head to watch her with his remaining eye, slate-dull behind the twisting strands of his seaweed hair, but still a hawk's gaze, unyielding. Eager. His other eye, or what was left of it, was bandaged.
"You've been causing problems in camp," Eirika said, all too aware of how he took in her every movement as though her body was the air he breathed. His crooked smile widened, a baring of teeth.
"Does that displease you, my lady?" Could a beast truly be polite, or only display the facsimile of reason? With another step she was in front of him, and reached down to grab a handful of his hair by the roots. A shame that such a man had such lovely hair. It was greasy against her skin.
"...you should take better care of yourself," she said, the words slipping out of her, unprompted.
"Is that an order?" Almost a laugh. His voice was harsh, gravel strained through a throat that seemed to have been at some point strained by screaming. She wanted to hear him scream, bury her own teeth in him, have him thrash under her. Or--
Her grip tightened and he winced, but the change in his expression and the slight parting of his teeth indicated that his reaction was not quite pain. What could she threaten a madman with? Valter seemed to want nothing more than to die on the point of her rapier.
"No." Eirika's nose wrinkled in disgust. "I don't care what you do with your body--" another rasping laugh--"but don't start fights among your peers."
"As though I have peers among your motley curs--" he said, reflexively dismissive, cruelly amused, and she yanked his head down, bearing her knee down on his shoulder. Forcing him to bow before her. He was taut, a noise that was not a whimper bit back behind quickening breath--it stirred a dark feeling in her. She didn't want him dead. She wanted him like this--on the ground, a barely-restrained animal, a muzzled rabid beast beneath her.
Was this feeling any kin to how Lyon felt, when he touched whatever promised him anything he wanted, so long as he turned against the world? Was there another feeling for this beyond the satisfaction of violence rendered?
"You will fight for me, at my word, and no other," she said. "Whatever problems you have with my other soldiers--" --hers, to kill at her beck and call: that headiness flooded her again-- "--save it for the battlefield." She tilted his chin up with the toe of her boot, to face her.
He still looked somewhat handsome with an eyepatch and that broken sliver of a smile; and something in the sight stirred heat in her. It was easy to imagine that he had been a casually attractive nobleman once, and the shadow of that or something in his odd expression of--was this devotion, as he gazed up at her with fever-bright eye? Surely not--devotion was wanted, pure, stalwart and gentle Seth at her side through good or ill. No, this was something sick, filthy. Valter would kill for her. He had killed for her before she even knew who he was, he was inviting her to become a beast, hunting alongside him, setting their talons in anything or each other if no other suitable prey was found. She was trapped in the pinpoint focus of his gaze, all too aware of how slick and hot she felt between her thighs. She was sure that, his cheek pressed against her leather-wrapped calf, he could smell her.
Eirika let her hand trail to her skirt, lift it, unlace her underwear; she didn't want to think too closely about what she was doing, but it felt--not right, but needed. If his desire was to be used, then she would use him.
"Service me," she ordered.
"What service might a lady want from a creature such as me?" His words were a mocking drawl, but the catching husk of his voice, the tilt of his body betrayed his intentions; and besides, she could see clearly how he was aroused.
"You know what I want. Don't tempt me to leave you bound here overnight."
"Ah, such a cruel temptation--tell me, is it to tame and ride me, or be ridden--"
Mocking, still. The heat and frustration in Eirika mingled into one sharp point. He'd played enough. His grin widened even as she cut him off, shoving the full weight of her body against him, harder, closer, her shin against his face. He kissed the red suede, began to bite down, to mark it--
"Stop that!" She yanked his head against her thigh, violently. He hissed between his teeth, but let his cheek rest against her skin instead, thin lips still curled. Still pleased. "Enjoying your view?"
"Aren't you?" He straightened his back, to nip at her, brushing lips and teeth along her bare skin. She leaned her full weight on him--not that it was formidable, but she was significantly stronger than she looked--using her grip to pull his head against her. He was eager and pushed himself between her thighs, his nose and mouth between the folds of her pussy, his hot breath and tongue teasing her, drinking her. Lapping, sucking at her, devouring her as though she were a sacred chalice.
The pleasure was immediate and blossoming, from her cunt through her core, and she drove her knees into his shoulders and pressed in further, clenching around his supplication, even the way his hair felt between her tightened fingers and against her legs a frisson. She fought back gasps even as she knew he found and worked where she was vulnerable, prying at her with muzzle and tongue to make her cry out, even as she was aware that he strained and angled himself to grind his own hardened sex against the toe of her boot.
Eirika came quickly and thoroughly, biting down on her own wrist to keep from making more than a muffled gasp, and from the way his body jerked under her she suspected he came shortly after as well. She took a moment to collect herself before she could shift her weight off of Valter's.
Eirika stared down at him, blankly; he was panting, his hair a disheveled mane, blood leaking from the scabs on his face rubbed raw by his exertion, his mouth wet with her juices, the corner of his mouth smeared pink with his own blood. She leaned down and gently licked the fresh blood from the corner of his eye, and felt his body quiver under her touch, her taste of him. She let her fingers run through his hair, lightly, once, as she might a pet, and then stepped back and indicated the spatter across her ankle. It was surprisingly easy to keep her voice level and cold.
"You've made a mess of my boot. Clean it."
He did so eagerly.