[attr="class","illie"]

[attr="class","illie b"]

[attr="class","illie i"]she glances up at the sound of his voice, at his presence hovering in the doorway. her lips quirk into a smile, flashing teeth and bordering on aggression. it's misplaced frustration, needing an outlet as desperately as she needs a breakthrough.

knowledge makes her hungry, greedy, powerful. and he simply amplifies it by presence alone, goading her to become a version of herself he has crafted with his own hands on her skin.

"i see," she murmurs. her hands stop, papers settling onto her desk. a huff of irritation escapes and with it, a soft puff of pink mist. it bleeds in the empty space between them, half a calling and half an offer. his injuries linger in her mind for a moment and as if a chain reaction, psychic terrain bleeds further. "you can come closer. i don't bite that hard." that's a lie. she does and that much he knows.

curiosity rises as he feeds her tiny tidbits of information. not related to their current project but interesting enough to warrant her entire attention. she shifts to the front of the desk, arms stretching behind her to brace her weight against its sturdy form.

"an artifact?" she knows of some ancient items that could be similar. those of legends, those of myth. "have you seen it before?"

FERNANDO SILPH

[attr="class","illie"]

[attr="class","illie b"]

[attr="class","illie i"]red string ties them together, strengthened by the bonds graced upon them. even with just a fragment, it's enough to draw him in. perhaps half her, half power. whichever it may be, she's greedily drinking in the lessening distance.

"you're a welcome interruption," she murmurs. with just him, her, and a desk, she should feel like a cornered animal. except, she doesn't. there's a hunger simmering beneath the surface, awakened and heightened by his own terrain mingling with hers. her body shifts, closer proximity gained with little effort. whether from anticipation, need, or a subconscious urge to move, she cannot be sure.

"eternal flame," an echo meant to stimulate her mind. frustration still clings desperately to her being and while an idea should come faster, it's blocked by the irritation of her currently abandoned work. "it sounds vaguely familiar but i can't place it right now. maybe from a story?" a flame that burns for all eternity sounds fictional but then again, so did aliens from another dimension.

FERNANDO SILPH

[attr="class","illie"]

[attr="class","illie b"]

[attr="class","illie i"]poking a sleeping bear comes in many forms. for illeana reyes, it comes as feigned innocence. she's become well versed in what works and what doesn't, honing it into enough of a weapon to use for her own enjoyment. a welcome improvement from what had been and what never will again.

temptation, pleasure, hunger. all welcome changes as far as she's concerned. if he minds, she doesn't care enough to tell. in fact, she tests the waters with a single hand raising off the desk's surface to brush against his side. toying, as a cat would a mouse.

"if you decide it's something you'd like to look into, i could add it to my list." the mixing of terrains almost leaves her breathless. the pull is enough to allow a soft shudder to dance down her spine. anticipation fuels the psychic mist further, as if needing the mingling to strengthen the bond they already share. "are you able to wait?"

it's only barely relating to an eternal flame if she stops to think about it.

FERNANDO SILPH

[attr="class","illie"]

[attr="class","illie b"]

[attr="class","illie i"]need ties them together, perhaps more than their usual bond. she leaves it to him to up the ante as he always will. fernando's known for pushing to excel, pushing to become better. she has him to thank for who she has become and who she will never be again. bits and pieces of him are laced into her dna, perhaps before their previous night spent learning new parts of each other. beneath that lies a need for him she can't ignore, as if he placed it there himself to keep her close, to keep her of use for him.

where he pulls, she follows. the crutch the desk had become fades, no longer of use here. her body practically sings at the lessened distance, goosebumps rising over her skin with just a touch. the spell he places her under is noticeable in the way her lips part, in the way her eyes dart between his and his lips. distracted, as if phantom touch has her already anticipating what's to come. and where he raised the stakes with his pull, she finds herself taking it one step further. her idle hand rises, seeking purchase in the fabric of his shirt. it curls and balls into a fist, tugging gently as if she doesn't need to use words to ask a question they both want answered.

"would you?" her hand settles against his face, gently tracing the line of his jaw. there's both desire and affection in her touch, shifting and morphing the longer her hand stays. "just to please you, then." a promise, left to linger between what little distance separates them.

his terrain overpowers the fragment of hers, as if urged by the bond between two deities. the addictive quality is lost on her in the moment, in the rising tension threatening to break. and yet, she finds herself inhaling more as if it's a lifeline she needs. a way to stay close, a way to further the intimate bond they share. she's not sure where the line between her remaining power and her own desire blurs.

"as long as tolerable," comes with the shift from fingertips to nails, lightly scratching down his cheek. once more, she toys before devouring as only a cat knows how. her eyes seek his as his next question falls and silence follows. a pause, a consideration that lingers for a mere moment. her decision is unsurprisingly quick.

"for you?" she flashes a smile. "forever if needed."

FERNANDO SILPH

[attr="class","illie"]

[attr="class","illie b"]

[attr="class","illie i"]aggression tickles a fancy she didn't know she had, as if awakening something previously undiscovered. there's a thrill involved in invoking such a response, one she'll chase without recognizing it. the disapproval, the scolding, and apparently the punishment.

a pleased hum escapes, like an admiration of her own handiwork. pushing fernando silph to the edge with little effort is a skill most do not possess. hell, she didn't even know she did. and yet, somehow his mask cracks and there's a glimpse inside she's only seen in shimmering fragments on a bloody field. reminiscent of a force during war yet different in a way she can't quite put a finger on.

hunger drives them both: him to action and her to response.

his hands cup her face, holding firm as he snuffs out any air she had. replacing oxygen with his own, breathing into her with a cruelness she finds enticing. desire spreads like wildfire and she's moving before she can think, before she can process anything other than him devouring her. hands reach up to knot into fabric and yank, almost too rough with a ferocity unbecoming of her. the momentum shifts her body back enough to clash with the edge of her desk, papers rustling and drowning in the sound of tension breaking.

FERNANDO SILPH

LUDENS

ECHOES MADE IN HASTE BOUND OFF OTHERS

THE SOUND OF HER SATISFACTION IRKS HIM. Drives him up a goddamn wall. Impatience bleeds through every pore of his goosebumped skin. Inside, there is a need. One that he looks to kill by suffocating her in kisses.

And, for a moment, that suffices. But need grows. Exponentially. All it takes is the right trigger. When her body rebuffs against her desk, the sound serves as a reminder for where they are. What they’re supposed to be doing.

Her work is important and not one to be disturbed. There will be no displacing hours of organization with a brash sweep of their hands against her desk to clear up space. No. That’s juvenile.

A hand curves around her waist. Gives her nice grab as his fingers sink into flesh. She fills out the spaces between his fingers generously, a stark reminder for what he’s in store for.

“Turn around.”

There is no growl. No aggression despite the way he handles her. No. Fernando Silph delivers the line with the cold, authority others have prostrated themselves under. She too will be no different.

Well, that’s not all true. Here, the situation reverses. She just doesn’t know it yet.

“Hands on the desk. Bend.”

illeana reyes

[attr="class","illie"]

[attr="class","illie b"]

[attr="class","illie i"]for as submissive as she used to be, there's a mild annoyance laced into the situation. normally, she takes orders with no problem, no task going ignored. here, it's a different game, a different set of circumstances.

an inner conflict rises with the first command, with the touch it follows. to follow or to bite back. she knows the saying. don't bite the hand that feeds you. don't disrespect fernando silph, of all people. there's a coldness to him she almost craves, if only to shatter into pieces. erase coldness and rewrite it with something more pleased.

eventually, she just caves.

shifting in his grasp, twirling to face the desk. there's an art to movement and use of proximity. she's crafty with her body, brushing against just the right spots, leaning into the hand at her waist. and when her head turns slightly, eyes seeking his, there's something challenging simmering just beneath the surface.

no bite comes with the second command. her hands find their home naturally, as if it's second nature to follow his lead. the arch follows and the slowness of movement is purposeful. a tease, even without fighting his instructions. and while patience is a virtue, illeana reyes no longer caters to such a thing. instead, she attempts to maintain what little control he could possibly allow with the rising of a hand. fingers tangle into fabric and she's tugging.

if only dragging fernando silph down to hell were as simple as this.

FERNANDO SILPH

LUDENS

ECHOES MADE IN HASTE BOUND OFF OTHERS

ILLEANA ISN’T HIS FIRST. And by no means will she be his last. But to say she’s the most surprising among his body count? Well, it’s not an award he dishes out lightly. Watching her transformation—no, evolution—stirs him up something wicked is both puzzling and incredibly vexing.

But a devote man pious in the way of debauchery stands by his tenants. Every gesture she partakes pains him, adding the the inevitable damage she inflicts on his will as he bides his time. When all is said and done, his deliverance will come. Retribution will be anything but swift, drawn out until justice is enacted.

Reveling in the actions to come strings his heartbeat to a pulse that invigorates his hunger.

“Don’t make a mess.”

It’s both a warning and an order. Both for her workspace as well as a small hint at what’s to come. He does so, well aware that he’s going to work against her. Do everything in his power to make her fail. All because there is validation in leaving her so satisfied that she betrays both duty and pride.

Or so he derive his own fascination with his undiscovered kink.

Dragging him down to hell is easier than expected. He’s brought to his knees. His own hands jimmy against her last line of defense and he peels away the one last reservation they have before soiling her office.

Fernando enjoys his last supper before he submits himself to Illeana’s hellhole. Except, from the hymns she recites so joyously, only one of them is subjected purgatory. The other instead travels well beyond to a higher plane of existence.

illeana reyes