Snippet #2404576

The silence that descended for a moment between them deafened Nachytsm. He had nothing to focus on. Nothing he wanted to focus on, anyway. He found himself staring intently at the horse, happily and obliviously chewing away at something or other.

He could smell Ana well now. He didn't want to, but he could. Not just her blood, but her natural body scent as well. The two aromas intermingled and made a heady bouquet that Nachytsm had to resist.

And if he wanted to, he could still see her. Ana had bled freely, down her arm and her body. Her blood was on him, now. But it was all worth it. She had stopped crying. Nachytsm didn't know why he thought that would work, but it did.

He stared at her for a moment when she escaped his grasp, as if he didn't want her to have left it. And then she ordered him to remove his clothing.

His eyes widened. He didn't have a particular problem being naked. He'd fought battles completely naked before. He'd walked through towns and villages in his bare glory. He knew, by Ana's following actions, what her intentions were. She wanted to clean him, something he had not been able to do himself yet.

But it still sparked a horrible, wonderful feeling in his gut. Looking down at himself, Nachytsm mumbled wordlessly and simply ripped the shirt off. It had practically been to the point of falling off on its own anyway.

His bare flesh was covered in scars from innumerable battles. More fresh looking wounds were surrounded by caked on blood. Rippling muscles showed beneath that across his form. He had little body hair, save for a line of chest hair that traveled down his navel.

He decided against removing his leggings. He felt strangely self-conscious revealing himself to Ana. It did not help him that he was feeling the first faint pangs of a... stirring. He fought that with every fiber of his being.

When Ana returned to him and demanded he never let that happen to him again, he had no choice but to look into her eyes. She held his chin firmly. Nachytsm could have escaped her grip, if he wanted... but he did not want to.

His eyes had no color. They were and always had been pitch black.. aside from when he entered a rage.

"I... I can't," he said. "Fighting is what I do," he replied slowly. His heart was thumping. Her bloodied hand was clasped around his chin, and the smell was intoxicating him.