(430) Oh lordy!!! O_O Okay -- get ready for a barrel of awkward. XD Powerplayed in assuming she took the lashes as suggested in your post, let me know if any of this needs edits, yes? x:
Also, sorry for having him zip off, but, um! I dooooon't think Willam would've appreciated his boner? Hahaha. We can have a superawkward thread between them again, though, yes? If you want to reply again pls feel free, otherwise you can just archive? o:
Ithiel is by Raze!
The dusky-hued hybrid shook his head at her question. His father had left Inferni -- perhaps he'd gone all the way back to Scintilla. His half-brother had also departed. His cousin was in need of him, as he saw it. She was a woman and weak, susceptible to the wiles of more unscrupulous men and her emotions both. Though she might be intelligent enough to conquer these weaknesses, he doubted she was even aware of them. Should be propose them, she would deny it, he had no doubt.
She spoke of the church burning. Foul, he spat, ears flat against his head. She was quick to speak of her hopes, however, and he grew confused as he listened. The coyote was hopeful for herself, but Ithiel did not know if he ought to consider that a sin. Still -- she grasped her cross and seemed to have determined her fault. Their halt was sudden; Ithiel pulled Lystra alongside Châtiment and watched as she riffled through her things.
His crimson eyes lingered on the whip she'd produced, glancing toward her with open surprise as she offered its handle to him. The dark hybrid slid from his saddle more as a reflex than a desire to obey her request, but he found himself holding the whip all the same. He grasped its knotted leather in one hand, peering over it with mounting disquiet. He looked toward her, braced against the placid horse's side. His own mount meandered behind him and bent to graze, apparently uninterested in Châtiment entirely.
The feeling in him was akin to the one he'd felt when Alma kissed him -- almost. It was sharper, harder, and he became aware of a vague discomfort in his groin. The hybrid willed it away by sheer force of mind. He stepped toward Willam, crimson eyes appraising her back. Ithiel lifted the whip, hesitated, and brought its lash down against her back. The strange fire burning in him as he brought the whip up again.
And suddenly -- he stopped, freezing where he was. The creeping sensation between his legs had returned full-force. He whirled and darted toward Lystra. The dusky hybrid clambered up into the saddle, hunkering down so as to hide his shame. I must go, he said, quickly and loudly. Sorry. He mumbled this, his words almost slurred and uncharacteristically lacking in surety. One leg was lifted awkwardly, one arm dropped. He thought -- or hoped -- it was enough to cover himself as he wheeled his horse around and kicked his heels into her side.
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