The predator waited, ever waiting. He had drawn his prey close, as if dangling a sweet piece of bait before his doe eyes. Heath had taken up the challenge of jumping for it, though he didn’t even know what danced on the end of the string, or who the true beast was that held the other end of the thin line. Forever waiting it was as if he still wasn’t close enough, Heath could be closer. Golden honey eyes looked into the distorted red of the other males, and as he spoke Heath could have vomited. The thought of such thing made the male was to wretch, and he understood very well that it was what he was talking about. Instead of indulging in regurgitating in disgust Heath only grew angrier. And in an instant, as the words passed into his ears and registered Heath jumped one final time to catch the little prize hanging from that string.
He jumped with force from his back legs, teeth and claws at the ready. He propelled himself forward with the anger and built frustration, wielding the hate he felt and the humiliation that the other constantly put him through with each condescending word, each confusing and cynical response. And of course the sick thing he was implying. Heath was hooked, the line tight as he hoped to meet the others face with a tooth filled kiss. All the other beast needed to do was reel him in, and gut him.
table by erin
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