Zefien looked the priestess up and down as she stood before him, arms at her sides, back straight, supple breasts thrust forward, in the way the scribes of old would display their virgin sacrifices when trying to coerce his kind in days long past. It was an offering borne of tradition, the humans believing that what was enticing to their kind would be equally appealing to his. They were wrong, but it was the thought that counted, and such offerings were accepted in a million ways depending on the whims of the demon, usually with a wanton savagery meant to disturb and terrify the priests, reminding them a spirit's time was not to be taken lightly.
"Ask? What would be the fun in that, dearest 'Morgana'?" He intoned in a voice as soft as silk to fit the intimacy of this tryst, placing hands gently upon her shoulders, meaning to seperate the straps of the simple cream-colored brassiere that served to conceal those rich caramel breasts, but the moment his fingers made contact, Zefien shuddered. Not just the human guise he wore, but his very essence trembled, and the glowing glyphs around them shined ever brighter upon first contact, and he was stricken by a sudden wave of vertigo.
It was all he could do to grip her tighter for support as not to collapse, either to the knees of his human visage or entirely into an incorporeal state. His vision blurred, and for an instant he was seeing himself through her eyes, some effect of their essences already beginning to blur together, he could suddenly feel blood pumping through her veins, smell the wafting, heady scent of candles, incense, and old paper that filled the room. The bonding had already begun, now it was only a matter of how thoroughly it would be concluded.
An instant later, Zefien was himself again, but the afterimages of those human sensations he had just experiences remained in the background of his mind, and he tried to take a step back, recompose himself, irritated by the intolerable weakness he was showing...but it was impossible to do so, some unseen force pulling their physical forms together in the same manner the old magic mingled their essences. He grit his teeth, and forged ahead, hooking the straps in his fingers and gliding them over the dips of her shoulders and downward. The moment the garment was free of the tension provided by her ample bust, it fell free to tangle about her waist, but his attentions did not drift so far south as of yet.
Instead,he tried something,a tentative experiment with the newfound sensations being provided through her, placing a hand on the crook of her neck to tilt the priestess' head upwards, locking those deep amber-gold eyes in icy blues that were wide with amazement, bringing his lip to hers in order to indulge a curiosity about what the humans called 'taste'. It was an awkward, tentative kiss, like that of the fumbling virgin that, despite having existed for centuries uncounted, Zefien very much was.
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