He had waited a long, long time for this.
Slipping through the shadows, he crept along just behind the lad, light and soundless as fog. This was almost too familiar— Talon couldn’t even begin to count the number of times he’d trailed behind a mark, just out of range and waiting to strike…. but this time? This time was different.
They were close to that lovely clearing, the one with the little pool where the moonlight liked to play, where he’d caught up with the lad one night so many weeks ago. What a pity that the lad seemed to avoid the area now— it would be the perfect place for a little chat. Talon wasn’t pleased with the things he’d come home to find, not the rumors of clandestine hookups to the blatant hickies that bloomed across the boy’s throat. It set a cold fire through his veins, and Talon’s lips pressed together in a thin line of thought as he wove his way through the trees. He was beginning to tire of this game of cat and mouse, and now, in the dark of the treeline, seemed a good a time as any to make his presence known.
"Did you really think I’d let you forget so easily?"
His hand snaked about to grab the explorer’s throat just beneath the chin, grip tightening until Talon could feel the lad’s pulse fluttering. Good, let Ezreal be frightened— he wasn’t joking around any longer. Jerking the boy’s hips back against his own, he allowed the familiar scent of leather and sunlight distract him, an ache beginning in his chest. This was what he missed, this was what he needed. All that time in a dank dusty cell had left him starving for fresh air and human contact. Not that the boy needed to know that, of course.
"You’re mine until I say otherwise, little one," he growled, lips pressing to the shell of the blonde’s ear, teeth parting to nibble at the velvety flesh. It was easy to kiss his way down the soft, exposed skin, to suck and nip and bite at the pale expanse of the explorer’s throat. He’d missed this feeling, missed the sweet, sharp sounds that accompanied.
"I don’t care how many others you’ve had, how many others have had you… they’ll never be me. I’ll ruin you for them, lad, until you’ll be with them, but all you’ll be thinking about are my hands, my lips… won’t that be a pity, eh?”
Bucking his hips, Talon nudged the lad away, flinty gaze already surveying the dark, blotchy mark that bloomed across the lad’s throat. Good, let the other’s see that he was taken.
The smile that flitted across his lips was more cold that friendly, and Talon gave a two fingered salute of departure.
"You know where to find me, little one…"4 notes |
Mirrors have often been regarded as sacred, as venues through this reality to one of our own design. Talon completely disregarded this belief, however, in favor of his own: mirrors were a both a bother and a saving grace. They revealed his pursuers just as often as they revealed him to his pursuers. Mirrors were a tricky breed not to be trifled with.
In this instance, however, he would have to admit they were rather useful.
The Hall of Mirrors was a popular attraction, however simple it was. There was something fascinating about walking down the path to see millions and millions of yourself reflected back, moving in unison with your own motions as you attempt to muddle your way through a twisting maze.
More importantly, this was the perfect place to lose a trigger happy sheriff.
On feet of fog and shadow, he skulked down the narrow, twisting path, gloved fingers skimming the surface of the glass. It was eerie, to walk into yourself, and Talon found himself flinching every time he turned a corner to look himself dead in the eye. The air was dead and still, and time seemed to suspend; this was a realm all in its own, and she was everywhere.
Caitlyn bounced off the ceilings, lurked around every corner— Talon would swear he felt the barrel of her gun grazing the nape of his neck each time he turned. The sole saving grace was the idea that she was just as confused as he, and thus would not be able to work her way through as quickly.
Besides, he had a head start, eh?
It did give him ample opportunity to study her features, however, from the soft curve of her cheek to the flinty determination in her eye. Though they orbited each other on a regular basis, generally he was too preoccupied with not being punched full of holes to pay much attention. Like a prowling cat she was graceful, limbs lithe and willowy, and Talon found himself rather distracted by the frustrated part of her lips, the pert wrinkle of her nose.
Perhaps that’s why he almost stumbled into her.
At first, it had appeared to be yet another reflection— Caitlyn was turned away, arms extended before her as though she was just about to take flight. It was rather amusing, really, to watch her stumble forward, swearing beneath her breath—
Her breath. He could hear her breathing.
The sound was almost shocking after spending so long in silence, and Talon blanched, instinctively stopping dead in his tracks. It seemed as though she had yet to notice him— the mirrors had effectively confused her sense, just as he’d hoped. A delicious sense of satisfaction came over him— Talon had forgotten how thrilling it was to play cat instead of mouse. For a few moments, he merely watched her, enjoying the tense sort of electricity that hummed accompanied the moment. With quick, light steps, he stole up behind her, snatching her hands up before she could so much as gasp in surprise.
"Sheriff," he murmured, voice but a low rumble of amusement as she struggled against him. The rifle on her back was cold, but that didn’t stop Talon from pressing his body against her own, nudging a knee between her own.
Like an eel she wriggled, and a grimace of annoyance slipped over his lips as he struggled to contain her. Trapping both her wrists in one hand, Talon drew a length of cord from the pocket of his cloak— one never knew when cord would be useful, and it was a staple in any thief’s kit— and bound her hands tightly. There would be none of this escaping business, not today.
"Proud of yourself, aren’t you thief? What a pity it takes cheap tricks for you to catch me— really, I’d thought you better than this."
"I never said I was fair, sheriff— you decided that all on your own," he intoned, hooking a hand about her waist so as to jerk her to a halt. Talon was tired of her struggles, and was growing weary of her sharp tongue with every passing second. "Only you’d expect a thief to play by the rules, eh?"
Her writhing had knocked back his hood, and glancing up, Talon was all at once startled by the sight they made— her skin was pale against his own, and hot indignation had brought a flush to the curve of her cheeks. A heat stirred in him where her body pressed against his own, soft and foreign, and Talon found it all to easy to fit his lips against her ear and murmur, “Besides, I rather like it when I win.”
Absentmindedly his fingertips stroked circles on the cloth of her short dress, stealing down to cup the sharp bone of her hip, the smoothness of her thigh. She squirmed against him, breath coming in short, rapid bursts, and Talon found himself smiling as he sank his teeth into the velvety flesh of her earlobe, sucking harshly.
Without thinking he glanced up into the mirror before them, eyes of silver catching her own of gold and brown, and it all become to real. Abruptly, he released her, shoving the sheriff forward almost roughly. She was incapacitated, he could leave freely now.
"Until next time…" he added, voice but the ghost of a whisper as he disappeared into the glittering maze once more.
Perhaps next time he’d manage to keep his damned priorities straight. She was an officer, the one trying to incarcerate his ass. She was not interesting, was not even human. She was a target.6 notes |