[graves]

Originally Posted by amo

Cuckoosnarl smiled-- it was more of a smirk, a grimace, than a genuine expression of happiness, but he smiled anyways. There it was: the flinch, the whisper, the doubt. The taste of control filled his mouth, and Starclan, it was sweet. Larkfall really did go through leaps and bounds to convince himself that this was okay, that this was what mates did. It would be endearing if he wasn’t as used to it, but at least he knew how to make it seem as if he knew exactly what he’d done, exactly why he deserved this. Letting out a slightly breathy laugh, he murmured, “I know you won’t let it, Larkfall. I trust you. Do you trust me? Look at me, kitten.”

Softly pressing into him, he began to purr again. One word flashed to his mind-- easy. This was easy. Everything was with Larkfall. Everything, it seemed, except actually getting what he wanted; him, all the time, whenever he wanted. For as long as he wanted. ‘Space’ was not supposed to be a concept, when it came to Cuckoosnarl. Larkfall was, as he always was, hesitant, and it frustrated him. He didn’t always want to have to force him into things, contrary to popular consensus, and yet it happened too many times to be accidental. What a pity.

Rasping his tongue across his mate’s back, he whispered, “I love you. Do you know that? I love you more than any cat in all the Clans could.” That much was true; his word was to be held higher than the Warrior Code by his lover. It only made sense-- loyalty to your Leader was voluntary. Loyalty to your mate was meant to be absolute; unchangeable as the Stars’ control over all their lives.

At his request, he nodded. “Of course, kit. C’mere.”

Hopefully, this would be enough to hold him over for three or four moonhighs. Or a moon, actually. It would have to be; he preferred not to treat Larkfall in excess.

he looked at him. maybe it was sickening to say that everytime lark looked at him, he fell in love all over again. he looked no different from when they had first met,both of them. but in the back of his head he knew...he knew cuckoo wasnt the same as when they first met. there was a part of him that was stable, that knew that this was wrong, that knew he was feeding him lies. but..why would he do that? why would his cuckoosnarl hurt him like that? in that same part of his head, he knew cuckoo was anything but his. he was anything but dedicated. he reeked of other toms when he came home. he didnt love him. he was using him. but why ? what sin-what crime- had he done to deserve something like that? so he convinced himself that this is how mates were. that every punishment and claw he received was out of love, such a sick and twisted word at this point. that every night he came home after being with another tom was because of him, that it was his fault, that he was doing something wrong. feeling him press closer he melted into the touch, pretending that for a moment, he was his one and only.

hearing those words he wanted to jump with joy, a small but eager smile forming on his face when his request was granted. leaning forward he let his head rest under his mates. though he hesitated. now that he was close to cuckoo, the scent of the other tom was even stronger, sickening. it made lark want to vomit, not out of sickness but out of pure anxiety and drastic mood change. he gave out a small whimper, almost inaudiable,¨I..I love you too, with all of my being.¨ saying those words werent as enjoyable now. bitter sweet. he felt almost robotic, planning what he has to say inorder not to anger his love. saying those words felt automatic, forced even. he meant them, but to what extent anymore? he didnt know.