You're... you're not really sure how this happened at all. One minute you were standing there shouting insults and curses at each other, the next you were pinned to the floor, scarf and cape in tatters, and a ferious mouth claming yours brutally. His teeth ripped at your lips, and as you gasped in pain his split tongue forced its way through, ravaging your mouth, licking along your teeth and twirling around your own. In defense of the violent organ you chomp down razor sharp teeth, eliciting a sharp hiss from your attacker as the tongue withdraws.

You pant heavily, glasses askew, meticulously cared for hair now falling in disarray about your head and a purple hue to your cheeks. Your violet eyes gaze with a slight fear into the mismatched red and blue of the other, hands at his chest, and every muscle tells you to push him away, send the imputent lowblood flying backwards with your rage.

Well, almost every muscle. There is one that stirs longingly, and you know that if things go on you won't be able to resist the feelings coursing through your veins. It's all a matter of lust and need.

With a slight groan of defeat you grab a fistful of fabric and pull, jamming your lips to his sloppily, inexpirienced and nervous as you were. With a smirk he takes over, pinning you down, invisible hands running up and down your body as his tongue once again ventures into your mouth, just as cruel, just as dominating as before. You weakly push at the other's chest, the submissive pose driving you insane, but it all just feels so good, fills you with such unmatchable pleasure...

There's a hand at your hips, now, tugging at your waistband. With a muffled cry of alarm you reach down to stop him, things moving way too fast, but a glowing blue envelops your hand, halting it midmovement. With a whimper you pull back. A teasing finger trails over your stomach, hooking the edge of your pants before easing them down slowly, tauntingly, boxers an' all, and despite your reluctance you know that you just want it to happen faster, the implications to come true, and as fingers gently brush over your aroused bulge you can't help but buck slightly. Your tormentor smirks again, long canines glinting. You never knew that this guy could be so strong and dominating. You never knew he could be so cruel.

A keening noise arises from your throat as those fingers leave your bulge, trailing back up and under your shirt to your sides, running along the gills there. You shiver, biting your lip, drops of purple blood trailing from the wound. A eager tongue follows the royal trail, continuing once again inside the mouth of the other. You tentatively press your tongue against his. A shudder races through your body, laced with hate and need, but it isn't gentle prodding that the other is after. He twirls his tongue around yours and tempts it back into his own mouth. You shiver with desire and the brief feeling of domination as you begin exploring, but barely a second passes before his teeth dig into your tongue, making you whimper in pain and surprise. A tingling fills your stomach at the pain, the feeling passing directly into your loins, your bulge fully erect and begging for attention. You blush with shame; the pain turns you on, you know; you've always been somewhat of a masochist, as much as you hate the fact. But right now it is your saving grace as you press your naked body against his still fully clothed one.

He looks down, smirking, and an trail of thought snakes its way down from your neck, over every gill, tauntingly slowly, before wrapping around your bulge and squeezing at just the right pressure, and you know you would have bucked where it not for the other's psionic powers now holding your hips still. His smirk grows as the thought begins to stroke, the speed torturously slow. You whine needingly, hands gripping at his shirt, eyes staring pleadingly into his own. His expression never wavers as his hand travels down to your nook, running a finger over the opening and causing your breath to hitch. Sure, you've touched your own bulge before, what boy your age hasn't, but never before have you even wondered about your nook. And now his finger is slowly pushing inside. You groan softly, toes curling at the strange, yet not entirely unwelcome feeling. His finger moves, and with every thrust you feel something in you stirring, your body growing slightly hotter. Another finger slips inside, and this slightly hurts. But only slightly. You're too caught up in the pleasure from the thought on your bulge and the fingers inside, and when yet another finger is added you can't help but cry out with the feeling. So unusual, so peculiar, so right. So, so right.

And then it's all gone.

You look up with a sharp whine, your every move showing just how much you miss the attention. What you see, however, before your eyes, immediately makes you shiver in apprehension and fear. Two bone bulges. Two of them! Their owner looks at you with a sneer, slowly stroking them, a yellow blush tainting his face. You quiver there silently, watching his hands with want, wishing for those hands to be on you, for him to bring you to the sweetest of heights whilst coated in the black veil of hate. You're lifted, surprised the land-dweller has the strength for that as he perches you over a shiny, silver pail, and you feel a blush coat your cheeks. You're really going to do it. It's really happening.

The twin bulges press against your nook, and with alarm you realise his plan, your eyes widening and mouth widening to shout stop, but it's too late. Together they breach your opening and you clench your teeth together, hissing. Oh cod, that hurt. You've never even been touched there before, one would have been a struggle, but BOTH at once... You whimper loudly, gripping at the other troll's top, but he doesn't slow, only continues to press in deeper. After what feels like an eternity, he is fully sheathed in you. Your body is tense, lip bleeding once more where your sharp fangs pierced the flesh, and your bulge is no longer tingling with pleasure. He notices this and reaches down a hand, stroking it back to life, and desperately you cling onto the sensation, slowly drowning out the throb of pain from your nether regions and realising just how... perfect it felt. Like two pieces of a puzzle, joined as one. You shift slightly, and the spark it sends through you is amazing. And smirking, he begins to move.

It feels uncomfortable at first, and you close your eyes at the random senses of pleasure you receive. He's groaning and fighting to get deeper, the added stretching a dull ache that only fuels the masochistic fire beginning to flare in your stomach. As he brushes against that secret bundle of nerves you buck, eyes snapping open, a loud moan escaping your lips as your claws rip through his shirt and scratch along his chest. He snarls at you warningly, his own claws digging into your arms, violet drops running down from the wounds. You tremble at the sharp pain. His growling quickly becomes chuckling as he thrusts again, faster this time, and within seconds he's found that spot once again, and you cry out with want and need. He hits the spot consistantly, hardly missing, and your stomach knots with the pleasure that is so intense, you know you can't last. The room is filled with the sounds of moans and flesh on flesh, panting and growling occupying the air, fiery passion burning and driving you to squirm with the lust that fills your frame, too much, so much, it can't last...

You arch and scream as release hits you, the tension in your stomach snapping like a rubber band stretched beyond it's limits. The overwhelming pleasure causes you to clench tightly down on his bulges, and he groans as well as he too reaches his orgasm. The feeling slowly fizzles away, leaving you with a gentle, light feeling in your stomach. You tremble ever-so-slightly, clinging to the other's chest. He pulls out, the sudden empty feeling causing you to whimper and cling to him further. He sighs and lifts you, strangely careful, as if you were fragile, and lowers you to the floor. For a minute you're afraid he's going to leave you - you wouldn't put it past him. It wasn't as if he cared about you at all, cared for you as anything other than a nuisance.

So when he lies next to you, one arm beneath you and cradling, the other stroking your forehead, you can't help the feeling that warms up your core. This isn't hate, it's... it's something more. What it is, you don't know. So... for now, hate. If you need to hate him for him to notice you, so be it. But still, there remains a question that desperately requires an answer...

"Does this mean... w-we're Kismesis, now-w, Sol?" you whisper, terrified of rejection, even after all this...

"Thtup up, Eridouthe," he growls lightly, scowling.

But his arms remain around you.