so it begins ( grey )

Irrevocably brutal, demented, remorseless—sickening, yet gloriously exhilarating; such are the traits of obsession, potent and suffocating, coiling mercilessly about one’s mind and ravenously devouring their thoughts, feelings, and emotions, until little more than a distorted perception of the world remains. Such is a perception of admission, acceptance, and a severely heightened longing; a self-imposed reassurance, partnered with an otherwise unsatisfied thrill. Obsession is desire in its most primitive, primal, and instinctual state, where all logic is lost and instead replaced with a frighteningly animalistic mindset. To engage in obsession, to allow it to flourish and blossom without restraint, was to flirt shamelessly with disaster—this, Laevinus was well aware of. And yet, he hardly bothered in ceasing such immoral behavior.

It wasn’t a lack of will or self-control, but instead an intense amusement and sense of fulfillment—without sex, Laevinus was lost, forced to live a hellish life of vigor and atrocious ferocity, slaughtering the innocent and terrorizing the undeserving in order to make up for his lack of female company. Sex was not only a thrill, a game of which he adored with every fibre of his being, but an outlet; it allowed his body to release the copious amount of tension of which boiled intensely beneath the skin.

And thus, with the arrival of love and loss throughout Laevinus’ life, a habit developed. It hardly took long, for said habit to develop into a deeply-embedded, lethal obsession.

The male’s lips twitched as he stalked grimly down the dimly-lit, steadfast wooden path, eyes clouded, brimming with a very raw and unearthly hunger—intensity, at its finest. His facial expression was forbiddingly grave, as though etched out of fine clay or granite, his blatant lack of emotion and warmth obvious, features dauntingly cold like that of brittle stone. He was a force to be reckoned with, a valiant and magnificent King, and it was blunt within the regal and dignified way of which he conducted himself; so much power, so much brutal, raw strength and infuriation.

He took no prisoners, held no mercy, and souk out that of which he claimed as his own.

His territory, his loyalists, his power—he had made a wonderful foundation post-war, and he had his ruthlessness to thank.

The male’s body was tense, flexed and profound muscle sliding easily beneath his smooth and ivory coat as he made his way down the expanse of dock, head dipped into neutral alignment with his shoulders and lips parted to display the very tips of his lethal canines. His mood was a rather bitter one, as his hormones had begun to run rampant—and, thus bloomed his instinctual need to find female company. There were several females of the pack, certainly, but it wasn’t as though he could simply take his pick; seeing as they followed him, willingly, Laevinus knew better then to act aggressively towards them concerning said aspect. He wanted to, longed to, but, of course, he instead exercised restraint. Or, rather, he did to the best of his ability.

It did not take long, for the scent to dance past the brute’s sensitive nostrils, provoking his heart to pound and head to lift. Lone female—familiar, lone female. With the revelation, Laevinus propelled himself forwards more purposefully, each stride collected and demanding the respect deserving of a king; he yearned for satisfaction and, thus, there was little he wouldn’t do in order to achieve said feat. She came into view just moment following, such a sleek and ravishing vixen, and Laevinus found his jowls wrinkling, lips curling into a sly, salacious smile. Harley. She sat motionless, poised alongside a meal; the setting was serene, though the alabaster mongrel gave little care towards such divinity. The tranquility shattered upon his immediate arrival, a low growl rumbling within the depths of his chest in greeting. “Harley,” the glutton drawled as he approached the bitch, head dipping in order to rake his mug against the ridge of her spine, “It is always a pleasure.”