Try Honesty (Incubus)

[Andarial]

Lyrics by Billy Talent

She paced toward the small pool of water. She glanced about before lowering her head and lapping up the water. The liquid soothed her dry and heated throat. She sighed as she brought her regal head back up. The king cheetah laid a good deal away from the water. Something about water had always set her on edge ever since she was a cub. Unbeknownst to her it was because she had been almost drowned by her father the night she was born. So ever since she could remember she had hated swimming and only neared water when absolutely necessary.

She lay within the shadows of a acacia tree. She blinked tiredly. She soon fell asleep and was dreaming. There was a cat in her dreams. He melted into the black backgroundof her dream and all she could see was dull yellow eyes. He spoke to her but she didn't understand the words, all she knew was she felt creeped out by him, yet strangely pulled towards him.

She fought against the pull growling and twitching in her sleep. Soon she gasped and opened her eyes. Her breath came out in fast pants and she glanced about. What a strange dream. She wished she had never had it.

[Trench]

i’ve got an eye for top tier women

Speak of the devil, and the devil will come. Oh yes, whisper his name, moan it in your sleep, the quietest murmur is all he need, all the reason in the world to him; his name on your mind, on your breath, like a drug to him, an addiction, and he, the addict, incapable of turning away, of ever making that breath the last one, never able to leave that pleasure, never capable of fighting the withdrawals. Oh yes, just whisper his name, caress it with your tongue, let his image flash through your mind, and here he shall come, drawn, drawn, ever drawn, and ever the creature of lust, following his desires, his addictions. The audience knows it to be true, as does he, but does she? They watch her, tossing and turning, smirking his very own smirk, knowing he shall come, all upon seats’ edges, awaiting, awaiting, ever awaiting him, the star, the main player, awaiting his performance, his presence, ready, ever so ready, for his grace, his charisma—vulgar as it is—to grace the stage around which they wait, which they watch, upon which she lays, panting, his face in her mind, his name on her breath, though she not know it yet. Poor girl, poor girl, but there is no pity here, for his name is known well to they, to the audience, to his adoring fans, oh yes, his tricks are known, his ways are known, the sins and lusts and temptations he brings have darkened their hearts, tainted their souls, and not a weak soul remains among the crowd, all eager to see her fall, not a one to protest his actions. And here he comes! Oh yes, from the back of the audience, striding forward, as though without seeing them, but all the while feeling their gaze upon his every movement, combing across each fur upon his pelt, and he revels, yes, revels in the attention, passing among them, a mere shadow, yet seen by all, summoned by her calls, silent as they may be, drawn to the spot of downfalls past, of victories past, the spot which has become his home, his favored resting place, drawn to rest himself among the scent of her failure, of his victory, of his pleasure, but also drawn by a voice altogether new, altogether unknown. Speak of the devil, oh yes, and the devil will come, and so he does.

with legs so long they go straight to heaven

Her scent is not masked, not even by his own heady musk, not by her despair, his pleasure, his release; no, no, for old are these scents, stale, though ever present to his scrutinizing senses, to senses which seek them out for his own cruel pleasures, his own dark memories, and present, also, to the crowd, so aware of his conquests, of her failure, and of the aftermath he has watched and reveled in, smirking all the while. Yet even these scents, pleasing as they are, do not hide her, and he knows, oh yes, he knows she rests here, among his realm, among his scent—does she wish it were her own? Smirk curls rightfully upon his maw, claiming its natural place; why, he can arrange that, oh yes, and with glee for all but her. The audience applauds, yes, yes, there is that smile! That smirk they love, are enslaved by, there it shows itself, yes, yes, this is their player, their hero, their villain, their master, this is what they have come to see, and the applaud him, herald his advance upon the stage, falling silent only as his paws graze the mossy undergrowth which sprawls across the edge of the stage, waiting for him to enter the clearing, eager for his words, his actions, all ready for the play to begin in truth, as it would upon his entrance, upon his revealing himself. Yes, they are silent now, and so they hear it, as he pushes through into the clearing, snakelike through the grasping tendrils of undergrowth, yes, they hear it, deep, throaty, his chuckle, growing from his chest, projecting through smirking maw, oh yes, they hear it, does she? ”My, my,” a murmur, soft, enthralling, as though he would lull her back to sleep, leave her defenseless before him, a doll, yet all the warmer, for his uses alone; is that not all she is, anyways? ”Had I known a gift were awaiting my return, I would have hastened home all the sooner,” lyrics woven so easily, as always they are, pulled naturally from the script resting within his mind’s eye, so easy a part he plays, so well known, and she, as always, all the dumber before him. ”Well, my dear, I’m loathe to keep you waiting…shall we get to it, then?”

but tonight i’ll take what i can get
_{incubus
793
lyrics © dashboard confessional
haha, Incubus is wasting no time on this one xD}

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[Andarial]

She was on her feet in a flash as she scented him and heard him. Her bright, sapphire blue eyes narrowed slightly as she took in his appearance. Those dull yellow eyes were from her dream! She sat and raised a marked brow. She had a feeling she couldn't trust this jaguar. At his snippy remark she responded saying, "Perhaps it is I who was given the present, eh?" She knew exactly what he was talking about when he said "get to it."
She laughed, a slight tinkling sound.

Males had to prove themselves in order to get her. And though she loved sex she kept strictly to the her code. Suddenly her eyes narrowed again and she snapped at him, "You must think yourself to be pretty high and mighty if you think you can take me without proving yourself." Her emotions were a roller coaster that she rode constantly and she loved it. She was once again calm and raising her eyebrow quizzically.

She knew that this jag would think that he wouldn't need to do anything special for her and he would just be able to have sex with her. Obviously he didn't know her. If he came near her she would attack, though she preferred not fighting just because she was light weight for a cat, though not for a cheetah. But if she had to she would fight. And she was a pretty good fighter.

[Trench]

i’ve got an eye for top tier women

Around him, around them, around it all, the audience roars, a deafening sound, crushing in upon the ears, yet it does not hurt, does not strike him odd, does not make him ache to cover his ears; he listens, takes it in, the deafening roar of laughter, of applause; so rowdy, so rowdy, all the more rowdy with the taint he has imparted upon their hearts. Yet it does not bother him, far to the contrary, he enjoys this change, revels in it, in the tangling darkness which paints their hearts black and turns them to his will, to his ways, and he is only bid onwards by their encouragement, aroused by the thoughts that he shares with them, by the fate she faced, the fate they so eagerly awaited. Oh yes, laugh, laugh loudly, and he joins them, a chuckle, a rumble lost in his ears to the roar of the audience, but he knows she hears, she who is deaf to the audience, blind to her fate, to the winding, twisting cycle which grips her and drags her down, down, down, until she lies struggling beneath him, struggling upon him, a mere toy, as ever she has been and will be. Blind, blind and deaf, blind and deaf and dumb, trash, as always they are, yet still some use remains in their fresh little bodies, in that enthralling scent. Oh yes, he knows he has been captured, but he, the puppet master, strings wound about his paws, is ever in control, bound to her by his own control, by the lusts which drive him, but still the master, though both be entangling in winding, sweat-soaked sheets entrapping them in the throes of desire, but he still pulling the strings, bends her to himself, to his purpose, to his pleasure. Oh yes, let her be trash, he’ll use her as ever he has, use her as the audience wills, as he wills, as the demon wills. But such feisty trash! Such a whore already, it would seem, well before his own movements, his own actions, could weave her into her proper place, and again the audience laughs, roaring above her words, and he, as always, merely sparks his quiet chuckle, that dull rumble, lost, lost, ever lost among the current of the audience’s raucous voices, their laughter, so spiteful, so spiteful; he can hear them now, oh yes, as laughter dies, voices arise. Is she serious? What is she smoking? Just who is she? And he laughs, laughs above their dying laughter; just wait, good people, just wait and see, for all are the same, yes, all are, see how she gives herself as they always do, just wait, oh yes, just wait, for he is the master, and she, merely his mistress, throwing herself into his arms, yet never having someone to bring her home, for pleasure is checked at the door to his bedroom, and he need not leave, but merely toss her out.

with legs so long they go straight to heaven

Slowly, slowly, the uproar dies down, they see him laughing, and, as always, they know words, actions, everything follows that laugh, that signature laugh of his, low, sensuous, yet always a taunt, always a mockery. But they know, and so they silence themselves, awaiting, always awaiting, for he is the player, and it is his move to be made, as always, as always. Muscles roll beneath his pelt as they watch, paws shifting across the ground—what’s this, what’s this, so soon already? But no, no, not just yet, he is merely shifting forward, a warning, perhaps, or perhaps merely a slow start to what is to come. A step, a step, and he pauses again, muscles languid, as though he could shift forward again at barest askance, with the utmost ease. No fear, no doubt, he’s in control, after all, why should he balk at female scorn, when it is, of course, all he ever faces? Muscles fall still momentarily, making way with their silence for his voice, those silky words, to flow through his maw, shifting at his command, well-oiled and ever ready, as always, as always. ”Oh baby, but didn’t you know? It’s in the taking that I prove myself best. But what proof is that, hm? Words? Why not just sit pretty there and let me show you just how worthy I am, hm?” He trails off, the words left to ring upon the air of their own accord as his maw falls still, and he shifts onwards, his muscles taking up again with action, following the directions in those italic slants of letters on a page, sliding his frame forward, curving it about her, a wide circle, spiraling, spiraling, the same twists and turns of his cycle, that binding bit of fate which all found themselves spinning within. Dizzying, is it not? Yet not for him, never for him, he who lives constantly upon those turns, within those curves, twisting ever with it, immune to its effects, yet just as bound as any to its path. Closer he comes, tail shifting behind him, sliding closer still to her, until the lightest of touch caresses her fur as he circles her. And this time, though words fight their way up his throat, beg to be formed by his tongue, action does not give way for their passing, continuing ever in that circle, around and around and around, his tail drawing his path upon her fur, and now come his words, encircling her as he does; does she see it yet, the trap he weaves, the cycle upon which she sits? Oh, but soon, soon, dear ones, she will see, for nothing is hidden when he has his way. ”How ‘bout it, hm? Or would you rather play coy, try to stop me? It makes no difference to me, my dear; all the games are fun, regardless their taste, and your body will feel just as warm whether you struggle or move to me. But if its pleasure you want, wouldn’t fighting be…just a bit counterproductive?” A pause, a chuckle, around and around he goes, ever winding, a step here and there, bringing him closer, encircling, entrapping, and again he speaks. ”I find I’m not partial to either; after all, a warm body is just as pleasing whether you bite or lick. It’s not your mouth I’m concerned with, anyways.”

but tonight i’ll take what i can get
_{incubus
1060
lyrics © dashboard confessional
Oi, he’s in a nasty mood, ain’t he? xD}

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[Andarial]

She stood and followed him. Not letting him get her back side in front of him. She hissed, and narrowed her blue eyes. She turned on him, getting in front of him and she walked forward and stopped just in front of him and laughed in his face. "Your gonna have to take it from me! But I'm not saying I won't enjoy this." There was a dangerous sparkle in her eyes and she stepped back a few steps and went down on her forelegs. Excitement radiated off her, making her blue eyes spark and shine. She purred.

Her mind whirred from anger to excitemnt to want. This jaguar was attractive and witty. Something she loved in a cat. She could very well in enjoy and not just the "fight." Because she didn't really enjoy fights, no she was eager for the sex. It had been a while since her last escapade and she was aching for it. Wanting it so bad that she would press her own chest to the dirt for this cat, if it weren't for her self-respect. A lopsided smirk crossed Gwenwyvere's mouth and she growled playfully. Egging him on. She knew he would easily win this fight, he was much heavier than her, and she knew he knew it too.