All my twisted thoughts free flow| WillowxCinder

[Whiskers]

This was a very different game than what Willowpaw was used to.

Though she had not been an apprentice for long-- in fact sometimes Willowpaw woke up, expecting the sweet scent of the nursery, rather than to have Juncopaw resting by her side-- she had already familiarized herself with most of the apprentices, and had quickly discovered that she had a special charm when it came to the male ones. She loved her fluffy, teasing banter that she sometimes exchanged with the toms and she was more than happy when they reciprocated with their own remarks, movements, looks. But this was not fluffy, light, innocent like those games were in the apprentice den. This was something bigger more dangerous. Willowpaw's initial instinct was to shy away.

Good thing she never listened to her instinct. And good thing that she could be just as sharp-edged, just as 'dangerous,' for she felt-- no, knew-- that she would need a bitter, biting streak in order to hold her own against Cinderpaw. Already he was proving difficult, his expressions dark like night and heavy as stone, his gaze fluctuating between indifference and mild amusement. And Willowpaw couldn't stand for mild amusement. She needed to see his eyes tremble in their sockets. She wanted his claws to grate at the floor in anticipation, for each glance that he sent her way to be fervent and needy. She wanted his breath to come in gasps when she got this close, for him to question his very sanity.

To do all that, she would need to try hard. Very hard. She was pretty, no doubt. Her fur was moonlight and her eyes promised secrets. But she knew in her heart of hearts that she was still nothing more than a kit, a blossoming bud aching for the sun. She would eventually reach her full potential, with soft curves wrapping themselves around her hips like streams and legs growing longer and fuller. But it would be some time, and for now, she was nothing more than a pretty little seed, hidden in the dirty, dank, dark ground. She needed to be beautiful in order to entice Cinderpaw and it would be hard to pull off such a lie. But if anyone could do it, Willowpaw could.

His answers unsatisfied her, just like the rest of him-- the casual tone, the bored way he flicked his eyes at her. He was a liar, she suspected. He must have come in for a different reason, since the apprentice den was just as warm as the medicine cat den.

But she would not outright accuse him and demand his real answer. At least he had made an attempt.

Her tail stirred into motion, flicking back and forth, purposefully ticking Cinderpaw's own tail, before swishing away with a whirl. This movement was repeated, again and again, while Willowpaw mused her own reply to Cinderpaw.

"I was too lost in nightmares to think about the cold," she said, in such a strange tone, one of almost cheerfulness, though her frown would suggest otherwise. "But...I'm sure that will change. I'm sure I'll be very cold...once you leave."

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[swift]

She snaked her tail along the length of his, like some poisonous serpent trapping a mouse.

“I was too lost in nightmares to think about the cold,” she cooed. And her eyes locked onto his as she continued, “But…I’m sure that will change.”

Quickly, he withdrew his tail from her tightening coils. She frowned, but her voice was cheerful as she said, “I’m sure I’ll be very cold…once you leave.”

He stared at her hard before he felt unmistakable words collecting at the back of his throat. “Is that so?” He cocked an eyebrow. “Are you trying to tell me that you want me to stay?”

He had cut right to the chase, and that, for one, was a pleasant surprise to himself if not for her as well. Having broken the previous clinging vehemence with which he had beheld and fantasized her, and having realized/persuaded himself that his dreams were the simple wanderings of a mind under stress, he dismissed the tiny prick of guilt for his [bound to be taken as impolite] straightforwardness with a gruff hand. The violent mess of emotions that had held him so fast in its grip only a moment ago was clearly the result of the many sleepless nights and vigils he had lately become a victim of...

But then again, where was the fun in ending this silly banter? He knew it was all going to lead to absolutely nowhere. He knew that this conversation was a pointless waste of breath, but still something stirred in him--awoke groggy and sleepy-eyed from slumber--upon her furtive approaches.

He chuckled quietly, as if remembering something remarkably funny. “How cute. You’re like a puppy. I feed you, and you give me your lifelong loyalty and love.”

Of course, he had only his intuition to back up his accusation, but what would usually be considered so abstract was, in fact, solid and concrete for him.

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[Whiskers]

He had the bite of an adder and each word was a fang, and they brought new poison to Willowpaw's veins. She was so used to the physical pain of her wounds that she had forgotten how the emotional kind of wound felt. It was acute, just as intense, and focused in the center of her chest. From the pain blossomed anger, a lethal flower with teeth. However, Willowpaw only blinked once-- her eyelashes falling like a curtain in front of her hurt eyes, hiding her real feelings-- and when her eyes were exposed again, they were neatly composed and amused.

Yes. Amused. After all, what Cinderpaw had said was funny, Willowpaw told herself. He was insulting and degrading, but oh, she would pretend to be humored by the remark. His words were not fangs, but feathers, and they tickled her until she gave a smirk in return. If Cinderpaw wanted to go this way, then fine, she would mosey down the path that he had chosen, with a flick of her tial, and a purr ever present in her throat.

And if it was any real consolation, Willowpaw thought, he had called her cute. In a degrading way, but... it was still enough to make Willowpaw feel it.

"Oh, please. You were the one that came in the cold, desperate for my company," Willowpaw mused with raised eyebrows, stars caught in the corner of her eyes. "I'm just being a good hostess letting you stay here by my side."

She turned her head away from Cinderpaw and her eyes focused on the mouse in front of them. Mice were small creatures and so it was already mostly eaten. She leaned down and finished it with just one bite. Afterward, she licked her lips. "Though thanks for delivering my dinner. It was delicious."

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[swift]

Beside her, Cinderpaw stiffened. His eyes flashed as he said,

“Oh?”

He watched her carefully, as he would a venomous snake. Yet he succeeded with fluid ease in deciphering every trace of emotion that made itself apparent on her countenance, no matter how fleeting or how diluted in strength and concentration. The next words that flowed from between his lips were measured and wary:

“A good hostess would not only offer her side.”

He arched his eyebrows in a question, adding emphasis to the unsaid between them. She was playing along with him, just as he had predicted, expected. Throughout all this time, the boredom that lulled the burn of his eyes had never faded, and now, it seemed paramount. His voice was balm; his overall tone smooth and cool. Coupled with an air of calm indifference, he seemed to be quite objective of her.

But then a corner of his mouth quirked up in a smile, so small and subtle enough to be teasing. He watched her silently as she knelt beside him and polished off the mouse. The truth was that he hadn’t been hungry at all to begin with. He had, in fact, brought the mouse for her in the first place. Only when it was offered to him did he eat to take the edge off the painful ache of want, not for sustenance, but for her.

When she was done, Cinderpaw leaned in towards her, pressing the side of his face against her cheek, urging her to turn back to him. The gesture was incredibly tender, and he could not help but sink his claws into the moss bedding underneath them to keep from snapping at her—to try and cover up the momentary lapse of weakness on his part.

“You’re welcome,” he said, his breath stirring the fur just above the base of her throat. “You owe me a mouse now.” He purred softly at the thought. “You’re indebted to me, and as so, I require payment.” Then his eyes widened, as if he had just realized his moral error, but the following conjectures were nothing about his ambiguous statements. “Ah, I forgot to give you a deadline. Tomorrow morning, perhaps?”

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