<b><a class="link link--internal" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=http%3A%2F%2Fblackdahliaroleplaying.com%2Findex.php%3Fthreads%2Ffrosts-fellows.583%2F%23post-6528&amp;hash=11857f220709d8bdab96e79623651c45" href="http://blackdahliaroleplaying.com/index.php?threads/frosts-fellows.583/#post-6528">Furon</a></b><br/><br/>The hot air of a summer's night brought with it a deluge of smells and sounds that Furon wished he had the opportunity to fully appreciate as his boots tapped lightly on the sidewalk, carrying him closer to the safety of his house with each stride. Not his own safety, of course, perhaps the integrity of his morals. Yes. Fortunately for the small town of Boston, New York, their resident incubus upheld a loose sense of right from wrong.<br/><br/>On any other evening, the scents of arousal and alcohol would mean a veritable feast for the demon. But tonight . . . tonight he knew it best to abstain. He was no prude, far from it, and certainly unaccustomed to going days without feeding, but current circumstances dictated he behave himself. Ideally, he should have gorged yesterday, but the oncoming summer solstice had encouraged more demons to rise from the woodwork and Furon had his reasons for wishing to go unnoticed. The energy he would give  off  while feeding was certainly not something he could hide.<br/><br/>As such, instead of going into the solstice freshly satiated, he was quite honestly so hungry that sex hadn't left his mind for three seconds. His eyes, instead of sparkling their usual brilliant blue, were as black as coals, hidden only by the glamour he'd somehow managed to hold onto despite his head's lascivious wanderings. He passed a young woman on the sidewalk, her scent and shape enticing in ways that had images of sweat and limbs writhing through his psyche, but he was well-practiced in resisting his urges and banished the thoughts immediately. Gathering his fortitude, he quickened his pace and hurried towards the safety of his warded home. Warded against others, keeping them out. Warded against himself, keeping him in.<br/><br/>Once he crossed the threshold and sealed the wards behind him, he'd be sequestered to his own torturous frustrations, alone and unable to satisfy an urge he would never wish upon a mortal, an urge only a mortal soul could satisfy. Twice a year he subjected himself to such madness, denying his body a need so powerful it drove him insane on both the summer and winter solstices. The feeding, if he allowed it, would be so intense and ofttimes violent that any participants, willing or no, would be highly unlikely to survive. Contradictory to his own nature, and that of most demons, fucking someone to death was not Furon's idea of a good time.<br/><br/>He much preferred the sights, sounds an taste of a mortal's energy as they begged him for more. Their bodies were something to be cherished, not ravaged into oblivion.<br/><br/>But, of course others would partake on this night and Furon could do nothing to stop them. He'd learned his lesson in trying centuries ago.<br/><br/>He'd nearly made it to the door of his home, only two blocks away as he rounded the corner into a quaint suburb. He caught the scent of other immortals, denizens of Hell who came to Earth only during these times, only to cause chaos and wreak havoc before descending back into the fires. Their scent grew stronger, but so too did something else. The heady aroma had Furon stopping in his tracks, doing a double take around him, but not knowing what it was, or who it was, he sought. The solstice would be on him in minutes as he eyed the moon's ascent, but this smell, whoever it was, called to him in ways he'd never felt. In fact he was already hardening painfully within the confines of his jeans.<br/><br/>Despite his better judgement, Furon turned away from his home, away from his wards, and followed the aroma, his mind clearly not in the right place. He felt a need to claim, take what was his, and the stench of other demons in the area did nothing but heighten his sudden possessiveness. Unbidden, his horns had formed, black and sleek as they swept back over his skull, but he'd barely noticed, didn't care if others saw him as long as he found what he sought.<br/><br/><a class="username" data-user-id="152" data-username="@Kiomii" data-xf-init="member-tooltip" href="https://blackdahliaroleplaying.com/members/152/">@Kiomii</a>