<em>No.... I know what I want.... Close your eyes Tegan. and you must keep them closed tight, no matter what you feel and how bad you want to look you cannot, not yet.</em><br/><br/>Roe used his hand to guide her forward, now not longer sitting straight up, but curved, the expanse of back exposed. He held her for a moment longer, making sure she understood to stay before he removed his hand and let it trail down her neck. He moved his fingers, letting them play along her spine before removing his hand and stepping one, then two steps away from her.<br/><br/>The room exploded into a wet and heavy heat. It was not warm, now flooded with a burning with no smoke, no hint of fire. The center of the temperature was Roe, now Rosuriel, his eyes had rolled and now burned with a deep blue even as matching tears ran over his skin. It was good that he was bare, the wings, sprouting and forming from his back would have shredded his clothing. They appeared to be the source of the dampness, as if a bird had just emerged from an egg and not yet dried. He could not flare then for fear of destroying the room, thus the increase of heat.<br/><br/>He hated this about himself. That he fed on her fear and lust in equal measures and that both would sate him, and that she felt both because of him. He did not want her to see him, his wings of fire coloured feathers. He refused his demonic countenance, it would have been easier to assume, instead he was a mockery of his former self, and it was far more painful to manifest. A reminder of his role in all this. But what could not be denied, what flooded through the room and the heat was the presence of a fallen Angel. The one time servant of the divine now of the abyss. Made flesh by Tegan's words and will, and bound to her with her blood. A tool of creation and all that it entailed. For the first time, Tegan had a chance, the moment, to feel the power emanating from her chosen lover.<br/><br/>Rosuriel hated his forms, all of them, and at times like this he channeled the hate as carefully as he could. He flexed the wing and turned, sending the appendage to Tegan. Across her back the weight of hundred of feathers, but not like any bird she had ever felt or seen. The quills scratched with out breaking the skin. The feathers were as hot to the touch as his skin was at the height of his arousal. The texture felt as if the feathers where a soft leather.<br/><br/>He did not strike her skin, there was no smack or thud upon her. He brought the wing across her flesh like introducing someone to a flogger. Letting them feel the instrument before its usage. The wings circulated his scent, the pheromones , the roses and ash, across and over her body. His arousal, her arousal, their scent mixed together in some exotic perfume.<br/><em><br/>Again... and tell me what you will take from me Tegan. Do you want more?</em>