Somewhere deep inside, she felt a stirring. Like a rumbling of the tummy if her spirit or soul had a digestive tract. She knew exactly what it was, or rather who, and she suppressed it. Not now, damnit. Not yet. There were three things in life Dark Methuseld enjoyed most of all – feasting, fucking, and slaughtering, and she was well on her way to checking off a second box on the list. There was no way in all the hells that she’d let the blonde one take over now. She’d just fuck it up anyways – she was as awkward as Donovan and far less experienced, no doubt. Besides, Methuseld wasn’t strong enough to come out yet. She was weakened, like a traveler returned from the desert… bedridden, for all intents and purposes. And the prescription was ’stay the fuck out of my way’.<br/><br/><em>Aww, how cute…</em>she thought with her characteristic mild sarcasm, watching him unbuckle her belt with slow, gentle movements, like a new owner might unwrap an expensive gift. Their eyes met, his asking whether it was okay to proceed and hers remaining somewhat inscrutable. If Dark Methuseld had her way, they’d already be fucking now. But again, as pleasantly surprised as she was by the apparent ease of the seduction, she still got the sense he might scamper off if she came at him too hard. It was tough for her to restrain herself, unfamiliar territory to a being used to living vicariously, spontaneously, and lustily. All she wanted was to sit up, close the distance, snap a hand on his stupid face to bring it closer to hers, and let her other explore how easy it was to get into his loincloth.<br/><br/>As her belt fell to her sides, Dark Methuseld lifted her hips into the air and closer to him, giving him a more ‘head-on’ view of the present he was about to unwrap. He pulled the belt out from under her, setting her sword against the boulder with an annoying amount of care, and went to her clasp as she presented it to him.<br/><br/>Setting herself back on the rock, the dark woman waited as patiently as she could for him to finish, though truthfully all she wanted in the whole world right now was to rub her yearning crotch against something, anything, to pleasure herself. Damn that magic of his that had made her so damn horny. If she’d thought about it a little, she might have wondered if a being such as her was more susceptible to his sort of magic, but the out to lunch sign was showing and her critical thinking was nowhere to be found.<br/><br/>After what seemed like an eternity (in which she’d already contemplated the pros and cons of masturbating herself against a wide variety of objects in their vicinity), she felt the clasp of her leather loincloth undone, felt the garment go limp against her hips. She watched him peel it away, watched his eyes as he beheld her womanhood for the first time.<br/><br/>The milky-white skin of her pubis, utterly smooth and laid impossibly bare, guided his eyes lower and lower until he beheld a small, pink, neigh-on-impossibly innocent-looking flower that ought to have belonged to a princess on the night of her wedding, not a 30-something warrior demon-woman.<br/><br/>“Like what you see?” Asked a sultry, thick, honeyed voice. A hand clad in the black-spiked, blood-soaked metal gauntlet of Dark Methuseld snaked its way down her navel, down ever lower until it reached that flower, and with two fingers opened her pink petals to him, showing silken depths of gentle rose. “How does it look? Perhaps you can inspect further… make sure all is well…”