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[snaggleteeth]

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cw snakes

[snaggleteeth]

[the stranger slowly lifts the mug. watches the chai level seesaw, rich and thick. he inhales a bouquet of scents both unknown and oddly familiar. takes a sip. tastes it like a snake, trying to read more than one sense through the flavor slicking up his mouth, purling his tongue through it. he glances sidelong at her, a smile latent in his eyes, that does not quite reach his mouth. unaccustomed to being prey.

but it wouldn't do to let it on. instead, he reaches down, wraps fingers around the leg of her chair. gives it a firm yank closer. and with a sound like a rack of ribs cracking down one long, violent fissure line, the chairs meet, invert like a sternum, agreeing to couple into a loveseat.]

Like this. [he tilts the chai back at her, and in the cream is extracting itself from the cardamom clovey brown substrate. entropy reversing. white filaments squirming from the deep brown translucency, and then multiplying, thickening, viscous in a rambling spin, then resolving unmistakably into tiny, sinuous bodies, grotesquerie because humans look and expect to find head and arm and foot, cunt and tits separate from cock. order. organization. a ball of leucistic snakes mating in the mud looks monstrous. pain. predation.] Except, you have legs. And this.

[the teacup meets table. he touches her hair, a callused finger electing a single coil. (he is wondering how hard it would be for her to kill him.)]