Work Text:
Illyria knows that masculinity and femininity are social constructs. Well, Illyria knows that bodies do not define your gender, let us say -- Illyria has no thoughts to spare for ideas like "social construct."
But Illyria is God King of the Primordium, Shaper of Things. And Illyria knows that Dawn carries within that fleshy mortal fragile carriage an energy that unlocks the gateways between dimensions, and energy is something to be shaped by God Kings -- to be played with and manipulated by them.
Illyria doesn't yet know how to release the Key from its mortal shell, but Illyria can be patient.
Illyria's has roamed Dawn's body with mouth -- lips and tongue and teeth -- and hands -- fingers, nails, palms. Illyria has heard Dawn moan and groan and scream. Illyria knows which sounds mean "harder" and which mean "faster" and which mean "slower." Illyria knows there are sounds that mean "stop," but those sounds have not yet passed through Dawn's throat -- even when Illyria strikes flesh against flesh with all the force this shell contains. At those moments, Illyria hears the sounds that mean "more." Dawn is bound to the bed -- with silk or leather or chains -- writhing beneath the blows, bruises blossoming beneath that pale skin, and still Illyria hears the sounds that mean "more."
Illyria has learned that these sounds don't stop until something draws blood -- at those moments, Dawn relaxes, like a warrior cut down in the midst of battle.
Illyria likes the taste of Dawn's blood -- likes the taste of it mixed with other fluids human bodies make. Illyria knows the Key is not something to be fed on -- it is a tool, to be wielded. But Illyria also knows that there is power in blood, and while Illyria knows one cannot absorb the Key, Illyria is exploring all avenues.