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He hates ravens. He also hates Rue. And he's not exactly sure why he's thinking about ravens while engaging her like this.
Maybe it's because her hair is soft, like crow's feathers.
It's the first thing Fakir notices as he grips it in his fist, holding her head back and forcing her against the wall. The teen can feel her harshly pulling at his own ponytail, but he pays it no mind as he pinches her chin and yanks her mouth open before mashing his lips upon hers. There's an aggravated sound lost somewhere deep within the connection, but it is easily ignored. Their mouths are wide and open against each other, but he doesn't dare use his tongue. He knows she'll bite.
Rue wraps a hand around his neck, pressing her thumb into his pulse. And she only continues to tug at his hair, making sure to scratch her nails against his scalp. She wants to irritate him, wants to laugh at him. But she's not impressed with his grip on her jaw, and wretches her head away. All the while, her wine-red eyes are full of smugness and amusement as she stares down his green glare.
He was the one who started it. The pathetic knight who only had condescending words for her. The circumstances they were under beforehand aren't quite so clear anymore, but they don't even matter.
"You want me so bad you don't know what to do with yourself." She removes the hand from his hair to grip at the wrist trying to reinstate its hold on her chin.
But he only scoffs in response. "Don't flatter yourself." And he all but shoves her against the wall, fingers tickling in her raven-soft hair and shaking his other hand out of her grasp.
She can put up a front all she wants. But he knows on the inside, she's disgusted with herself. Because she's goddamn enjoying it. And she can throw her own feelings back in his face, but all Fakir wants to do is revel in her embarrassment. Make her feel disgusted. That she wants him and likes the feel of him.
She tastes bitter, he notes with a hint of amusement. Bitter and hating and not wanting to want but wanting anyway. His thoughts aren't even making sense anymore as he starts grabbing more of her.
But she's determined to fight back. She knows he's the one who wants it. And the girl breathes hotly down his throat, scratching down his neck with such ferocity that she'll hate herself in the morning. She tries to bite his lip, but he holds her jaw firmly and she swears she can feel the smirk against her mouth. The bastard.
And she won't moan for him. She refuses to. Sounds of pleasure are only reserved for her prince, whose location is unknown for the two are too immersed with each other. The man who unwittingly fuels the flames of their hatred for one another.
Ravens are disgusting creatures and he hates them and fears them. But he'll never fear Rue, and maybe he likes the feel of her crow-feathered hair sliding between his knuckles. She is more graceful than a crow; her red eyes are more pleasant to look at. And he'll never stop hating her.
Rue pinches him, and vows to herself that before the night is over she will have him moan for her.
Fakir retaliates with a fierce grope, promising that he will wake up with her scratch marks on his back.
In the end, they will both claim their victory and swallow their loss.