He wasn't quite sure what he was asking for; his mind had ceased to function, allowing his gut to steer him where it willed. Whether by accident or not he'd allowed the fire to take root in his blood, a scalding, red-hot liquid in his veins, something which warmed his breath even as it steamed out into the frozen world. It was better this way, with no clear thoughts swirling in his mind, no guilt over his probe for information — did she have others? — as he had allowed himself to forget snowy white, for now. In the moment, it was only her, black velvet and her hot breath; one black and one white trapped in a frozen cave, yet the mere presence of her body made it seem not so frigid. With the cold air against his skin, the warmth of her was much more tangible, and the heat in his blood demanded he press against her, as if the mere touch of skin against skin could transfer the fire to her and merge them together.

Something happened, when he'd pulled back and spoken the lazy challenge. He'd expected something, some kind of reaction, a quip or a move, but instead she remained motionless, watching him with a half-smile he couldn't quite read. Despite the glint in her eye, he felt as if she hid something, something she didn't want to admit. He doubted it was fear, doubted it was uncertainty, but if he stopped to think of it.. how many times had she gone past flirting, cold-heartedly wrapping a stallion around her hoof and leaving him a wanting pawn, and into something else? Something more, genuine, and physical? Even their previous affair, what seemed like lifetimes ago when they were both different, had been a single thing, more out of politics than emotions; with the way she watched Tamlin, he had a feeling she'd been living celibate since Snö's conception.

And he hadn't.

And in all honesty, he was afraid of his challenge having shattered her, the moment, taken it too far, because he was not quite sure what he had asked of her, what he'd expected her to do. Their tongues had both been bound, neither quite speaking everything on their minds, and certainly not he for the anguish about white dreams — so what was he even doing? He didn't know.

A mock pout changed her face after what felt like a too long moment, and words slipped out of her mouth. Mauja chuckled, the sound huskier than usual. So she'd turned it back on him, and he caught himself in his own ill-devised challenge. Before he even had time to wonder what he'd meant, what he really wanted, she was moving, her dark maw tugging at his long mane with a grin. A half-formed neigh rumbled in his chest, and for a moment he thought she meant to dance away again, poised on the edge of flight, but then she was taking a few steps backwards, her dark flank rubbing against his white one. The friction sent a shiver down his spine, the nerves exploding in a tingle that made it quite hard to know precisely where she was.. where their bodies met. He could see her, though, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with him, her soft breath and whiskers tickling his throat and her horn spearing his vision in two. A low hum escaped him, tail flicking once to lash against her hocks, and thoughts of challenges and impressions faded from his mind as the touch of her body against his obliterated all else. His head turned, cradling hers, his plush nose seeking to rest against her; suddenly his pulse was roaring in his ears, and somewhere deep inside, some kind of expectation — anticipation — unfolded.