There is something behind the throne

Quilyan

greater than the king himself.

Despite his pause, the stallion was distracted. As he waited for a response, he nibbled at her neck and shoulder, resisting the urge to simply press on and assume that her previous requests were all the consent that was needed. He was, however, not a brute; he was not one to fuck for pleasure, not even as the prince of Th'orqui. Back home, he had resisted any such offers (not, by the way, without a great deal of resentment), waiting, as was proper, for whomever his mate would be. It was a matter of heredity that he not leave any bastard children in his wake; there would be no illegitimate offspring to question his future children about their rights to the throne. But here... here, there was nothing to stop him, and besides the fact that he genuinely liked the butterfly mare, she had elicited a certain sensuality in him that had been absent in him. Myrrine had brought him to the brink, teased him onto the edge; he was waiting now to tip over, listening for the slightest breath of air to push him into the abyss.

"Yes," she breathed, and he might have moved immediately upon her desire had she not stepped away, leaving him staring lustily into her eyes. He took the opportunity to sweep his gaze over her, noting the gentle curves of flesh that encased her body and finding it very much to his liking. Where she might have been simply cute before, a pretty young mare trapped in her own distress, she had blossomed before his eyes into a beautiful, sultry creature begging for his love. The allure of her drew him in, captured him, held him to her will. So absorbed was he in his drooling that he nearly missed her explanation - but he glanced again to her eyes, noticed the earnest gleam that graced their depths, and he reminded himself to listen.

She stepped forward to speak, pressing her cheek to his, and he closed his eyes, taking in her words and her scent. He was high on her, intoxicated beyond reason, his lust bursting at the seams; when she turned from him, he was momentarily disappointed until he saw the rise of her tail, the clear invitation in her body language. Whatever doubts he might have had about her willingness fell away, and he stepped forward as though in a dream to continue his loving caress down her spine. Had he been in his right mind, he might have denied her - who was he to deserve her virginity, to be permitted to steal away that precious piece of her? What had he done to drive her to offer herself so easily and so openly to him, a stranger, a lucky passerby who had just so happened to witness her darkest hour?

But he was not in his right mind, and instead he resolved to be as gentle and kind as he could, to make sure that he did not ruin her experience. He moved slowly and deliberately, taking his time to move behind her, to give her time to change her mind (please, Gods, do not make her change her mind). "Myrrine," he murmured almost worshipfully --

She didn't change her mind.

-fade to black-

He slipped to the ground, his breath coming quickly. He peered at Myrrine's face as he returned to her side, running his muzzle along her neck up to her cheek, where he paused. He was almost sheepish as he looked her over, carefully analyzing her for any sign of pain or displeasure. "Did I - are you alright, darling?" he asked softly, affection and concern in his voice. "I hope I didn't hurt you." The stallion searched her face. Hopefully she wouldn't run off immediately; there was something fierce and protective growing in his breast. Despite the fact that they had only just met, their tryst had left him with a semblance of possessiveness about the butterfly mare. The prince lifted his wing, offering his side for her to lean into, thinking that she might want to rest against him.

"Talk talk talk."

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