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07-17-2016, 04:46 AM
hellsparkle
She's a pretty thing, he decides. There's something alluring about the contrast between blue and white, for it is just like snow; cold and pure. It isn't the creamy, milky white found scattered on others, on their faces, their flanks—next to her, they would all look dirty.
He knows that looks can be deceiving. He knows that he has gone long without company, and that even his heart stumbles into traps on occasion. Just because she is pretty it doesn't mean that she's worth his time.
Still, he is a vain creature, and as his dark hooves dig into the cold soil on his side of the brook he feels an old, familiar excitement pool into his blood. She is looking at him, unabashed, studying every angle of his body as he stands before her; his black eyes rest upon her face as he basks in the attention. It is like water for the thirsty, blood for the drained. It is divine.
It is the involuntary, happenstance worship.
It is dangerous, because it makes him giddy with excitement, threatening to pull his lips into a bastard grin—he wants to fling out his wings wide and caper on the spot, because there's an itch in his legs and his feet. But, as with all things, there is a game to play, and his role needs him sane and steady. He blows cool air on his mounting exhilaration, composes himself. He can't deny that he loves her eyes on him. He can't deny that his position here is flimsy as best. He needs to be patient, he needs to nurture and build and then, one day, they will know to either tremble in his shadow, or raise their voices in glorious praise, and she will look at him always.
“Hello,” she replies, her voice sweet as the cold trickle of water between them. But she goes on, “You’re welcome to have a drink, though it’s very cool,” and he finds himself wondering since when he needed anyone's permission to drink? It sours his mood for a moment, gives rise to a single swish of his dark tail as his mind whispers a poisonous purr, I take what I want, when I want, for this world is mine, but he schools himself to patience again. He knows nothing of this herd he is in—he knows not who leads it, who leads him, and perhaps he has stumbled upon its Queen? Black eyes blink, but his expression does not shift. "I am," he replies instead, head lowering until his soft muzzle touches the chilly stream.
She hadn't lied about its temperature at least. The clear water is sweet in the way of all things fresh, untainted by blood and bloated bodies, pure from its source; he drinks, deeply, slowly, but those glossy, dark eyes remain fixed upon her. Let her make what she will of that, but he wants to look, so look he will.
Finally, he raises his head again. Sunlight strikes the water dripping from his muzzle and the droplets clinging to his whiskers. "Are you?" he asks, returning the favor she had done for him earlier as his gaze roams her body. The hunger is there only if she knows how to look for it, and even so, it is subtle, playful almost.
Perhaps she will like it as much as he had.
[ my mind kind of operates like, "first we make the Mau posts, then we can play with this guy", but I realized if I do that, I'm never going to post this sorry bugger. xD @Adria ]
He knows that looks can be deceiving. He knows that he has gone long without company, and that even his heart stumbles into traps on occasion. Just because she is pretty it doesn't mean that she's worth his time.
Still, he is a vain creature, and as his dark hooves dig into the cold soil on his side of the brook he feels an old, familiar excitement pool into his blood. She is looking at him, unabashed, studying every angle of his body as he stands before her; his black eyes rest upon her face as he basks in the attention. It is like water for the thirsty, blood for the drained. It is divine.
It is the involuntary, happenstance worship.
It is dangerous, because it makes him giddy with excitement, threatening to pull his lips into a bastard grin—he wants to fling out his wings wide and caper on the spot, because there's an itch in his legs and his feet. But, as with all things, there is a game to play, and his role needs him sane and steady. He blows cool air on his mounting exhilaration, composes himself. He can't deny that he loves her eyes on him. He can't deny that his position here is flimsy as best. He needs to be patient, he needs to nurture and build and then, one day, they will know to either tremble in his shadow, or raise their voices in glorious praise, and she will look at him always.
“Hello,” she replies, her voice sweet as the cold trickle of water between them. But she goes on, “You’re welcome to have a drink, though it’s very cool,” and he finds himself wondering since when he needed anyone's permission to drink? It sours his mood for a moment, gives rise to a single swish of his dark tail as his mind whispers a poisonous purr, I take what I want, when I want, for this world is mine, but he schools himself to patience again. He knows nothing of this herd he is in—he knows not who leads it, who leads him, and perhaps he has stumbled upon its Queen? Black eyes blink, but his expression does not shift. "I am," he replies instead, head lowering until his soft muzzle touches the chilly stream.
She hadn't lied about its temperature at least. The clear water is sweet in the way of all things fresh, untainted by blood and bloated bodies, pure from its source; he drinks, deeply, slowly, but those glossy, dark eyes remain fixed upon her. Let her make what she will of that, but he wants to look, so look he will.
Finally, he raises his head again. Sunlight strikes the water dripping from his muzzle and the droplets clinging to his whiskers. "Are you?" he asks, returning the favor she had done for him earlier as his gaze roams her body. The hunger is there only if she knows how to look for it, and even so, it is subtle, playful almost.
Perhaps she will like it as much as he had.
[ my mind kind of operates like, "first we make the Mau posts, then we can play with this guy", but I realized if I do that, I'm never going to post this sorry bugger. xD @Adria ]
