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08-30-2016, 07:49 PM
graasvoel
Morning came, as it always came, with a general discomfort at the base of his barrel. And it was stirred into further, more painful pulses as a soft, satin pressure pushed into his thick neck; raptor eyes of yellow and red slowly and blearily blink open. The morning’s light was muted and pastel—it was early, yet. The hulking stallion usually saw this part of the morning only if he had remained awake doing other deeds.
Thus, his attention focused on the pale cheek against his neck and blushed body that shifted beneath this wing. His sensitive skin at the juncture of feathers and coat felt her silken hide move in a sleepy sigh. Though his head remained tucked to his thick, reddish knees; eyes were half-mast; only a slow swivel of his a white ear and a gentle squeeze of his wing around the woman’s body beneath it gave any indication of him hearing the dove say his name.
A low, grunted hum was the only verbal response to her candid, sleepy confession and invitation. Later, he would revel in his small triumph against Orithia’s rage and hate. But, for now, in the early morning calm, he did not outright reply to her whispers. His response was a sleepy shift of his head; moving his muzzle from its place at his chest to tuck around into hers at his side. If she would allow the drowsy gesture, his thick neck would engulf and embrace the soft check-press she had put there.
And then, knowing full-well that any movement towards activities more pleasurable than sleep would destroy this tenuous peace, he slowly began to let sleep’s waves ebb away at his consciousness.
Thus, his attention focused on the pale cheek against his neck and blushed body that shifted beneath this wing. His sensitive skin at the juncture of feathers and coat felt her silken hide move in a sleepy sigh. Though his head remained tucked to his thick, reddish knees; eyes were half-mast; only a slow swivel of his a white ear and a gentle squeeze of his wing around the woman’s body beneath it gave any indication of him hearing the dove say his name.
A low, grunted hum was the only verbal response to her candid, sleepy confession and invitation. Later, he would revel in his small triumph against Orithia’s rage and hate. But, for now, in the early morning calm, he did not outright reply to her whispers. His response was a sleepy shift of his head; moving his muzzle from its place at his chest to tuck around into hers at his side. If she would allow the drowsy gesture, his thick neck would engulf and embrace the soft check-press she had put there.
And then, knowing full-well that any movement towards activities more pleasurable than sleep would destroy this tenuous peace, he slowly began to let sleep’s waves ebb away at his consciousness.
@Orithia
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