There's something innately satisfying about the collision of hooves against flesh. He knows his attack has struck its mark and struck hard when he hears the air-rending howl of his opponent, music to the greedy ears of the hot-tempered stallion. He returns his rear hooves to the ground, crunching them into snow and ice as he rearranges himself and ensures his balance is at an optimum for the remaining length of this battle.

The Gladiator begins to pivot, using the momentum from his attack to turn and see what damage he has wrought upon the gelding. Toulouse has sprawled to the ground, evidently in some pain, and whilst the ruthless part of Volterra urges him to march forwards and complete the job, he hesitates. Perhaps there is some honour in the black beast, some semblance of mercy beating in that great, powerful chest of his. Whatever the reason, the Indomitable stays his blade for now, staring down at the fallen palomino whilst seizing the opportunity to snatch some breaths of his own during this unexpected interlude. Despite his formidable stamina, the young warlord still tires towards the end of battles, especially when fighting on such difficult ground. The chance to regain some valuable energy is not to be sniffed at.

The gelding rises, staggers towards the monolithic equine in a manner that, had it happened a few minutes ago, would have had Volterra fooled. As it is, he adheres to the once bitten (literally), quite shy motto, and pins his ears suspiciously whilst eyeing his foe with an expression akin to one he would wear if he was being approached by a marauding snake. The brute may not be the sharpest thorn in the thicket but he learns from his mistakes, and he knows he cannot trust this creature as far as he can throw him.

His wariness proves quite correct as Toulouse suddenly breaks from his injured lurch and flails his hind hooves at the leviathan's skull. Volterra is prepared for such a move thanks to his lack of trust in the smaller male, and he launches his weight backwards with a savage snarl of displeasure. The hooves whistle by just in front of his face, leaving him undamaged but incredibly pissed off by his devious foe. His desire for revenge is instantaneous; it is no longer enough that he has already caused colossal damage to the unfortunate palomino, because he wants to complete the job. He wants to bring the gelding to his knees, send him crashing to the snow once again and ensure that this time, his submission will be absolute.

After giving Toulouse's hind legs time to stop their bucking, Volterra lunges forwards and rears up. He'd tried this move against Kiuaji with painful consequences, but it is a favoured attack for the feral stallion to use against foes that he wants not just to defeat, but to humiliate. To be mounted by another man must be demeaning beyond belief, dominated in the most primal way possible using a posture reserved for mares, but this is precisely what Volterra attempts to do to Toulouse; he aims to slam the meat of his chest down hard onto Toulouse's rear end, his forelegs seeking to hook around the gelding's hips and force him to the ground under his sheer colossal weight. The mammoth man's neck arches and he attempts to pepper the palomino's lower spine with painful bites, his own weight braced carefully across his thick, muscular hind legs.

There is nothing sexual about this posture, despite the deeply erotic connotations that it carries. No, this move is purely about domination, about teaching this vampiric little bastard his place - Volterra's injured neck drips slowly to the ice, reminding him exactly why he is so determined to ensure his victory is absolute.

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Teaching spar for @Toulouse !

3/3 - 633 words