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graasvoel
There was something… arousing in the blatant challenge that her electric eyes stared into his own, heated depths. The rising smirk on her lips, the slope of her arched neck as she cocked her head to study him before returning his playful banter in kind—and the vulture could not help a deep and rumbling chuckle, “I wouldn’t mind owing you a favor, Ampere.” Again, the careful sounding of her name—there could be something powerfully electrifying in the careful usage of a name, the vulture had found in personal experience.
A roguish grin crossed his muzzle at the visible change in the dark, blue-washed woman as he entered the water—was this something she craved, then? But before he could watch and closer, his wall of water hit her—or, more aptly, hit her wings. Though his hot gaze could not miss the salty drip of moisture down her neck and off her chest. His gaze lingered there—
Until the muscle there was bunching and moving, with far more speed than he thought possible (or than he was able to dream of mustering). And his own reaction was not nearly as quick as hers; so, where she was only partially damp from his endeavors, he was throughly soaked by the electric woman’s efforts.
Though his massive wings did spread slightly, in a half-hearted attempt to block the end of her wingbeat’s salty sprays as he slowly advanced through her onslaught towards her. It was useless though; his swarthy skin was positively dripping now, slicking his thick hide to taunt skin and thick muscle.
Slowly, cautiously, his wings folded into his slabbed sides as the briny attacks subsided; his squinted eyes peeking open and blinking away the salt as he saw her begin to preen feathers back into place. A roguish grin crossed his dark muzzle as he attempted to swiftly reach it out towards her own, grooming lips. Then, he slowed, making his intentions known, as his own lips sought to slowly, gently smooth a few of her feathers back into place.
“I left fighting in my past life,” he said between strokes of his muzzle, “I am a Glazier now, in the Edge.” He paused, eyes studying her face, “And you? You’ve a kwaai—a ferocity in you.” There was no missing the wildness that etched every sparking move of her dark, now sea-slicked, skin.
kwaai = ferocity
A roguish grin crossed his muzzle at the visible change in the dark, blue-washed woman as he entered the water—was this something she craved, then? But before he could watch and closer, his wall of water hit her—or, more aptly, hit her wings. Though his hot gaze could not miss the salty drip of moisture down her neck and off her chest. His gaze lingered there—
Until the muscle there was bunching and moving, with far more speed than he thought possible (or than he was able to dream of mustering). And his own reaction was not nearly as quick as hers; so, where she was only partially damp from his endeavors, he was throughly soaked by the electric woman’s efforts.
Though his massive wings did spread slightly, in a half-hearted attempt to block the end of her wingbeat’s salty sprays as he slowly advanced through her onslaught towards her. It was useless though; his swarthy skin was positively dripping now, slicking his thick hide to taunt skin and thick muscle.
Slowly, cautiously, his wings folded into his slabbed sides as the briny attacks subsided; his squinted eyes peeking open and blinking away the salt as he saw her begin to preen feathers back into place. A roguish grin crossed his dark muzzle as he attempted to swiftly reach it out towards her own, grooming lips. Then, he slowed, making his intentions known, as his own lips sought to slowly, gently smooth a few of her feathers back into place.
“I left fighting in my past life,” he said between strokes of his muzzle, “I am a Glazier now, in the Edge.” He paused, eyes studying her face, “And you? You’ve a kwaai—a ferocity in you.” There was no missing the wildness that etched every sparking move of her dark, now sea-slicked, skin.
kwaai = ferocity
@Ampere
Please tag Graasvoel in all posts.
