The beginning of it all… When first his naive eyes had ever laid upon that dished, clandestine mask, it was not the marvellously ethereal perfection she embodied that sought him to linger - not the alluring quality of those double-toned eyes (the dominant, untrusting, chary; her pale sister shier still than the shrinking violet), nor was it uncanny elegance beyond the achingly angular lines of starvation. No. It was insecurity which seduced him - nicks and blemishes tattooed into that intricately painted tapestry (she concealed them) - the frail fear of a wounded dove nestled so painfully vulnerable, against the breast of an unforgiving earth; the danger, should he have known, was more sinister even than innocence. Though he’d thought little of the future, those were the moments that decided the blind course of his affection, the astoundingly swift unravelling of a flawlessly valiant facade.

Like she (in many ways), Noah is merely a babe stuck fast in this sticky web of confounding emotion.

Now, as he stares down the gauntlet of truth, that point of no return, he is lost, defined by the virtue of a heart he scarcely deserves (but is so desperate to cling to), and he is growing; gazing wonderingly upon a face which nulls every wrong he has ever made, an angel’s, to him it feels like a baptism, an awakening - every impure thought is cleansed. The pessimism which has for so long tarnished his good character is erased, those memories which have pained his true-heartedness are banished, and he wonders whether her immaculate eyes can see through him. Already she has looked beyond those flaws to find the lacking colt within, the real deal, and before this dove, his dove, he is completely imperfect for her too.

The ivory side he faces (dotes over), glows amber in the red wash of lava-light, and he admires her radiance with a discerning, devoted eye. There is thunder in the air and twin, copper-stained brothers press towards her eagerly, intrigued - yet it is his throbbing, yearning heart that roars through the silence; each pining breath beckons to those trembling thin nares squaring the point of her nose, and he can see that pastel ribs beyond near burst with each inhale. Desire! Rapacious hormones spill forth in horde, spewing through his midst like army ants upon flesh, and it steals from him all remorse; any of that forbearing humbleness that has allowed this moment to build. The bleat he hears is timid, pure and irresistibly virgin. It riles his confidence to double, triple - though from whence this sudden self-assurance stems seems a mystery.

Lips, tender and soft regardless, sweep back that bridal veil with all the unbridled vigour of a lad who’d sworn celibacy, and the piercing blue she hides beneath it, strikes his crumbling consciousness like a poised snake with bared fangs; he hesitates beneath the bold gleam of it wrapped partly beneath fierce black mesh. He cannot see the nerves there, which work to overwhelm; she, the sister, is more brazen and sure, resting against a flawless cliff of unreadable hue - it is unnerving, brilliant and intrigue entices the flaxen filled forehead to mingle very briefly against her own. ”Shhh,” he assures gently, a whisper, with closed blood emblazoned eyes.

When the giant framework of his masculine face pulls clear, he finds that hers lingers on near; goading, taunting the warm, taught skin on his cheek to boil; he pauses, savouring the sensation of her delicate movement, riding the dip and swing of each spurring breath she takes. She ventures south along the tense, trembling length of his neck and sweat emerges to blend with the trail left behind. Driven, his skull lifts well into the warm, quiet air and the senior lip curls back brazenly, indulging on the mature, rank taste which builds all around, curdling playfully on high. Teeth flash brightly beneath, descending greedily to sample the damp core of mane descending her superbly arched crest - down until the wither - they wander, grazing tight canvas towards girth and nip carefully, cheekily, at the folds of rippled skin down beneath.

Nostrils flare, purging forth stale waste and then drawing in deeply again.

Further afield, a banner of tantalising silk ascends and it aggravates his fervour, tempts his willing interest to stray; and the cooler (temperate) air which has been like a barrier between, is finally quashed from existence as she yields. Lips navigate a coarse path along feather to flank and nares pause there momentarily as though suspended in time, yet his lungs pump heat zealously against the frail skin beneath and ears erect with unshakable delight. Still he lingers, toying cruelly with her frail fortitude, gliding whiskers dangerously down the inner-length of one creamy pillar; it is strewn with pulsing veins, a labyrinth, and he traces one route and then another, exploring shamelessly the very map of her being.

Noah

I was born a warrior
I was born a warrior