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06-20-2014, 04:02 PM
i am the vanguard of your destruction
He didn't need words. All he needed was their bodies, her scent, the swish of her tail.. her skin between his teeth, the taste of her sweat—his skin between her teeth, nerves tingling. It drove the breath out of him, and all sanity from his mind. Lightheaded and aflame, the half-steady rhythm of his inhalations were not enough to counter the swirling in his head. He wanted to gulp air like someone drowning, but something kept him from it. Perhaps he did not want to seem like an inexperienced youth being touched for the first time.
Because he wasn't. But it was always more powerful when it came out of nowhere, powered by the smell of sweat and salt, and not from some vague, half-realized plan of creating an heir to an empire.
His teeth had begun to nip at her again, erratic little love-bites across the thin skin of her shoulder, punctuated by his hot, harsh breath. Then, a pause. Liam's (because this was not Mauja; Mauja would not do this, would never be so irresponsible, so stupid and callous, not that cold of heart) head rose slightly, an inch, hovering just above the pleasant warmth of her body. She was looking at him, and he looked back, a dark fire burning in his eyes. A want, a need. Right now, he knew what he wanted—he knew what he wanted right now, not tomorrow, not in an hour, but for this short, blessed span of time. He wanted, and so far, she gave that. And he wanted more. He wanted her, to feel the heat burning in her soul.
"Liam. I think I want to play."
So he bit her again, lightly, and again, down the side of her spine, robbing her of the spot she was rubbing her maw against. Not that it mattered, much—she had all of him before her, to touch, because in that moment he couldn't think of many things that he would not appreciate. And those he could think of, he chose not to think of, except for the fleeting reflection that it would be easier to be a mare; if you were unsure of the dedication of your partner, you could just pretend until you knew whether he was serious or not, and if he jumped off in the last moment possible could save your face by saying you'd been about to kick his legs to splinters anyway.
It was harder to gauge when you were the stallion. But as he was.. and that was the reason he chose not to think, but to just nibble his way down along her spine, pressing his hot flank against hers, nearly trembling with excitement each time her flicking tail struck his chest. Damn it, he wanted control, and tried to steady his nerves, teeth rubbing against the skin of her hindquarters. Trying to see if she was starting to make up her mind about playing or not.
Because he wasn't. But it was always more powerful when it came out of nowhere, powered by the smell of sweat and salt, and not from some vague, half-realized plan of creating an heir to an empire.
His teeth had begun to nip at her again, erratic little love-bites across the thin skin of her shoulder, punctuated by his hot, harsh breath. Then, a pause. Liam's (because this was not Mauja; Mauja would not do this, would never be so irresponsible, so stupid and callous, not that cold of heart) head rose slightly, an inch, hovering just above the pleasant warmth of her body. She was looking at him, and he looked back, a dark fire burning in his eyes. A want, a need. Right now, he knew what he wanted—he knew what he wanted right now, not tomorrow, not in an hour, but for this short, blessed span of time. He wanted, and so far, she gave that. And he wanted more. He wanted her, to feel the heat burning in her soul.
"Liam. I think I want to play."
Think. He felt a smirk curve his lips, the dark corners tugging upwards, his gaze intense. "I will have to convince you, then, Alleshia," he rumbled, voice rolling through his chest. Because I want you to play with me.
So he bit her again, lightly, and again, down the side of her spine, robbing her of the spot she was rubbing her maw against. Not that it mattered, much—she had all of him before her, to touch, because in that moment he couldn't think of many things that he would not appreciate. And those he could think of, he chose not to think of, except for the fleeting reflection that it would be easier to be a mare; if you were unsure of the dedication of your partner, you could just pretend until you knew whether he was serious or not, and if he jumped off in the last moment possible could save your face by saying you'd been about to kick his legs to splinters anyway.
It was harder to gauge when you were the stallion. But as he was.. and that was the reason he chose not to think, but to just nibble his way down along her spine, pressing his hot flank against hers, nearly trembling with excitement each time her flicking tail struck his chest. Damn it, he wanted control, and tried to steady his nerves, teeth rubbing against the skin of her hindquarters. Trying to see if she was starting to make up her mind about playing or not.
