No hooves sprawl towards his face, no nips rain down on his heaving flesh. Although she seems disappointed - and shame on the man who disappoints a lady as a fine as her! - it does not seem to dampen her spirit, and the stallion's arousal soars. "I realise it is callous of me to deny a lady - do let me make it up to you." That wicked gleam in his eye glows like a beacon as he moves closer as she does the same, a paragon of hedonism and hot, hungry flesh. Her lips move across the hard muscles beneath his thick neck, and he tenses them for her viewing pleasure. His own teeth slip forwards, hoping to land a series of sharp, sensuous nips across her withers and spine, to make her tingle. Oh, when he was a boy balanced on a tower of earth, he did not think he would be caressing the mare who launched a bullet-stone in his general direction. He did not understand then what it means to be a man, with a man's primal desires and eternal thirst for the pleasures of the flesh.

He understands now. And she, gun-mare, hewn of steel and explosions, strong enough to take down a man twice her size and yet feminine enough to erupt ardour in him, is the perfect receptacle for his hunger.

His colossal chest presses forwards, hoping to muscle into her own in a display of strength and dominance. Her scent intoxicates him, and that little part of his brain points out that heat-scent generally means that offspring could be an occupational hazard of any animalistic ravaging. But there is no time to think of that, no need to worry about it; the Gods aren't cruel enough to burden him with a child when he is scarcely out of boyhood himself. All thoughts of responsibility are thrust liberally away, not considering that his exertions may swell her sides with the fruit of their labours. Like any teenager, the giant takes risks, believing himself free from the 'accidents' that any others could have. The weight between his thighs intensifies as he shifts closer, ravenous red eyes boring into her as one quizzical lift of a rough brow hopes to serve as a suggestion for her to turn around and prepare herself for him. It crosses his mind that she may just want to tease and not actually follow through, but he thinks he can read her body well enough to assume that she wants this as much as he.

After all, flesh doesn't lie. His certainly doesn't, and anticipatory sweat already liberally beads him, darkening his obsidian fur to the most abyssal hue of midnight.