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02-18-2016, 12:15 PM
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Isopia Does your imagination try to make you what you wanted to be? Because I'm sorry I do what I did, but it came naturally [Casually replies from work BECAUSE HOW COULD I NOT OMG.] Oh Einstein, you crafty bastard. If only we could have left relativity alone. We might then have just been beasts who experienced the ebb and flow of time as this constant force, strutting by us, or perhaps just pulling us along. But instead, we experience something very different. Put your hands on a hot woman, they say, and put your hands on a hot stove, and you'll experience time very differently. Isopia was sure that years had passed since the last time she blinked. Oh, she knew that they obviously hadn’t, but hyperbole in this instance felt easier to deal with than trying to actually pin down how many seconds had actually gone by. He isn’t moving- [He doesn’t want you] Isopia stifled a breath as the voice inside of her head, normally the advocate for her feelings towards Volterra, suddenly turned dark and ugly. It pressed upon the parts of her that were able to feel something like self consciousness, and whittled away at her defences. Maybe he- [He’s been with loads of mares-] I don’t know that- [-and yet he doesn’t. want. you.] The entire time, Isopia had thought the only obstacle in the way of what might come next, was her lack of experience. That was where her insecurities lay, for one so academically inclined as Iso hated feeling as though she was at an intellectual disadvantage. In this arena, Volterra was surely the expert. But she had muddled through those worries, consoling herself by assuming that her long repressed instincts would some how take over and guide her actions. But this … this worry was not one that she was ready for. [ He’d rather the bay unicorn with the pale horns over you] I- [He’d rather anyone but you. See how he isn’t moving?] He isn’t moving Isopia had felt the chill of Frostfall fall upon her bones, but it didn’t compare to the icy wave that sloshed raggedly inside of her chest. This feeling of rejection was entirely foreign. This was one of the reasons Isopia did not form relationships. Why she ran from friendships and maintained her position of academic prowess from an impregnable tower. She had never meant to let Volterra in, and in fact, she didn’t believe she had. He had sort of just … been there, from the very beginning, their inception in the Woods. He had been a part of her before she even knew what that meant, and she had thought - He’s moving- Was he turning to go? A final breath before he let her down easy, or whatever the phrase was? (of course she didn’t know what the phrase would be, or any of the other paradigmatic cues. She’d never been in this situation before). His breath touched the whiskers on her nose and chin, and for a moment the icy wall building inside of her gut was blasted with an all-consuming heat. Just go - you don’t have to say anyth- But he wasn’t saying anything. He was doing something. She watched with a tentative flourishing as his muzzle dipped lower, moving past her own and towards her neck. It was like watching a landslide and knowing that there was no point in running. Though the part of her that rallied against this sort of behaviour was now decidedly shut-up, set aflame by the anxious fire roaring in her limbs. She was glad for the stone that had walled-in her hooves and legs. If not for that, she might have stumbled and ruined the moment. [Oh it’ll be more than a moment. Get ready. Oh wait, you can’t, because you don’t know what to-] Yes I do To dispel any appearance of naivety or frigidity, Isopia stepped forward into Volterra’s touch. She felt his muzzle upon her neck, deliciously delicate. It felt as though each and every one of the hairs on her neck was ready to deliver electric pulses of feeling if he so much as came near them. And when he did - when his muzzle was upon her flesh - they sang and sparked in a harmony that resounded through her bones. The rocks which composed her legs shattered and fell away as she moved into him. Her chest was much narrower than his, and so despite her slight height advantage, it was all too easy to press the muscles of her chest against the swell of his own, as her own muzzle danced forward along the lines of his shoulder. Time was now racing. It was hard to concentrate both on the sensations of his touch upon her skin, and to also discover the hardened facets of his own body. Her mind stuttered between shivering in delight, and trying to return the favour upon his own flesh. Iso’s body was supple, giving away to shivers and spasms of ecstasy so readily and easily that she was left completely ignorant of how to do the same to him. Her wings flared slightly from her flanks - partially unbidden, in a subtle attempt from her body to allow him further access to her sides, but partially consciously moved. With her wings splayed, he’d either have to push one aside or move around them if he was to get … anywhere else. As it was, the demigoddess could scarcely keep track of the moments as they flew by. And while it wasn’t necessarily the case that she didn’t want his nose - and all the other parts of him - to migrate down the length of her body - she needed a moment to catch her breath. To take in what was happening. It’s happening- Gone was the ambiguous state of mind she had been in seconds ago. Will it happen? Is this the farthest this will go? Even as her lips - her cheeks, chest, legs, wings - sought to touch, press, push, nibble, stroke - every part of him that she could reach, it wasn’t enough. The flames inside of her were engulfing any least remnants of her prior academic hesitations. This heady hug was not enough. Just want me- @Volterra |
