She prepares for him - her wings shift, her weight braces, and his heart soars. It is happening. This is happening. We are happening.

With the strength he can spare - for he does not wish to exhaust himself when he must put in the performance of his life, when the pressure is on him to outdo any that have come before him - the goliath summons his magic. The ground around them ripples and erupts into a tall, circular wall, thin and fragile (as thickess and durability saps valuable stamina) but high enough to block them from prying eyes.

This act is for them and them alone. They deserve this; nobody else needs to see it. They have earned this - tomorrow will bring the worries of the details of them, and tomorrow might see the eyes of the world rest upon and judge them. Today, however, is theirs.

His weight lifts, higher than usual, as he is unused to his partner being larger than him. But logistics are only a momentary, unremarkable obstacle. His forelegs find a perch that seems to have been designed for him, and they fit like his own conception created his body to be the correct shape for this, like the Gods who formed him knew that one day, he'd meet her. Through the fear of not being enough, through the crippling nerves that shatter his usual arrogance like chips of glass, through any and all anxieties about his performance, he releases a deep breath. He becomes zen, calm, even as his blood pounds and nature takes over.

Mere minutes ago, she flew him to heights he could never have dreamed of.

Now, it's up to him to return the favour.

-fade-

Drenched in sweat, brain still muddled from euphoria, the beast's head drops to lose his muzzle in the perfect arch of her back. Into her moist skin, he whispers words that he cannot say aloud to her, words that he's always known but that ecstasy have loosened from where they lay trapped in his windpipe. He wonders if she will know what they are, from the way his lips form them against her skin, from the way the air vibrates with those three whispered words.

He slips down from her, weak-legged and spent, limbs aching and body heaving with exhaustion. He gave her everything. She deserved everything. The magical walls he'd created crumble into dust, restoring a fragment of his strength. He staggers forwards, resting his massive body against her side.

As well as everything else, there's the gripping sensation that he had been wrong in his assumptions that she had done this before. "I was your...I didn't realise." His voice is barely more than a murmur. You should have told me. I would have been gentler. The possessive, Volterra part of him writhes with delight, knowing he'd claimed something that nobody else ever would - the rest of him knows that a gift so willingly given is one he will cherish forever.

He lifts his massive head to rest upon her withers, and says nothing else. Again, words are not enough.