the Rift


[PRIVATE] All sorts of Yayness inside

Noah Posts: 59
Aurora Basin Soldier atk: 4.5 | def: 7.5 | dam: 7
Stallion :: Pegasus :: 16.3 :: 3 HP: 64 | Buff: NOVICE
Riven
#1
[as they prepare to leave the Veins]


Though the echo of all that had been is slow to dissipate from his churning mind (a sticky, impenetrable web of disbelief, confusion, excitement, fear), the shrug of night grows ever colder, closer around them and the mischievous coastal gale whips relentlessly with sour sea-spray to further chill their bodies; dampened skin trembles violently, even the blunt plane of hidden molars chatters noisily together across a tense, jerking jaw. The adrenaline which had risen to greet the recent meeting swiftly melts now away into the brawny contours of his body, and in its wake, blue blood dallies down the corridor of tightly narrowed arteries; as he breathes, steps or otherwise moves, it is with involuntary slowness, like a lizard in the dawn.

...ironic really, given that the molten innards of this island were spewing slowly down the cliffs around them.

Where the line of cold onyx tile meets the cracked clay and hope of a greener world beyond, Noah pauses to turn, to offer to the sweet dove trailing a smile filled with warmth and encouragement. Aqua-green eyes plunge headlong into those endearing, quirky pools, tumbling involuntarily into that bright, confounding state of wonderment, captivity, beneath the playful glitter of reflecting starlight; his breath chokes, for she is beautiful against the dusk and chill of a southern night, and his heavy pulse pounds to the rhythm of unfathomable fervour. “Breathtaking,” he wants to admit, but the silly thought, the brazenness and inappropriateness, given all the trials they have faced and those obstacles still waiting ahead, force insecurity’s scarlet heat to swell beneath pallid cheeks; instead, he turns back to the cheerless wall of shadows to the north.

The rude wind harries queer trees into whistling chorus behind, yet there is tranquility in the sky; though the driving sea roars angrily and giant waves tear savagely at the walls beneath them, moonlight softens the  atmosphere’s mood. Tension manifests, knots his thoughts painfully, but the image of her returns and he thinks of her fondly, waiting there trustingly for his lead; his heart feels lighter, bolder and the flame of masculinity flares vividly within.

She has become his purpose.

”I’ll find us some place warmer…” rumbling undertone mentions distractedly, perhaps more for his own benefit than Nora’s (she would hardly understand). The sinew beneath his painted tapestry bristles and Noah pushes the length of one wing out into space, and then the opposite, stretching the stiffness of inactivity from their feather-cloaked midst. The journey thus far has been convoluted, as varied as the lands they have passed, and he isn’t sure which direction leads home - but he wears a sound poker-face for the sake of the dove. ”Follow?” The word has become a staple part of their bond, follow has allowed the foundations of trust to harden and their sapling friendship to root soundly upon it.

- - - - -


Slowly and thoughtfully he guides her clear of the silent squall, that who’s wicked spirit would see them batted cruelly from height. Steady wings at last can glide without interruption, and the cool bod between drives a safe distance north of the coastline (following it for the moment); the higher altitude is near freezing, so he finds a happy enough medium partway between heaven and earth. Hours pass before he spots a soft glow on the horizon, an intriguing quirk in the darkness. It calls his interest and lures him down like a moth to the flame; it grows as they near, until a boiling lake of true fire burns furiously before him. Though he dares not investigate too closely, the pit warms the area wonderfully (thankfully), and drives back the snarl of shifting shadow around him.
Noah
I was born a warrior
I was born a warrior
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Nora Posts: 52
Aurora Basin Mare
Mare :: Pegasus :: 14.2 :: 3
Angel
#2
Sulfur gases dissolve into humid alkali. Bewitched lava is bartered for a sweeping row of serrated, razor-rock beaches. Which might’ve been lovely -even joyful- to witness beneath the birthing pains of dawn...but the sun is far off. Those sandy dunes are enveloped with merciless darkness and their foamy upsurges look wicked; like thousands of tiny teeth catching upon humble radiance and scratching a noticeable boundary from tide to sand. Distracted (and ever the more bored with the unimpressive scenery) I scan out of habit; sinking to my internal shelter rather than focus on that somber, rigid coast.

So much has happened…

The initial shock (fear, excitement) had worn off, but those raw emotions left me to soak in a pool of unanswered questions. Noah’s preference for silence and my handicap gave me permission to mull over the events from hours ago…but as our flight wears on…my subconscious becomes weary and dismissal. We agree only on the logical truth that nobody could solve all their problems in a single night. Sighing, I let my focus return to the present – bright optics slide to my blistered, windblown eagle.

He (as usual) is tireless, unflinching. Driven by unspoken goals. Temples furrow, rejecting those concerns even as they beg for acknowledgement. Mini me cracks her groggy, red rimmed eyes open and whispers, ‘we’ve traveled half the world with him…talk to Noah.’ I frown and the thorns in my heart twinge in warning. I’m torn between the logic of squelching my desires (a struggle of self-confidence and ability,) or embracing…answering those raw (unaddressed) emotions that lure me to his side…

No longer have I been following him out of obligation, or guilt. Surely, losing him would be a mercy, for he spends his waking hours as my teacher, friend and warrior. All for a foreign woman…one who has neither thanked enough or repaid his boundless generosity. During these past few months I’ve practiced his tongue (in public and private,) we’ve shared dens, meals and adventures. His grace is unending – Noah’s patience is without imperfection.

How long would I hide behind my shield, falsifying a lack of understanding that is required to express myself to a wonderful man that has shared everything? …And yet…hardly anything. My skin tingles and the pulse within me is loud, quickened and anxious. Jowls clench.

He…

No, we…

What are we?

What is he searching for in these wild…beautiful lands?


Though the sky is truculent – a pure, splashed canvas of starlight and shadow – my neglectful (trusting) focus declines to heed our latest mystery until the (surprising) incandescent glow can’t just be seen…but felt too. That sudden, light embrace of lukewarm air ensnares between feathers and circles frigid contours. While the haze of distraction ebbs away, these temples constrict and disrupt the inattentive expression on my face. Oh my! Optics return to him, wading through the anxious flashes as they appear. Inwardly, I seize that sapling fearlessness he showed by example. Our path is doomed to cross into the unknown…but there is strength waiting in the wings...just reach for it. My subconscious stirs from her dozing recline; I sharpen, embracing heightened awareness while shedding the groggy aftereffect found during extended travel.

These shoulders heave my feathers upward, throttling to pull me alongside the guardsman. While staying habitually mindful of our wingspan, I warily scan the rocky, unforgiving terrain below us. That tangerine hue reveals itself to be a volcano. But...no veins of blue...this one has been forced to bubble and spew in a pit. Which (considering our brush with the unnatural world) is fairly normal. Or at least, certainty less mythical. Nostrils screw, grunting distastefully. Our space is foul with pungent gases, the rot of destruction. Those horrible scents are bearable only by how the hovel kept nighttime chills at bay. The atmosphere close by is flush with warmth, but near the lip of hell…it is broiling. Shimmering waves of charred heat ripple as the crackling, fizzy lava churns aggressively.  

Fascination brings me lower, but I'm wise enough to keep distance from those confusing updrafts of conflicting air around the circular pot. These tingling muscles thaw out. Eyelids squint, shielding their charges from prolonged exposure of the frothy, molten furnace. My subconscious gawks, she (in every way) is mystified by the bright, deadly furnace. While curving into a second loop, I catch sight of something in the dark with edges that are catching dying rays of that orange, florescent light.

Recognition is swift.

A cave?

Inquisitiveness contests with the rational part of my brain; and its victor brings a lean smile into those captivated rims, “look,” the butt of my snout tilts down – gesturing to that shadowy place, “a cave.” His tongue forms with surprising ease. My head tilts up, searching, imploring, “follow!” One ear swivels left and back (listening for an answer) while the other presses forward as I flex the front half of my body into a slope, choking my speed...until at last...these feet are clicking upon crumbled sheets of rock.

Though hell fire isn’t far off, the heat emitting from it at ground level is surprisingly meek compared to the emissions above.

The dark mouth radiates a cool, musky odor – which is far less offensive than the gases spewing from purgatory. Also, it isn’t a small den; the entrance alone is wide enough to easily accommodate Noah’s girth and height. Nostrils flare as I lower my head, sampling old scents upon that threshold. To my surprise..flavors are stale (though not fresh.) We seem to be stuck in the middle of nowhere...yet, this cavern is still in use. Fearful that my fledgling courage might vanish at the next moment…I step just inside the doorway and find out that the floor is progressively leaning downward. As if the cave is begging for those who step inside to enter.

@Noah


Noah Posts: 59
Aurora Basin Soldier atk: 4.5 | def: 7.5 | dam: 7
Stallion :: Pegasus :: 16.3 :: 3 HP: 64 | Buff: NOVICE
Riven
#3
An enigma, a treasure trove, she lures his intrigue with all of the spell-working of a singing siren upon cliffs above a moody black ocean. So shy and afraid was she in the beginning, that he had felt the need to pledge the worth of his guardianship upon her, but today (particularly, and in these moments unfolding), she rises like a phoenix from the ashes to steal the very breath from his lungs. For months he has appointed himself a beacon of light in the darkness of her faith, watched her dwindle and teeter along the edge of wicked despair (something that terrified his innocence), only to return threefold, with a luminous grace that defies belief; a dove indeed, Nora has pulled loose those binding chains of her demons (he’d witnessed a sliver of their wrath).

Like a butterfly to nectar, he is attracted to her, the perfect meld of shyness and warmth, of mystery; modest beauty that even pales the halo-light of his beloved mother-moon - She calls forth the tides of the sea with the same magnetic song that ensnares the emotionally unwary stallion.

It takes him by surprise when she draws alongside, and his heart swells, bursts like an overinflated balloon beneath a piercing thread of sunlight. The tender reach of his eyes seeks to broach the forced distance between them by the whispering splay of feathers combined, but her eyes are trawling with hungry focus along the smoky, scorched landscape below. They linger quietly nonetheless, thoughtfully, admiring the fire-glow reflected therein, beneath the pastel blur of long, light-tinted lashes; it is her prettiest side, he feels - the one which retains much of that original, delicate quaintness (an air of girlish innocence), and begs the most virile blood in his veins to boil. All too quickly she pulls free though, and he traces her slow, looping descent through rotten winds towards sharp, rocky contours (he does not pick from their murky lines the mouth of the cavern).

The unexpected pitch of her womanly voice twists upwards, and long, broad wings respond, dipping to follow with unprecedented obedience as the message is snatched eagerly by golden ears; ”alright!” The sudden and unexpected boldness of her character impresses him, allures him, and he is more than content to trail as his heavy bod swings down behind; marvelling at the comely quality of her narrow (though hardly lacking ripe pad), hips to either side of the ribbon threads of tail in her wake, he cannot fathom how one as fine as she can eat the stunning volume she does.

The sound of her touchdown - the technique had improved drastically through their travels - and the dusty drum of her light, bouncing stride thereafter motivates his own preparation to land, and knees (which tuck beneath the barrel of his chest in flight), groan objectionably as he drives lower-forelegs forward towards the rising plane of glowing-red earth. With much less elegance than she, but perhaps better skill… his hair-cloaked hooves collide, with a jarring jolt up the length of each correlating limb; the rhythmic thunder of his canter begins to slow after a time, and he makes a gradual path in the direction of his darling dove. She stands poised with her nose touched to the ground and before her, like an ominous cloud was the wide opening to a cave.

With more hesitation on display than intended, he approaches, scouting too through the litter of old fragrances which suggest that this is a fairly popular (perhaps by the light of day). He can’t help but commend her courage to breach the barrier between this world and that one; the threshold between heaven and hell, and fights bitterly to conceal his great disappointment (the flailing tantrum within), when he realises that it was a great deal deeper than her mountainside hovel back in the cold valley. There is no mistake about it, if she is to enter, he will need to follow. Swallowing hard, he touches the taught meat  of her thigh - perhaps to reassure himself, more than her - and the wonderful flavour she owns ignites a sudden fever of heat behind his closing eyes.
Noah
I was born a warrior
I was born a warrior
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Nora Posts: 52
Aurora Basin Mare
Mare :: Pegasus :: 14.2 :: 3
Angel
#4

As his smothering breath wavers against my cushioned flank, a jolt of unexpected heat fizzles to the surface, irritating the hairs in proximity of his lips. Rims widen fractionally, backtracking without moving until his tawny, mountainous frame comes into view. It took the better part of a month to acclimate into the socially acceptable use of casual gestures, but his (unending) patience has slowly warmed me toward the idea…so much so that I crave that foreign connection from time to time. It became a tug-of-war between shy nerves and the (recent) yearn to practice those signals more often. Even so…my responsive skin can’t help but crawl and throb. Ears slide rearmost, acutely aware. Mini me is leaning his way, receiving the crumb of attention with grace and perfect pose.

Hesitant legs receive the push they need for jutting onward – I take on the unscripted lead and delve into that den of bedrock. Despite the adjacency of purgatory itself…the air, walls and floor are laden with cool moisture; coated with a singular aim…make our trek as precarious as possible. In addition, the blackish shale are ill-placed and easily unseated. Even my careful, light steps usher a fresh upheaval and send prickling stones to vanish into that unforeseen depth. ”Très humide” I hiss between gritting teeth while leaning my narrow weight rearward. These hindquarters become wooden; predisposed to sit back should that rickety pathway lurch me (or the eagle) forward. The full extent of consequences in our descent only begin to cross my mind after we’ve fully committed to this latest adventure...

Our guide, the dim firelight, becomes strangled. Though the centers of my eyes try to adjust, they aren’t predatory and the further we go…the more starved they become. A knotting mix of panic, shame and regret snarl at me while those inky shadows begin to close in around us. Trembling legs continue – steadfast for the moment.

But…

What if he slips…whispers of doubts and fear poke fun at my unreliable prowess. Their tales are whelped from the loins of anxiety. This was a bad…bad idea.

Just as my fears win ground, a shimmering glow illuminates the space ahead. That tempered light is similar to the first one...it pulses and wavers. The cool, stagnate air elevates slightly. Seconds later, that slope tappers off; the uneven floor becomes smooth as our path widens into an archway and dispenses us into a brilliant, flame stoked chamber. "Regarde ça," my awestruck expression lapses sharply. Transparent barriers hold back a river of molten, glowing lava while it cascades down into the stony floor and vanishes harmlessly from sight.

A childish, fascinated beam squelches my anxiety and ushers delight. My head sways left, aiming to peer behind me to share this brilliance with my companion…I find him…awash in fire and gold. Smelted and glowing. The dull heat in my belly is struck; crackling, sparking. His wings aren’t hollows of soft down – no – they have become like the steely cords that entrap him. Forged by wind with gilt and copper. My subconscious is all but panting.

Talk? That tiny, unnamed voice suggests.  

About? What babble would interest this gleaming, brilliant man?  

"N-noah," jaws quiver while I shove those internal conflicts behind bars. Brows scrunch, searching for the ability to express myself, "cave," irises narrow, forcefully pushed aside to study the far off expansion (as if it could distract me,) "good home," never mind that my sentence structure is poor, it was past the point of backing out, "for me,” my subconscious sighs, becoming irrationally anxious with my slowness, "as..."

As...

What was his word?

Concentrating...these lips sound it out, "s-smual child." Though, the cavern of my childhood hadn't been like this...nor had our circumstances been by choice, "I..." his tongue flows easier when I tread in familiarity, "stay only in cave, as child." Our simple bridge isn’t wide enough for me to explain the necessity of a caged existence.  


@Noah


Noah Posts: 59
Aurora Basin Soldier atk: 4.5 | def: 7.5 | dam: 7
Stallion :: Pegasus :: 16.3 :: 3 HP: 64 | Buff: NOVICE
Riven
#5
So overwhelming is his dislike for confinement (caves particularly) - the sinister dark, stagnant air and cold, shadow-stained walls - that he lingers there, in the open night above the earth’s gaping jaws, until the ravenous gloom has all but swallowed the milky-white waft of silken tendrils in her wake. With discontent glossing their vivid teal character, his eyes behold the world aglow for a final time (as though it might be the last), and the dull, smoky air seems visibly to turn and eddy across that bubbling, magma-pit before him, like wild water; Noah sucks hard through clenched molars and flared nostrils alike, as if the taste of life has never been so sweet.

The fresh, enticing heat of her perfume coats thickly the worn, rickety path he slowly follows and pale, pursed lips bounce and jerk barely inches above it as his hooves struggle against the foreign surface of crumbling, wet stone. The sound of eight hooves clicking warily along the ill-lit corridor (the dove’s are lighter, still brighter), resonates wildly to drown out the warning hiss up ahead, though his ears already ring with apprehension, burning anticipation - it is more than just a cold void around him. To both his surprise and initial relief, a lone vein of that fiery pool runs deep to his right; it throws a minor rug of comforting warmth across his tense golden shoulders. In place of choking blackness, a murky, dull hue engulfs them - just penetrable - and when at last startled pupils adjust, he can just make out the start of savage rows of teeth along the ceiling above.

That cloak of comfort falls suddenly to the verge.

”A mouth indeed…” he mumbles inaudibly with a shiver of worry descending his spine. A baited glance tempts backwards to see if those rocky red lips have sealed snugly behind.

The pair continue blindly down that throat nonetheless.

He fails to notice the pattern of similar concern melting into the stiffness of her pace and the acid stress tarnishing the sweet aroma she exudes; his attention has become unfortunately narrow-minded, involuntarily so, and the haunting howl of his own paranoia reeks havoc on his conscience. The velvety bridge between his pumping nares deviates brazenly forward to find the padded warmth of reality, her trembling skin, and in the same moment the underworld becomes suddenly aglow with throbbing light. Her glorious accent rises to meet his confusion, to sooth it, and his gaze wanders incredulously to trace the visible outlines of an unbelievably broad room. ”How?” is all his strangled understanding can assemble and he steps to stand beside her with an up-lifted chin.

The heart of the earth is ablaze beside them, and brilliant heat emanates to lull the frantic chill from his core; he admires it tentatively, suspiciously, with coiled, strained hindquarters - though what his plan of action is, should the bowels of this monster unhinge, is a mystery even to him. His brain begins finally to hurt and his eyes retire to the sanctuary of normalcy Nora offers; her face (when she turns it back towards him), seems aloft, giddy like the flight of a leaf, and a tender smile is lured by the image of her, into his softening expression.

Silence embraces them then, but to Noah it feels cosy and full, rather than the gnawing, lonely frigidness he might have expected.

When she speaks, his mellowed gaze is still settled upon her; the dove stands before a perfect halo of light and she is stunning to behold. He does move gradually, however, slides around to her front - perhaps a little closer than he might normally - and the lovely atmosphere (combined with her charming company) begins to loosen the bind of worry on his mind. Carefully and thoughtfully he reads the measure of concentration unfolding through her brow-line and nods (offering predictable, gentle encouragement), at her mention of the cave. The words to follow however catch him entirely off guard and the enduring, patient smile he wears gives birth instantly to something more unsettled, stricken, panicked. Before anything sensible forms across his tongue in response, and above the frenzied pulse in his ears, she continues - slowly - eventually revealing a small snippet of her past.

As though he’d fallen back from the brink of purgatory, a sigh purges from his lungs. ”I get it,” he announces with ill-timed vigour, riding on the new tide of relief as it floods through his being. Then, recovering some poise, he asks her, ”feels good? Like home?” Noah, only bold enough to explore the dank depths of one miserable cave as a colt, was so terrorised by the screeching, flapping resident bats, that any thought of the underworld today, fills him with dreadful anxiety.

Noah
I was born a warrior
I was born a warrior
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Permission for all except death
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Nora Posts: 52
Aurora Basin Mare
Mare :: Pegasus :: 14.2 :: 3
Angel
#6
His voice, his predictability...it threatens to ease me into the framework of our unspoken truce and companionship. Allow distractions to mold our conversation, embrace the expectant dose of platonic complacency. Those caged voices wail their disapproval. Our pattern, the ritual has always (eventually) won. Answer him…my subconscious groans, stamping her little feet with impatience. “No,” I murmur, flinch/gesturing toward those pulsing cascades of amber, “this alive…pretee.” The scorched cavern had been husk-like, our pre-dug grave; it couldn't have a heartbeat. “Home,” these jaws quiver shyly, softening at their corners, “gon, dead.” Though my tone is gentle, there is flat emotion; a dull, uninspired response. Grief has been buried…those bones and ghosts are ash. My self preservation has constructed an unapproachable acceptance, (for now) one that uses my handicap as an excuse for silence and redirection.

With all assumption that those wild tendencies are in check, my expression fabricates a mindless drift from those far walls, returning to him (but still avoiding his reaction) they fall upon the nearest, brawny shoulder. Temples scrunch, this side...it hasn't been raked by a demon. My demon. I can still remember reaching out as a skeleton; unbelievable that he'd found me within that hollowed out, rancid cocoon. Had his compassion been as bright and tangible then? Distrust and the suspicion for unexpressed intentions had driven my tenderness to a watchful length. But no longer…for months…there has been something warm and pure building from the ground we stand upon. His confidence now breathes inside me and I wouldn’t shrink like before.

Nostrils broaden, fluttering at the tip. His essence is thick from travel and strengthened by immediacy. Caged affections rattle their bars; tearing, poking holes into the thin fabric separating reality and desire. Admissions, questions, all are posed to strain against their confinement – threaten me to the point of unruly. The dull tightness in my chest gravitates upward. “You,” my lips defy me, true to their honesty, “stay, p-pro,” another misstep, another trip on my slender ability, these cheeks become royally heated – the tips of my ears burn wickedly, “pro-tekt me.” Mini me waits, throwing encouragement from the ledge of my heart. Irises tilt downward, avoiding his eyes – but still unable to shake that electric uncertainty.

“You…sont mon abri.” Nerves bring out those native comforts, struggling, I find his words to describe and translate, “like home,” close enough, “for me.”

@Noah


Noah Posts: 59
Aurora Basin Soldier atk: 4.5 | def: 7.5 | dam: 7
Stallion :: Pegasus :: 16.3 :: 3 HP: 64 | Buff: NOVICE
Riven
#7
The sound of a thousand hooves at speed resonates wildly in his ears and it’s sound is deafening in the  muted silence of their cave. Loud as the very call of nature, intoxicating, he submits at last to the whim of his aching heart (it is all he can do), the butterfly song of affection it hears, the overbearing pull of attraction he feels; those eyes still upon her, glaze beneath slow the turn of this mood. He has has spent almost every waking minute with her, enough time easily, to imbed that certain gravity of trust, the bond that has become more steel-like than the frayed fabric of mere camaraderie. Noah feels it, the thrum of it echoes in his pulse - it has for weeks - though he is only young, and his mind bleeds a dilution of sweet ignorance. Still, it calls him, and as the sound of that rich, romantic accent tempts nearer to the rattling walls of his mind, his skin begins suddenly to tremble as though the snow of many winters has bitten.

He burns fiercely with fever however, and dulling sweat betrays him, leaks across the gleam of an ivory girth.

There she stands, so close that his pores scream for contact, craving the heat of that womanly curve (he has touched her before, he knows); nearly months ago her angles were wickedly sharp, the flesh had been harried from her exotic bones by fear induced travel (or so he assumes), but now she appears before him like a goddess, an angel aglow that he dares not defile. He wants to hold back, shrill nerves drive a dagger down through his lust, they work to derail him, but fear and uncertainty arrive far too late. He cannot help but be lured a step closer, her succulent perfume in the stagnant atmosphere, so ripe for the taking, guides hungry nares in - something within him grows ravenous - and lips quiver, pressed together as they venture for collision.

She - every exquisite part of her - is bewitching, stunning, like the sun to night; more glorious even than his brazen expectation in this moment, and his vulnerable male verve reels backwards (eyes sealed beneath quaking lashes, roll), and his lungs are robbed completely of breath. It takes him a minute to recover, chin pitched desperately towards the dark ceiling (for he was drowning indeed), and he wavers on the spot in a drunken stupor, with wings dropped limply to the cold, dewy-stone floor. The breath he draws - steals from the bubble they are forced to share - is long, pronounced, but it restores and invigorates him; banishes the fog of boyish infatuation from all thought. Bright aquamarine plunges at last, lured back from oblivion by the shuffle of hooves; still nearer has he slid, defying the barrier that once existed between them, to sweep away silken forelock from her perfectly enticing eyes.
Noah
I was born a warrior
I was born a warrior
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Permission for all except death
(no need to ask)

Nora Posts: 52
Aurora Basin Mare
Mare :: Pegasus :: 14.2 :: 3
Angel
#8
Uneasy shudders are provoked, scaling from heel to wither. ‘Please,’ those muffled inflections groan, ‘say anything!' While his idle seconds dribble into a cooling hearth, they lend strength to the negative fantasies in my doubtful, rebellious mind. Uncertainty becomes the drug of choice, it heightens my awareness of the hollowness as it expands in my gut with suffocating density. Like a wreath of black clouds devouring the moon… nares twitch, guzzling the toxic incense, the briny heat of a masculine siren. Shutters flicker open, drawing me from that darkened place of assumption (when had they fallen shut?)…his moist breath…it dithers over my hot face, baiting…summoning.

Doubt evaporates (as do most cognitive functions) when I draw my befuddled gaze upward to behold the chiseled artistry of divinity mere inches away. Hot...restless knots form in the kilt of my belly. Unaddressed appetites rage against the bars of their confinement. Jaws pulse apart, nostrils quiver. His fervor (my wildest dreams) manifest into reality  – his aphrodisiac – it feeds those unexplored parts of me. My heart is a ravenous, enraptured doe who is slow to shed her spots. However, the flesh is mature…it instinctively understands how to response without my consent; answer his suggestions. Tighten the coils, ignite slow heat until it  radiates from my core.

“Noah?” that whimpered admission of insecurity forsakes me on the cusp of a hitched breath…though his velvet lips seem undaunted in their quest. A primal noise ripples over the surface of my stunned expression while those sensitive whiskers boldly unveil the pulsing, agitated flesh beneath a curtain of sweltering locks. Arms rustle apart, becoming fidgety as the muscles in my shoulders begin to tremble. Intuitively, my head leans into his mercy. Oh...my…sanity, misgivings…useless deductions are cast to the wayside. With darkening eyes, my subconscious takes the reins.

My lips ascend, stretching toward his honeyed cheek – eager to trace and scout those vivid (previously inaccessible) contours. Rims dance, leaving their moist imprint down his iron clad, incinerated neck. I have always been drawn to him – but now…the pull is irresistible. He is the light who invites the fragile moth. Those siren-like hormones are impish, rousing…delicious. Caged sensations loosen the bars of their confinement, slipping free. My dock impulsively arches, flagging a tri-fold of silk earnestly against the arc of either hindleg. The volcanic environment has lost all power, it becomes bleached from view. There is only him…wholly consuming my attention as he smelts our space until there is nothing but one fervid step between us. And though the path is unknown to me (terrifying even)…I take that step, submitting to his embrace, that sizzling aura.

@Noah


Noah Posts: 59
Aurora Basin Soldier atk: 4.5 | def: 7.5 | dam: 7
Stallion :: Pegasus :: 16.3 :: 3 HP: 64 | Buff: NOVICE
Riven
#9
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
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@Nora
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Permission for all except death
(no need to ask)

Nora Posts: 52
Aurora Basin Mare
Mare :: Pegasus :: 14.2 :: 3
Angel
#10
While the eagle celebrates a victory over my inexperienced lust, his mercy also sheds a lustrous, sultry brilliance upon the dark, wondrous road ahead. ‘Follow,’ that inner voice murmurs. His example is the guide that steers me on the bold exploration of fevered, twitching skin; threads glide from throbbing throat to pulsing chest. Beneath these lips, his cords of molten iron contract, bolstering that delicious heat. His masterpiece, the strength of a man is pressing in all the tighter against me. Rewards are doubled when my naïve passion exposes a sweep of dazzling abandon as it rises from his pores. ‘To think,’ my stunned, gasping fascination construes, ‘a little touch could lure the master, the king of heaven itself into revealing the vulnerability of his undoing.’ The high brink of my muzzle curves in delight as the first taste of triumph comes galloping in; confidence is built with him as the cornerstone of my foundation.

Seduce, reciprocate. Seems there is another alien language to learn...except....this one doesn't use our voice to convey emotion. Lips hitch on the deep, under-loved crevice of his neck; drifting with slow, inept passion. His hair collides and embraces; soft, unruly. When I brush it aside, the skin underneath is smothered and intoxicatingly firm. My mouth works tenderly, sampling first…then gulping that raw, virile essence.

His flat ivories scrap, dragging purposely over the sensitive roadways. A tight, hoarse (unrecognizable) gasp lifts from the center of my body. My hypersensitive skin jolts, lurching to ride the shockwave that fans from the point of contact, outward. 'Yes,' my subconscious moans, silken lips curl into a possessive, demanding smile. "Ahh!" Forsaking (forgetting) the mission, my head tilts upward of its own accord; jowls unhitch, panting hotly in the wake of those strange, newborn sensations. A sheen of tingling perspiration spreads over me. His vibrant, pulsing energy cracks like a bolt of stray lightning even as those strikes fall with benevolence unlike anything ever previously felt before.

Noah’s damp, whiskered lips tickle against the curves of my legs. Stroking the furnace in my belly until every pinpoint is singing the melody of his choice. No man has ever touched…caressed…brandished or marked me in such a way. None had ever used wicked, crafty kisses to awaken the primal creature in me. Hindquarters stiffen, trembling violently. Arrows of pleasure spike through my blood; racing much sweeter and faster than adrenaline. More…that wanton voice demands. These hooded eyes shift, sharpening, ascending on the dense, towering curve of his withers. Jaws sink, sealing my incisors over a thick, loose strand of cream. I tug gently at the base of it – eager for the discovers that would bring his sensitivity to the same height as mine. After a moment, I release him and feather myself over Norah's taut shoulders – tracing that rigid, muscled skeleton where joint and feather meet.

OC:

@Noah

Noah Posts: 59
Aurora Basin Soldier atk: 4.5 | def: 7.5 | dam: 7
Stallion :: Pegasus :: 16.3 :: 3 HP: 64 | Buff: NOVICE
Riven
#11
Innocent and warm, her quavering flesh beckons to his wild, disobedient compulsion. The passion peaking throughout every inch of his pulsing, ravenous frame is unbearable, inconceivable, and when she gasps so delicately, his wild ears jolt forward like starved predators towards prey; striving from beneath a swamp of glittering gold, they feed greedily upon that subtle, rewarding gesture and engage the rampant energy which already spasms through his brain. With dim, unruly eyes unleashed, he captures the erotic tilt of her ceiling-bound chin and grinds down molars hard between swaying, salivating jaws. Deep within, the voice of his desire groans heavily. Darkness ensues as lids clench tightly, inadvertently together and tuned senses point to the thrilling tingle of heat as it builds through his core; what began as a wary flame in the winds of possibility has erupted into a writhing wildfire - and it swells angrily, enthrallingly, well beyond his control. A prickle of pain (no matter how slight), exacerbated by spiked sensitivity in the height of the moment, peels south through stiff withers and his broad forehead dives, hefty rear swinging out away from her grasp.

Relentless (thank heavens), she trails, and her prolific, potent perfume spills down across him like a cruel, fated net. The point of her nose, constant and devious, slithers teasingly along the most sensitive brink of wing and feather, and this shivers, shudders - violently aroused - in a false effort to evade.

Pleasure. Driven, intoxicated and utterly overburdened by the harrow of broiling loins, he moves, bends and curls about her nymphet shell as though in a drunken stupor; however, he is not clumsy as he strokes and caresses the singing spray of nerves beneath her tapestry - lips twirl apart on their own accord, tracing tiny, swirls and lines, about the humid span of trembling thigh, hip, spine. She, the dove, is alive beneath the taunting weight of his skull as it drags sloppily along the voluptuous length of that inviting bed - it teases his resolve - skin squirms in wake of his presence upon it, as though buried beneath its sleek, coco pull is a tempest sea. There is stiffness now too, below it, leaning like old timber through her hindquarters and he tests it daringly, pushes more the boundary of their salacious game, thrusting above her the burly, bold endeavour of one rogue shoulder. Wings peel again from saturated silvery skin, and the sultry air surrounding, brooding in their fetid nest, bites savagely, for he is hot, steaming, like the molten lava pulsing with excitement beyond.  

Those hocks barely buckle beneath the insult of mock weight. The fire within him reaches a deafening climax and up rises carnal trepidation to spur on a sickening sense of urgency. Right shoulder plunges swiftly, rolls down still snugly close against her and it strives hastily for that burning curve on the other side. Her silken, streaming banner, like a scarlet summons in the night, presses like an arrow against the progression of his hulking fore but he cannot pause and brushes it crudely aside; something is building, and its call will not be ignored. Suddenly, all movement there behind her shifts, turns agitated, rhythmic, (his legs tremble wearily, hurriedly as they stumble into action) and the air funnelling into gaping, gasping lungs becomes more desperate, dire. Pounding beneath the pad of his breast, racing heart begins to ache, to burn and the furious, primal fervour he feels, sinks like a lead balloon into the engorged depths of his being. With no ability left to withhold, he launches, scrambles and clenches.

And before there is even time to blink, his scorching body is awash with cool, invigorating release…
Noah
I was born a warrior
I was born a warrior
Image | Coding

@Nora
Plots | Absences | Wishlist
Please tag me in openers and spars
Permission for all except death
(no need to ask)


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