I have the future on my tongue...

The house of snow should not hold fire; fragments of memories flashed through his mind, of quenching desire and spiking the warm blood of another mortal with ice.. of not being able to resist, and yielding to the tempting touch of a long-legged bay, or the playful daring of two adult friends. No — the house of snow was not meant to hold fire, because when fire erupted, he melted, the ice shattering before the onslaught of pure, physical emotion. The latticework of frost across his heart dissolved into steam, each breath hot in his lungs, filling his mind with her scent, her body so close to his, feeding the fire that had already torn his walls, his will, down and apart. The rhythm of his breath was not the same as hers, and in the spaces of stillness he could feel her black chest swell against his, his nerves running themselves ragged with the teasing pressure. She shivered, a shudder rippling through her body, and into his; air blew out harshly of his nostrils in a demand for something. With all the things running through his system he couldn't bottle it all up, didn't want to, and breath was by far the easiest way to let it out.

Her head moved, out from underneath his jaw; blue eyes closed halfway, breath pausing in his lungs as her nose traced the side of his face, up to his ear. Her breath was hot, a soft tickle, and his ear gave a twitch, unable to handle it. The whisper had him looking at her again, the usual clarity clouded by desire. "Impress me..." For a moment his thoughts fought for control, to analyze and interpret, but his body was already moving, and he sank into the sea of warm oblivion again. His head angled back, muzzle seeking her lower jaw; he retreated half a step, heart pounding, barely able to believe — comprehend — what was going on.. only knowing what his body did, and craved, refusing to cave in to the paranoia that she'd dump an icy load of water over his head in the last moment.

His breath trembled, each exhalation a shiver of air meant for her skin, his touch feather-light, hoping her nerves were on fire just like his. Playfulness mingled with fervor in his eyes, and barely able to believe what he was doing he rocked back another half-step, running his maw over the taut skin of her neck. Slowly he curved himself, curling around her hip, trying to press his shoulder against her barrel and his thigh against her dock at the same time; his black muzzle came to a rest by her withers, lips tugging at a lock of her mane before pulling back, his blunt teeth coming out to gently massage the muscles beneath her velvet skin. He'd never truly touched her in this way before.. never felt this kind of fire spread through him, a desire he could not ignore anymore: he couldn't explain it away, hide it behind fancy words and charades, give it a meaning... There was only one truth, and the truth was what he wanted her.

.. give me a kiss.