The feeling of her flesh between his teeth is satisfyingly thrilling. A primal instinct kicks in as the familiar and fitting gesture falls seemingly willingly upon her form. It is strange, how little she seems to resist—how willing he is to suffer the nuisance of her blows in exchange for the silken sensation of her skin against his own.

The movement of her body rising to meet his own is one is one he sees coming. Ever-observant, the stallion has kept his eyes trained on every curve of the skin, and notices as she begins her rear. His body rises to meet hers in delicate balance—his thick knees, thinly covered by cracked skin and a fading summer coat, angle forward in an attempt to push her away from him by her chest. A left pastern curls tightly inwards, angling away from Phaedra's more delicate figure. Still, he feels her weight against her, pushing him downwards and away, even as he struggles to keep her at bay. It is not that he does not long for the closeness of her against his powerful breast and the caress of her wings, but that he wishes to play her game. If she is to run from him, then he will insist on fighting his desire and keeping away.

When he lands, he feels his emotion rise to combat the heaviness of the fall. Ash stirred from the heart flies up about his hooves as they leave their impression on the earth. Here, the permafrost does not set in; the ground is softer, somewhat more forgiving in the radius of the fire of the land. His eyes shut at the impact, and when they open it is in surprise. The heavy thwack of her tail against his nose catches him off guard; as she flies away, so close to him that he can feel the air leaving, he balks and snorts with residual shock. At this point he knows he would be a fool to deny her cleverness.

He hears that name again, falling from betwixt her enchantress' lips like rain from the edge of a leaf nestled in his bough: sugar. It seems natural to her, he thinks, as if it is something she is accustomed to using as an address. Once more the understanding of his unremarkable-ness strikes him; he would be a fool to think himself special to someone as unique and talented as she. His mind, however, wanders back to fate.

No, it cannot be a chance that they have met again, trapped under the moonlight by their raw lust and passing memories of each other. Birch is a skeptic in many regards, but this is not an instance he will allow himself to attribute to mere chance.

He listens attentively, letting the connotations of every sugar-soaked word sink in. He may be nothing special to her, but she is becoming such for him. Never before has any mare shown such a powerful interest, even if only in what he may have to offer her by the order of nature's tacit, anticipated decree. Her interest alone is enough to elicit an unwelcome, churning emotion. He finds that there may be more than lust hidden behind his speckled eyes.

"I assure you, whatever use you might find for me..." Birch begins with a lowly, beckningly, "...would be met with one I could find for you in turn." He knows that he's being used; as he walks slowly forward, his shoulders churning and his roots to follow his line of movement, he conveys his understanding of this with a clear, meaningful gaze that seeks out her own.

He trots to her without hesitation, trying to move close so that his breast might fill the arch of her neck and attempting to curve his own to cross over her left shoulder, directly before the crook of her wing. His honey-breath expels itself from within his chest, threatening to dance across her. "Goodness knows, an intelligent pair such as ourselves could find a very good use for each other's company on a night like this," he whispers, his echo of a voice sounding husky and slightly rasped. His words fade into fire-lit black, his teeth reach hungrily for her right ear- should he catch it within his grasp, the bite could sting. But then, Birch has always liked a bit of pain with his pleasure.

He moves from her, setting away at a brisk trot taken at a sharp right. He pauses as he leaves, bracing himself and then shifting his balance so that his back hooves kick up to hopefully ruffle the edge of her wings. The buck is low and short-lived no matter the outcome as the weight of his lifeplant forces him back into a more normal position.

[[ PC: 4/X || WC: 797 || MU: 0/2 || AS: Meets Phaedra's rear with a low one of his own, tucking in his left pastern so as not to damage with his boot. He aims to push her away by the chest with his knees. He is uninjured by her against him, but she weighs him down slightly and lessens the height of his own rear. Her tail slaps him on the nose. He moves to her, hoping to press his chest against her and wrap his neck over her right shoulder to bite her left ear. He moves away from her to his right pausing to make a low buck at the tips of her feathers. || N: Ah, thanks, I'll have to watch for that. :3 ]]