05-28-2016, 12:35 AM
something about you...
If I didn't know better, I'd say you were flirting, Azael. Such an accusation. The very idea. But perhaps he was. Perhaps. "Am I?" the stallion quipped in his smooth way, an almost dismissive note woven into the utterance of those twin words. And yet, there was no denying that subtle glint sparking from within the very depths of his dark gaze. A glint of amusement, perhaps? Perhaps.
More words. A gust of wind which sent the stallion's soot-touched tresses to licking at the cool air. A swoop of birds acknowledged only by a brief flick of the male's right ear. And then there was only Kimber once more, the mare of earth and sky alike, the mare who smelled of ash and heat and... nothing. Nothing. No one.
And finally, there. There was the truth. If we're being honest, I need a distraction. Soft was Azael's inhale. Immediate was his reply. "Oh, good," came that smooth baritone, as rich as honey, as cool as gold. "It would seem that we are, indeed, well-matched, then," the stallion went on to note, a single step drawing him close to the ombre mare once more so that he could bring his regal skull alongside hers, so that he could let his warm breath caress the very space next to her ear when he queried, "And how shall we distract one another?"
A pause. A moment given to allow such words to take root, to spark possibilities. And in that silent closeness, he lingered. Close enough to touch, to claim, to command. But, no. This creature was not his to touch, not his to claim, not his to command. And so he resisted, that momentary lapse in judgment from before dismissed. Forgotten.
Another moment spent in silence. And then the scarred brute was supplying his own suggestion, before the celestial mare could have an opportunity to truly consider his offer, to properly reply. "Race me, Kimber," he exhaled into that stillness between their two forms. An odd request, perhaps. A juvenile past-time reincarnated in this moment.
But there was more. Of course there was more. "No wings," Azael went on to specify, setting the first term for the match. "There." Without drawing away from her side, not yet, not yet, the dappled wraith tipped his head toward that nearby tree playing host to the trio of blackbirds. The second term. It would be a short run, a mere sprint to sharpen the senses, to heat the blood. But it would be enough.
And finally, the last of the terms. What was at stake. The prize.
"The last one there must answer a most personal question."
Such a line was delivered in a bare hiss of sound, a challenge released on the wings of a fleeting breath. Beyond that, there was nothing to do but wait. To watch.
To breathe.
More words. A gust of wind which sent the stallion's soot-touched tresses to licking at the cool air. A swoop of birds acknowledged only by a brief flick of the male's right ear. And then there was only Kimber once more, the mare of earth and sky alike, the mare who smelled of ash and heat and... nothing. Nothing. No one.
And finally, there. There was the truth. If we're being honest, I need a distraction. Soft was Azael's inhale. Immediate was his reply. "Oh, good," came that smooth baritone, as rich as honey, as cool as gold. "It would seem that we are, indeed, well-matched, then," the stallion went on to note, a single step drawing him close to the ombre mare once more so that he could bring his regal skull alongside hers, so that he could let his warm breath caress the very space next to her ear when he queried, "And how shall we distract one another?"
A pause. A moment given to allow such words to take root, to spark possibilities. And in that silent closeness, he lingered. Close enough to touch, to claim, to command. But, no. This creature was not his to touch, not his to claim, not his to command. And so he resisted, that momentary lapse in judgment from before dismissed. Forgotten.
Another moment spent in silence. And then the scarred brute was supplying his own suggestion, before the celestial mare could have an opportunity to truly consider his offer, to properly reply. "Race me, Kimber," he exhaled into that stillness between their two forms. An odd request, perhaps. A juvenile past-time reincarnated in this moment.
But there was more. Of course there was more. "No wings," Azael went on to specify, setting the first term for the match. "There." Without drawing away from her side, not yet, not yet, the dappled wraith tipped his head toward that nearby tree playing host to the trio of blackbirds. The second term. It would be a short run, a mere sprint to sharpen the senses, to heat the blood. But it would be enough.
And finally, the last of the terms. What was at stake. The prize.
"The last one there must answer a most personal question."
Such a line was delivered in a bare hiss of sound, a challenge released on the wings of a fleeting breath. Beyond that, there was nothing to do but wait. To watch.
To breathe.
Azael