11-13-2017, 08:08 AM
 i'll use you as a makeshift gauge of how much to give and how much to take
Possessiveness is inherent in the kelpie, but he has no interest in the jealousy that often accompanies it. It is useful in others, like when he had taunted Isobell, but that is only because of how inclined the piebald mare had been to the assumption of monogamy. Ivar has never discussed such things with Heda, but he is all but certain she feels much the same, especially given her reaction to Karaugh’s blatant ogling of the black and white stallion. The thought of it brings a small smile to Ivar’s white mouth, and he rubs the buckskin shoulder beside him mindlessly. The salty sweat on her skin adds a tang to the kiss he presses to her, a welcome reminder of the pleasure they had shared. She is less receptive of his playful nips, flinching away, and the stallion does not persist. She is fragile, he reminds himself; her value is not measured only in the satisfaction he can draw from her body. Others are measured that way – most others, truly – but Heda is different. She has a skill that none of them do, her intangible emotional magic, and Ivar is loathe to lose that. He risks it, he knows, but hopes that the length of their relationship, the sunk cost of it, will be enough to keep her beside him. He should tell her, he knows, tell her that she is not his only the way that he is hers. It is not guilt that drives him (he’s never felt such a thing), but rather a logical weighing of his options. Better she find out from him, in a way that he can control. Better that than she find him tangled with another, forcing him to chase after her, to reason, to explain. “I’m going to start a herd,” he tells her, pulling gently at the knots of her blue mane. “Here in Loess, I mean.” He is quick to add that, not wanting her to think that he is leaving, or worry that he is abandoning his duties here. The silky strands of hair soon lay smoothly across her soft yellow neck, and Ivar buries his face against her for a moment, breathing in her familiar scent. The hunger is rising again, unsatisfied by their gentle lovemaking, and Ivar steps away, but only to glide his cheek down the slope of her back. He considers taking her again, as the autumn leaves fall around them, knowing how good she will feel below him, how delightful her breathy moans sound in his ears. The stallion moves to stand behind her, his neck and head resting along her spine as his chest presses against her tail. Even this is comfortable, but he knows that sex is what draws them closest, and he waits with a mischievous question in his eye for her to turn her head to face him. “Would you like that?” Ivar asks as he presses a kiss to her right hip, and another to her spine. “To be my lead mare, my queen, mother to my children?” The stallion had meant to wait, to tease, but his instinct melds too well with the words he says to her. He shares his need with her as he rises over her again, as he places the gentle kisses she needs along her neck, reminds her with his own gift that she will “want him, need him.” his breath is warm in her ear, the words clipped and short only as he spills himself inside her for the second time. “You’ll be safe, protected. Mine.” minimal grullo tobiano king of loess |
It's totes fine! Maybe we could start a spring thread after the 15th, to keep up with the timeline? :)