“True,” he replies agreeably, his face still nestled into the slope of her shoulder. Pinkish gold hair falls over his eyes and tickles the top of his head. “I hardly deserve myself.” When he speaks so close to her like this, he can hear the thrum of his own voice reverberating against her skin. Every word is like an enchantment meant to make his heart beat faster, to allow him to feel every minute pulling and shifting of her muscles. It is sensual in ways that are, not new to him, but far too rare. He doesn’t want to pull away. He wants to speak every word he knows (and oh, there are so many) sidled against her. He wants to create new words if only to say them and feel them - to create new languages, even.
Because he, too, remembers when this was an impossibility.
Those terrible but wonderful times when they chanced upon each other had been touchless affairs. Sure, they had had their adventures and conversations deeper than the soil they stood on. They had had their respective pasts and shared pasts and ghosts they resurrected (he: the Chamber and its’ daughters, she: her parents and family). It was enough for a long time, to talk and not touch. It was enough to keep them interested in each other, to keep them waiting for the next opportunity to see each other again.
Walter’s emotions – his own and those of others that felt like his own, anyway – were volatile things. Had always been. They were a physical barrier that kept him at a distance from everyone he met. Imagine experiencing a happiness so great it burned like the sun. Imagine staring down a spiraling black hole of grief, of wanting to leap in and end it, because another’s hurt was so deep. Walter never had to imagine or put himself in another’s place – he lived it, breathed it. And it kept him away. It made him cold as stone and as easily moved.
Thank god for the Reckoning, eh?
He loses her now, but it’s only long enough for her to pull back. She’s there again quickly, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. “Besides me?” He asks as she does it. The corners of his honey-yellow eyes crinkle with warmth for being so close to her and for his own joke (mostly for her, probably). The stallion finally takes a regretful step back. Because she has missed a lot, and as hesitant as he is to break the moment, she clearly wants to be filled in. “We’ve a new queen, Hestia. She is exactly what all those Jungle fanatics seem to expect of a leader. I think she will be brilliant.” It’s bizarre for him to talk about kingdom matters with anything more than a single grain of passion, but he does. Something is different about him now. Idly, he wonders if Djinni will notice. “Will you stay and help us?” Us. Who the hell is he these days?
He stretches his wings out to their full length, shaking a kink out before settling them against his sides again. It is obvious he is physically different, too, filled out by ropy muscles that run under his golden hide. Vainly, these he hopes the mage notices. Maybe that’s why she’s never sought him out in the Fall. Procreation has never motivated Walter. Showing his love to Djinni has, but again, another Fall is passing them without her obvious want. He tells himself it is his fault for being so closed off for so long. He’s lost his chance at that, she’ll find others if she hasn’t already. Looking at her bathed in the soft light of a sunless day, it’s impossible to imagine she hasn’t. Impossible to believe someone like her keeps coming back to someone like him.
Walter
son of Liefde & Ellen
@[Djinni]