Flesh touches flesh, bone and muscle… what warmth exists on his skin becomes a memory to the icy and unearth cold that has taken over hers. She’d have shuddered at the gentle pressure, at the slightest sensation; but the depths have changed her sensory impulses and instead she indulges it: endures and feels, allows the melding and sliding of figures.
There is a moment that she considers this dangerous, that her teeth consider lashing and snapping: pinching the Kelpie’s flesh just for measure and test… but she relents and instead she allows the low rumble of her voice to hang in the air, the heavy sound of vibration and purr. “Never a threat darling,” she muses, her eyes watching and figure relaxed. “Always a promise, especially for you.” the latter of it is sensual without force, a quip and a purr that exist only then.
His gesture however, provokes a sort of slow turn of her gaze and she notes the touch of his maw and the exploration of her hip bones: of her sunken in figure. Skeletal and straining she notes the hardness, the sharpness and the edges of the teeth. Her ears pressing backwards through the matted and darkened hair and she notes the snap of teeth, of the jaws opened and closed: she watches the fangs cutting through nothing and simply raises a brow at the gesture.
Yet with conscious effort she draws herself up, raises her head and almost seems to grow an inch or more; but regardless there is a fullness to her presence in this moment that only becomes more so as she curls her neck and head: as in response there is a cobra-like and quick movement.
Lashing forward; but not so long as to reach him, she too tests the air and her teeth gnash together in that moment. She lacks the razorsharp break, but, there is something about her jaw movements that are unnatural to an equine and more suitable for something else: the air providing nothing but the clatter of keratin and bone, lacking blood or meat.
Such is that she withdraws too, remaining as she been, ears forward and neck curved- the height not lost and her muscles more ready to move even with the heaviness of her lungs or the stiffness in her every bone. What sensuality existed remains, but, the underlying nature of the abyssal creature is starting to define itself… more so in the curls of her dark, matted locks and the bizarre spatterings of color. She speaks in the aftermath and chuckles, watery and echoing. “So fun, almost familiar…”
Yidhra
@[Ivar]