[mature] you were a vision in the morning when the light came through, rhaegor (holiday party)

[Rhaegor]

Rhaegor

the playboy

Truth be told, it's not the dirty thoughts that Rhaegor finds himself excited to listen in on; until she mentions something, it had not even once occurred to him. Although the thoughts filling Chryseis' head fill the man with more ardor that he certainly doesn't need considering the state she puts him in with her presence alone, he finds himself drawn to others; others which come later, as they stand enclosed by the structure he'd had built for them. With the ice twinkling like stars, Rhaegor finds himself listening to the girl's innermost thoughts, and replying in kind.

He cares about me enough to want to make me happy...
Yes, I do. With my every breath.
He loves me the way that I love him.
Yes, I do. There is no part of me that isn't yours.
I don't have to be afraid, I can be vulnerable with him.
It is my duty to make you feel safe. One which I shall never forsake.
He hurt me in Hyaline... But now, things are different.
I pray that you are beside me throughout all of the changes this universe has to throw at us.

In the end, as they stand together chest to chest, her disbelief clearly spelled out for him and for the stars, he can only think to her the countless ways in which he loves her. When she whispers that she loves him, the words send shivers down the entirety of his spine; and in that moment, he forgets his disease. He forgets his worry, and his duty, and his strife. He forgets mothers and Will and Sviko, he forgets Magnus and Tephra, he forgets Dawn and he nearly forgets his own name: for in place of it, a single being stood, her light like that of a star: endless, shone outward upon him; brilliant; the being, of course, is her.

Chryseis.

Chryseis.

It's the only word he knows how to say as he feels himself responding to her touch, mouth reaching for the exact place that he'd marked her months ago. Without tactile definition, the scar ought to be hard to find; yet the ease with which the prince places himself there is a testament to the many times they have been thus entangled, or at least to the countless times that he has imagined them so. A jagged exhale cuts across her skin as his eyes squeeze shut, her own name echoing in her mind yet again. Chryseis.

Something tells him that that (the name of the goddess whom he worships with his every thought, breath, and heartbeat) will be the only word he knows how to say this night.

Swiftly, and with the smoothness of one much more experienced than he, the pegasus slips from before the diety to along her side. As he moves, the soft flesh of his mouth traces the curvature of her spin, tasting every vertebrae as though to do so might render them closer than ever before. At the peak of her hip, the stallion pauses, shuddering as a thousand feelings flood through his body. Love, namely, followed by a possessive need so demanding that he knew in his heart that she must feel it too. The want, the desire, coupled with the absolute knowledge of their love for one another - it leaves him high, and without anything to lose.

With a step forward to position himself, Rhaegor -- slips, on a patch of unseen ice, clicking his jaw comically and embarrassingly against Chryseis' rump. For the briefest of milliseconds, the golden boy feels as though his life might end; but in the next, the alien clicking of his laughter accompanies the liquid, lyrical sound of hers, and the noises create a sort of music in the ice enclosure that neither would hear again. What may have been dread and sheepishness for another pair in the moment after his slip, for Chrygor is but another reason why they love one another; before he even knows how he got there, Rhae finds himself with his mouth lovingly pressed against hers, the tail end of their laughter tinkling against the ice like drops of sleet.

Breathless now more than ever, the stallion finds a lock of his love's mane and pulls on it gently, three times. I love you, he thinks with each tug. The telepathy cuts out soon thereafter, however, as he loses himself to the light-headedness and to the scent of her and to the electrical chemistry created between them. With each nod of his head, the tugs on her mane become fiercer, clearly outlining the exact ways in which he has imagined her beneath him; the ways he has imagined her whimpering, moaning, and screaming his name; the ways in which she would tremble for him, despite the virgin nature of their looming union.

Stepping back, Rhae finds himself chest-flush against the seemly roundness of Chryseis' haunches, teeth grating impatiently against her skin. She tastes more like ice and fire than ever, an intoxicating mixture of all things opposite which leaves him reeling; and yet, as he spins mentally, he physically pauses. In a voice that communicates but his undying need for her, emotionally, spiritually, and physically, he asks:

"I want you, Chryseis." His words here are punctuated by a firm and sudden press of his chest against her, a teaser for what will come should she consent; a guttural sound of pure need escapes him then, one that even she, his closest of companions, will have never heard before.

God fucking dammit, I need you. And not in any of the innocent ways from before.

From behind the mare, where she cannot see him, the playboy glimpses her halo. The little thing sits askew, as though it, too, is scantily clad and disheveled before him. Slowly, a dark, sinister grin grows along the young lover's typically angelic face; retreating but a finite distance, RhAegor imperceptibly lowers his head, angling its shapely mass until the hot air of his next words blow directly across her most sensitive inner parts; he barely manages to speak them, for how the warm, heady scent of her drives him to act. And yet, he waits; knowing that it will be more torture for her, than for him.

"Tell me how bad you want me, too."

Beg for me, Chryseis.

...my name on your tongue and your tongue on my...