04-04-2018, 04:27 PM
the secret of our world is written in the stars
He is quick to recognize the expression in her face as she uses a single adjective to describe the one he reminds her of. A lover. He has had many of his own, each more vastly different, for he cannot help but find beauty in all he interacted with. However, for a single moment, there is a look of reflection on his handsomely golden face as he remembers Corvus - he had been soft and stoic, where Svedka is bold and wavering like the waves of the ocean. Their differences made their love all the more intensifying, and though it is unlike him, the two-toned stallion pauses a moment to grieve the loss of the wind-strewn stallion that would likely hold a piece of his wild heart forever. When his eyes flicker back to her - when his moment is done (for his sadness is always fleeting) - she is inspecting his feather with almond-eyes. His brows quirk upwards in amusement, wondering what kind of quip would fly from her dark lips - are feathers childish as well? His thought remains his own, but thinking it causes a smile to find his mouth.
She reaches for him - not physically, but she is drawn to him. He is a golden light (or perhaps a crude shadow of what she truly desires) to the darkness in her sad eyes, and his bright gaze is sparkling with puzzlement and a mixture of enjoyment. She surprises him, this wild and beautiful man, and it only encourages him to step even closer, wondering what lay beneath the surface that pushes her towards him so effortlessly. Touch me, her body cries, her eyes plead.
‘Why do you care, Svedka?’
This makes him frown thoughtfully. He halts his forward motion in his hesitation, meeting her eyes (alight with fire and the depths of blackness) with such intensity he has forgotten all about what they were doing before. The accusation had been playful, of course, because that is how he is - but he cannot help the feeling of truth that lies beyond the question, that goes so much deeper than a mere attempt to frustrate him. He is wild, untamed, and free - but he is not careless, even of those he has only just met. Of course he cares.
His frown vanishes quickly, however, and his golden lips press together into a hard line as a pensivity finds his sharply-angled face. She is lost, swirling in a darkness he cannot fathom or begin to dream of, and he desperately wishes to pull her from it - in any way she would let him. A kind smile - less devious, more warm - graces his mouth as her accusation is accompanied by a question.
“What makes you think a silly boy like me has any ideas?”
Svedka’s chuckle is solid in his throat, and without hesitation he stretches his alabaster and honey-gold neck forward to brush her two-toned cheek with his lips - he grants her wish, his breath warm as he places a steady kiss on the dark mahogany of her face, knowing that his touch alone would not scare away the monsters hiding within her eyes. He pulls away and lowers his head as he takes a step forward, placing his cool and damp mouth against where her slender neck meets her shoulder, nostrils quivering as he inhales her scent. He lingers there, thoughtfully, his ears tipped back towards her, listening.
She reaches for him - not physically, but she is drawn to him. He is a golden light (or perhaps a crude shadow of what she truly desires) to the darkness in her sad eyes, and his bright gaze is sparkling with puzzlement and a mixture of enjoyment. She surprises him, this wild and beautiful man, and it only encourages him to step even closer, wondering what lay beneath the surface that pushes her towards him so effortlessly. Touch me, her body cries, her eyes plead.
‘Why do you care, Svedka?’
This makes him frown thoughtfully. He halts his forward motion in his hesitation, meeting her eyes (alight with fire and the depths of blackness) with such intensity he has forgotten all about what they were doing before. The accusation had been playful, of course, because that is how he is - but he cannot help the feeling of truth that lies beyond the question, that goes so much deeper than a mere attempt to frustrate him. He is wild, untamed, and free - but he is not careless, even of those he has only just met. Of course he cares.
His frown vanishes quickly, however, and his golden lips press together into a hard line as a pensivity finds his sharply-angled face. She is lost, swirling in a darkness he cannot fathom or begin to dream of, and he desperately wishes to pull her from it - in any way she would let him. A kind smile - less devious, more warm - graces his mouth as her accusation is accompanied by a question.
“What makes you think a silly boy like me has any ideas?”
Svedka’s chuckle is solid in his throat, and without hesitation he stretches his alabaster and honey-gold neck forward to brush her two-toned cheek with his lips - he grants her wish, his breath warm as he places a steady kiss on the dark mahogany of her face, knowing that his touch alone would not scare away the monsters hiding within her eyes. He pulls away and lowers his head as he takes a step forward, placing his cool and damp mouth against where her slender neck meets her shoulder, nostrils quivering as he inhales her scent. He lingers there, thoughtfully, his ears tipped back towards her, listening.
(be my escape)
Svedka
@[Kagerus]