10-22-2018, 10:53 AM
She’s moving.
Fuck, he thinks a moment, but then, it’s a good thing she does. It’s not that this would have worked with many other attackers probably, since honestly, he had somewhat forgotten what he was doing and gotten lost in that look she gave him earlier. But still - she’d taken the opportunity of a small slip, which was a good thing in itself.
Not for him, though. He’s about to turn to watch where she’s going, fully intent on following, but instead, she has a pretty large boulder slamming into him. Had she just been waiting for the opportunity for some time now? He can only hope that some of it was genuine - but no, she would have kicked him out long before now - maybe she just likes to tease.
And teasing she does. While he still struggles to move backwards so that he can at least breathe normally (his protesting ribcage is trying to convince him otherwise); she’s back at him already, while he’d expected her to run. Tracing his spine in such a manner he almost gives up to fight the rock at all; but a painful breath intake reminds him of the fact that it’s there, and she still has the upper hand.
At the very end, where spine flows into tail, she lingers, and it’s becoming entirely too much - yet he can’t break away. Turning his head slightly to stare at her intensely with one left eye, he waits (burning up inside) for her move which is sure to come. But nothing still prepares him for the sharpness or perhaps the electricity of her teeth; he jolts upwards on his hind legs, a near-futile rear that mostly sets him free to breathe (a gasp is all he manages, not exactly the best way to go at it but at least there’s something in terms of oxygen). He is in a precarious position now; caught between a rock and the mare that forever holds his interest, but rather exposed and not daring to move much; slightly light-headed too and he’s not sure if that’s her or his previous lack of oxygen combined with a racing heart.
Her voice though; the sudden whispery, hoarse sound it had - that had not been forgotten. It’s a lure, a trap and he knows it, yet he can’t stay away. So when the distance is finally large enough for her hold on the boulder to falter, he lands heavily in the grey sand, and his mind is twisted in all sorts of possibilities.
It’s cute, the way she laughs. She has every right, he figures. She’d won this round - but frankly she’d been pulling his strings so much longer, he’s too used to it to care.
He’ll be damned if he gives in too easily though. Besides, his rib might have taken a hit, more than he’d like to admit. He takes a few steps, tests it - yup, gonna hurt to run. And why bother? He knows her longer than the day; no doubt there’s a secret spot she’ll want to share. He knows her; knows her scent, and tracking her won’t be hard. And she’ll be waiting.
It takes some time. He takes his time, getting his breathing in order, trying to save his energy because god knows what other tricks she has up her sleeve. But there are no traps on his way, and he dares a slow trot, face less grimacing with each few feet, getting used to the bruise perhaps, or maybe the bloodflow through his muscles helps ease the harmed point on his side. Prevents a stiffness. What does he care anyway.
When he finally finds the cave she’d selected, he lingers at the entrance; finds a wall for support, casually leaning against it a moment, while he lets his eyes get used to the dark. But when that’s not quick enough for his taste, he switches vision; yellow-orange eyes pierce the room more quickly and find the heat she emits. Does she seem hotter than usual? Not sure. He knows he is, though.
He doesn’t really want to move, but he has to. Don’t want to get roughed up by the same trick twice; she has to do better. If she still wants to.
There’s an unusual calm in his movements, he’s purposeful. Hunting. Stalking. He dares admit, just needy, too. When he trades one type of vision for another, his eyes hardly change color. Rather, they stay a dragonlike yellow, and though there may be a hint of blue or green in it, it’s mostly the lack of red tints that may alert her that he no longer relies on heat vision. He shouldn’t after all, in a cave like this, where he could loose his footing in the shade.
But all in all it’s not the cave he comes for, is it? Maybe if he hadn’t such a focus on his dotted white goal, he would appreciate the place itself more (maybe later then). Now though, he just moves in a determined stride, not particularly fast, not particularly slow, until he’s close enough to touch her, until he simply bumps into her as if she weren’t there, but stops and slides his head along her spine anyway. Almost like an afterthought, back to front in an opposite of what she did to him.
No matter the cost, he’ll always want to hold her close. And if she’ll let him, so much more.
Because if she’ll let him, he’ll do it all over again. This time he places a kiss on the probably-sore spot between her shoulders, traces her jawline, sweet caresses that he knows to be effective on others, and probably on her, too. Touches of which he also knows she’ll not be satisfied with. They both know that it’s not enough.
He takes his time though. Let her feel the agonizing pain of going just not slow enough to make the feeling stop, but just not fast enough to satisfy either. But the next time he slides his body alongside hers, he clings to her. First by hugging her close under his neck, just pressing against her some more. A gentle yet aggressive hold, he wonders if he presses harder she’ll have difficulty breathing like she did to him. Tries a bit more. Squeeze tight. Hold still.
His own breath is ragged against her skin; there’s still a numb pain to his left rib that’ll probably stay for days. She needs to pay for that some more - with a sudden rise to his hind legs, lands his hooves over her back in a perpendicular position, then snaps sideways-down at her shoulder and he playfully pulls her mane, albeit his playfulness is the rather rough type. Using his body weight to hold her down. See if she can bear it when he’s not giving her an inch. ”Gotcha again.”
Never know what that’s useful... training for, hmm?
@[Breckin]
Fuck, he thinks a moment, but then, it’s a good thing she does. It’s not that this would have worked with many other attackers probably, since honestly, he had somewhat forgotten what he was doing and gotten lost in that look she gave him earlier. But still - she’d taken the opportunity of a small slip, which was a good thing in itself.
Not for him, though. He’s about to turn to watch where she’s going, fully intent on following, but instead, she has a pretty large boulder slamming into him. Had she just been waiting for the opportunity for some time now? He can only hope that some of it was genuine - but no, she would have kicked him out long before now - maybe she just likes to tease.
And teasing she does. While he still struggles to move backwards so that he can at least breathe normally (his protesting ribcage is trying to convince him otherwise); she’s back at him already, while he’d expected her to run. Tracing his spine in such a manner he almost gives up to fight the rock at all; but a painful breath intake reminds him of the fact that it’s there, and she still has the upper hand.
At the very end, where spine flows into tail, she lingers, and it’s becoming entirely too much - yet he can’t break away. Turning his head slightly to stare at her intensely with one left eye, he waits (burning up inside) for her move which is sure to come. But nothing still prepares him for the sharpness or perhaps the electricity of her teeth; he jolts upwards on his hind legs, a near-futile rear that mostly sets him free to breathe (a gasp is all he manages, not exactly the best way to go at it but at least there’s something in terms of oxygen). He is in a precarious position now; caught between a rock and the mare that forever holds his interest, but rather exposed and not daring to move much; slightly light-headed too and he’s not sure if that’s her or his previous lack of oxygen combined with a racing heart.
Her voice though; the sudden whispery, hoarse sound it had - that had not been forgotten. It’s a lure, a trap and he knows it, yet he can’t stay away. So when the distance is finally large enough for her hold on the boulder to falter, he lands heavily in the grey sand, and his mind is twisted in all sorts of possibilities.
It’s cute, the way she laughs. She has every right, he figures. She’d won this round - but frankly she’d been pulling his strings so much longer, he’s too used to it to care.
He’ll be damned if he gives in too easily though. Besides, his rib might have taken a hit, more than he’d like to admit. He takes a few steps, tests it - yup, gonna hurt to run. And why bother? He knows her longer than the day; no doubt there’s a secret spot she’ll want to share. He knows her; knows her scent, and tracking her won’t be hard. And she’ll be waiting.
It takes some time. He takes his time, getting his breathing in order, trying to save his energy because god knows what other tricks she has up her sleeve. But there are no traps on his way, and he dares a slow trot, face less grimacing with each few feet, getting used to the bruise perhaps, or maybe the bloodflow through his muscles helps ease the harmed point on his side. Prevents a stiffness. What does he care anyway.
When he finally finds the cave she’d selected, he lingers at the entrance; finds a wall for support, casually leaning against it a moment, while he lets his eyes get used to the dark. But when that’s not quick enough for his taste, he switches vision; yellow-orange eyes pierce the room more quickly and find the heat she emits. Does she seem hotter than usual? Not sure. He knows he is, though.
He doesn’t really want to move, but he has to. Don’t want to get roughed up by the same trick twice; she has to do better. If she still wants to.
There’s an unusual calm in his movements, he’s purposeful. Hunting. Stalking. He dares admit, just needy, too. When he trades one type of vision for another, his eyes hardly change color. Rather, they stay a dragonlike yellow, and though there may be a hint of blue or green in it, it’s mostly the lack of red tints that may alert her that he no longer relies on heat vision. He shouldn’t after all, in a cave like this, where he could loose his footing in the shade.
But all in all it’s not the cave he comes for, is it? Maybe if he hadn’t such a focus on his dotted white goal, he would appreciate the place itself more (maybe later then). Now though, he just moves in a determined stride, not particularly fast, not particularly slow, until he’s close enough to touch her, until he simply bumps into her as if she weren’t there, but stops and slides his head along her spine anyway. Almost like an afterthought, back to front in an opposite of what she did to him.
No matter the cost, he’ll always want to hold her close. And if she’ll let him, so much more.
Because if she’ll let him, he’ll do it all over again. This time he places a kiss on the probably-sore spot between her shoulders, traces her jawline, sweet caresses that he knows to be effective on others, and probably on her, too. Touches of which he also knows she’ll not be satisfied with. They both know that it’s not enough.
He takes his time though. Let her feel the agonizing pain of going just not slow enough to make the feeling stop, but just not fast enough to satisfy either. But the next time he slides his body alongside hers, he clings to her. First by hugging her close under his neck, just pressing against her some more. A gentle yet aggressive hold, he wonders if he presses harder she’ll have difficulty breathing like she did to him. Tries a bit more. Squeeze tight. Hold still.
His own breath is ragged against her skin; there’s still a numb pain to his left rib that’ll probably stay for days. She needs to pay for that some more - with a sudden rise to his hind legs, lands his hooves over her back in a perpendicular position, then snaps sideways-down at her shoulder and he playfully pulls her mane, albeit his playfulness is the rather rough type. Using his body weight to hold her down. See if she can bear it when he’s not giving her an inch. ”Gotcha again.”
Never know what that’s useful... training for, hmm?
@[Breckin]
Two things I know I can make: pretty kids, and people mad.
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