11-05-2018, 07:01 PM
No iron weaves around her flesh as he draws nearer, the protections she had thrown up against him at their last meeting. Ivar doubts this is because she is more trusting this night than the last, but he is ever a hopeful creature. He hesitates at the sudden anger that crosses her face, but her words make it clear he is not the source of her fluctuating mood.
She mentions a stolen crown and Ivar places the final piece in the puzzle of her almost-familiarity; this must be Krone's daughter. Klaudius' daughter too then, he thinks, and searches the lines of her face for a shared likeness with his most recent conquest.
They all look alike though, and he is distracted by her soft laugh. Ivar would like to know what it feels like passing through her throat, would like to feel the shiver of her skin beneath his lips. She comes a step closer, even though she questions his desire for the island, and he breaks the final distance with a sort touch to her neck at her mention of an arrangement.
She would like the depths of the sea, Ivar thinks as he traces the curved line of her spine with his white mouth and feels the warmth of her shoulder where his dark chest is pressed against it. "I am not always in the sea," he tells her with amusement in his tenor voice. "I have to come to land to eat, after all." There is no specification as to what satisfies his hunger, but perhaps that is intentional.
"I have no need for the jungles, myself." He says. "But I want them anyway."
With land comes dealing with the land-dwellers though. The thought is distasteful, but it does not sour in his mouth, not when he is now trailing his curious lips along the base of her purple mane. The kelpie pulls away when he reaches her cheek, a soft breath before his golden gaze meets hers.
"You can have the land." He says, but it is clear from the mischievous smirk in his jewel-bright eyes that the offer is not without strings. "But you will be mine." The final touch he places against the slope of her shoulder is laced with teeth, a mark of claim not dissimilar to the one used by stallions in the Field, marking their mares. It is clear what he means by mine; she belongs to him. Ivar is not certain she will accept the offer, but he is curious nonetheless. She wants her crown back, but is she willing to pay for its ransom?
"I won't make many demands," the stallion adds, as though this might sweeten the deal. "No children, even, unless you want them." At this he grins, rather amused at himself, and knowing the the expression has a tendency to make women go weak at the knees.
@[Karat]
She mentions a stolen crown and Ivar places the final piece in the puzzle of her almost-familiarity; this must be Krone's daughter. Klaudius' daughter too then, he thinks, and searches the lines of her face for a shared likeness with his most recent conquest.
They all look alike though, and he is distracted by her soft laugh. Ivar would like to know what it feels like passing through her throat, would like to feel the shiver of her skin beneath his lips. She comes a step closer, even though she questions his desire for the island, and he breaks the final distance with a sort touch to her neck at her mention of an arrangement.
She would like the depths of the sea, Ivar thinks as he traces the curved line of her spine with his white mouth and feels the warmth of her shoulder where his dark chest is pressed against it. "I am not always in the sea," he tells her with amusement in his tenor voice. "I have to come to land to eat, after all." There is no specification as to what satisfies his hunger, but perhaps that is intentional.
"I have no need for the jungles, myself." He says. "But I want them anyway."
With land comes dealing with the land-dwellers though. The thought is distasteful, but it does not sour in his mouth, not when he is now trailing his curious lips along the base of her purple mane. The kelpie pulls away when he reaches her cheek, a soft breath before his golden gaze meets hers.
"You can have the land." He says, but it is clear from the mischievous smirk in his jewel-bright eyes that the offer is not without strings. "But you will be mine." The final touch he places against the slope of her shoulder is laced with teeth, a mark of claim not dissimilar to the one used by stallions in the Field, marking their mares. It is clear what he means by mine; she belongs to him. Ivar is not certain she will accept the offer, but he is curious nonetheless. She wants her crown back, but is she willing to pay for its ransom?
"I won't make many demands," the stallion adds, as though this might sweeten the deal. "No children, even, unless you want them." At this he grins, rather amused at himself, and knowing the the expression has a tendency to make women go weak at the knees.
@[Karat]