11-19-2018, 09:03 AM
Ivar has never made a secret of his licentious ways, nor does he not flaunt them. Though Isobell will know which women Ivar has taken without his saying a word, the kelpie stallion knows that his tobiano paramour will not let them make her feel any less. The frantic pulse of her heartbeat is a familiar beat to the sapphire scaled creature, and he presses one gold-tipped ears to her neck for just a moment to better hear it.
When she agrees, as docile as he might have hoped, Ivar pulls away with a grin, pressing a single command of happy into the fragile skin of her throat before he goes.
“Thank you,” he says as she ushers the children away to meet the other residents of Ischia. There are few of them, Ivar knows, but he prefers it that way. A smaller population is easier to control. There is only Jhene and Carwyn and Deiti, and perhaps that odd lizard he’d seen on the northern isle. It hunts in a way that does not interfere with Ivar’s habits and the kelpie does not begrudge it a small space in his kingdom.
“They’re almost adults,” Ivar says as he watches them go, the piebald collection of their children. It brings a sense of very primal satisfaction, the knowledge that he – that the two of them – have made such creatures. For a mortal creature, there is little better than this, and he nods decisively, rather proud. Time to find good matches for them, or at least time to start thinking about it, and possibly past time to make sure they know how to keep their violence beneath the water.
When he looks back to find Isobell seeking his gaze, the golden-eyed kelpie smiles.
“Come swim with me.” He says, taking a step back toward the surf. “I’ve missed swimming with you.” The kelpie adds, knowing that this is also close as he will ever come to telling Isobell he had missed her, and knowing that she will be able to read beneath that and know what he means.
@[Isobell]
When she agrees, as docile as he might have hoped, Ivar pulls away with a grin, pressing a single command of happy into the fragile skin of her throat before he goes.
“Thank you,” he says as she ushers the children away to meet the other residents of Ischia. There are few of them, Ivar knows, but he prefers it that way. A smaller population is easier to control. There is only Jhene and Carwyn and Deiti, and perhaps that odd lizard he’d seen on the northern isle. It hunts in a way that does not interfere with Ivar’s habits and the kelpie does not begrudge it a small space in his kingdom.
“They’re almost adults,” Ivar says as he watches them go, the piebald collection of their children. It brings a sense of very primal satisfaction, the knowledge that he – that the two of them – have made such creatures. For a mortal creature, there is little better than this, and he nods decisively, rather proud. Time to find good matches for them, or at least time to start thinking about it, and possibly past time to make sure they know how to keep their violence beneath the water.
When he looks back to find Isobell seeking his gaze, the golden-eyed kelpie smiles.
“Come swim with me.” He says, taking a step back toward the surf. “I’ve missed swimming with you.” The kelpie adds, knowing that this is also close as he will ever come to telling Isobell he had missed her, and knowing that she will be able to read beneath that and know what he means.
@[Isobell]