11-06-2019, 09:46 AM
For a moment – for one shining, glorious moment – Pteron thinks her finished with him.
The threat of her father had been the key, the reminder that Pteron will not be the only one that Castile is displeased with. While his own parents have been fairly lax when it came to the instruction of what was and wasn’t proper, he does know that princesses should not be making advances to soldiers in the woods – not even if the soldiers’ mother is the Comtesse. That Reia had been especially difficult to convince of this shouldn’t have surprised him, Pteron realizes; the girl has never met an obstacle she could not overcome by sheer force of will.
He lets out a long-held breath, doing so just quietly enough that it is not a sigh, and he regrets it the instant he hears the single word – But – fall from her lips. He must inhale sharply to get his breath back. Standing this close to the pale filly, her acrid scent fills his tender blue nose, overwhelmingly strong. Scale and smoke still burn as he breathes her in, instinctual reminders of danger, and Loess that smells like home. There is something more than that though, overpowering the scents he knows as Reia. It smells like the curve of her hip he can barely see over the flicking light of her mane, of the wickedness in her eye when she’d beckoned him closer. It smells, somehow, like the flutter of his pulse when he looks into amethyst eyes.
The promise to not tell doesn’t reach his ears so much as it reaches his chest, the soft exhale of her words fill the air ever more with confusion. She like the fog, he thinks, slipping in everywhere: inevitable. She offers herself like a present she knows he does not want, and though he protests Reia has always known the edges of his discomfort, known that he will all but perform backbends to avoid being rude. ‘Do it’, she commands, her words licking up the edge of his cheek where they nearly touch, and Pteron does.
He is unskilled, and more than a little awkward. His guide for action not much different than Reia’s: he mimics what he has seen from his parents. A step forward, and he presses his mouth just where her jaw meets her neck. He isn’t sure what comes after. Yet he finds that he doesn’t need to be sure, because her skin here is sleek and warm, and of course he should next nibble lightly at the pulse of her throat, and then place less than gentle teeth in nips along her neck and right shoulder. The taste of her is more overwhelming even then the smell, and it sweeps him away. She is pliant and delicious and there is something of a primal thrill in the way he knows that she would submit to him. He catches sight of his reflection in her orange eye, and freezes. His left foreleg falls back to earth with a thud – when had he raised it? Had he really been ready to do…that?
“That’s enough,” he tells her, surprised at how breathless he is, how rough his voice sounds. They have crossed a line, and he has made a mistake by caving. Reia has always known he will do as she commands, and he has shown her just how far he is willing to go. Yet even as he meets her fire-eyes, he knows she will ask more of him. Winning hadn’t been enough for her as children; Pteron had always needed to roll over and show his belly.
The threat of her father had been the key, the reminder that Pteron will not be the only one that Castile is displeased with. While his own parents have been fairly lax when it came to the instruction of what was and wasn’t proper, he does know that princesses should not be making advances to soldiers in the woods – not even if the soldiers’ mother is the Comtesse. That Reia had been especially difficult to convince of this shouldn’t have surprised him, Pteron realizes; the girl has never met an obstacle she could not overcome by sheer force of will.
He lets out a long-held breath, doing so just quietly enough that it is not a sigh, and he regrets it the instant he hears the single word – But – fall from her lips. He must inhale sharply to get his breath back. Standing this close to the pale filly, her acrid scent fills his tender blue nose, overwhelmingly strong. Scale and smoke still burn as he breathes her in, instinctual reminders of danger, and Loess that smells like home. There is something more than that though, overpowering the scents he knows as Reia. It smells like the curve of her hip he can barely see over the flicking light of her mane, of the wickedness in her eye when she’d beckoned him closer. It smells, somehow, like the flutter of his pulse when he looks into amethyst eyes.
The promise to not tell doesn’t reach his ears so much as it reaches his chest, the soft exhale of her words fill the air ever more with confusion. She like the fog, he thinks, slipping in everywhere: inevitable. She offers herself like a present she knows he does not want, and though he protests Reia has always known the edges of his discomfort, known that he will all but perform backbends to avoid being rude. ‘Do it’, she commands, her words licking up the edge of his cheek where they nearly touch, and Pteron does.
He is unskilled, and more than a little awkward. His guide for action not much different than Reia’s: he mimics what he has seen from his parents. A step forward, and he presses his mouth just where her jaw meets her neck. He isn’t sure what comes after. Yet he finds that he doesn’t need to be sure, because her skin here is sleek and warm, and of course he should next nibble lightly at the pulse of her throat, and then place less than gentle teeth in nips along her neck and right shoulder. The taste of her is more overwhelming even then the smell, and it sweeps him away. She is pliant and delicious and there is something of a primal thrill in the way he knows that she would submit to him. He catches sight of his reflection in her orange eye, and freezes. His left foreleg falls back to earth with a thud – when had he raised it? Had he really been ready to do…that?
“That’s enough,” he tells her, surprised at how breathless he is, how rough his voice sounds. They have crossed a line, and he has made a mistake by caving. Reia has always known he will do as she commands, and he has shown her just how far he is willing to go. Yet even as he meets her fire-eyes, he knows she will ask more of him. Winning hadn’t been enough for her as children; Pteron had always needed to roll over and show his belly.
-- pteron --