Cold rushes into the hollow that she leaves, stepping so deftly away from him that he must catch himself lest he lose his balance. Pteron hadn’t realized how much he has been leaning on her until she is suddenly not there, and his wing holds nothing. Tucking it back, he smooths the feathers with his blue nose before looking to see how far away she has gotten. Not far at all, and already looking back at him over her with those depthless violet eyes. Pteron’s mouth goes stone dry, and only the note of chagrin in her voice and the memory of her earlier hesitance convinces him that she does not stand that way on purpose, drawing his eye to her hip.
“I do want to show you Taiga,” he admits as he follows after her, his hooves finding the hollows that her own had made, at least until he steps around her. His shoulder brushes against her as he does so, and the cold slide of his feathers against the warm side of her that had just been tucked against him is not accidental. He enjoys touching her, had enjoyed kissing her, and is quite sure that she had liked it too. Quite, but not entirely.
And he needs to be sure, if only because his first encounter with consent has been one full of smoke and haze and blurred lines.
“I want to show you other things, too.” Pteron says against her withers, pressing a kiss there. “Consider it an addendum to our deal, if you will.” The formality almost makes him laugh, but he does not want Aquaria – delicate Aquaria, still timid and shy – to think that he does not mean what he says. He brushes aside the long hair of her mane, exposing where her neck has not been scoured by the winter wind. “Tell me if it is too much,” he says between soft, brine-flavored pecks, “and I will listen. I am not saint” - at that he does laugh, a soft thing pressed against her white neck - “but I won’t risk losing you for my own selfish needs. I want to make you happy, too.”
There are others who will, and as his kisses cross her withers and travel down the opposite shoulder, her pulls her nearer as though to shield her from those intangible others. There are things that cut more deeply than physical pain, the memory of them sends a quiver across the chest that he has pressed against her side. It dims the fire in his blood as readily as the idea of being in the open had only moments earlier. The thought of Aquaria being used in such a way inspires that same odd sensation of protectiveness, and the next kiss he presses to her cheek as he pulls away is more tender than the ones before.
“I would show you the most beautiful thing in the woods,” he adds against her ear, “But the Mirror Pond has frozen over. Will you settle for my second favorite?”
@[Aquaria]
“I do want to show you Taiga,” he admits as he follows after her, his hooves finding the hollows that her own had made, at least until he steps around her. His shoulder brushes against her as he does so, and the cold slide of his feathers against the warm side of her that had just been tucked against him is not accidental. He enjoys touching her, had enjoyed kissing her, and is quite sure that she had liked it too. Quite, but not entirely.
And he needs to be sure, if only because his first encounter with consent has been one full of smoke and haze and blurred lines.
“I want to show you other things, too.” Pteron says against her withers, pressing a kiss there. “Consider it an addendum to our deal, if you will.” The formality almost makes him laugh, but he does not want Aquaria – delicate Aquaria, still timid and shy – to think that he does not mean what he says. He brushes aside the long hair of her mane, exposing where her neck has not been scoured by the winter wind. “Tell me if it is too much,” he says between soft, brine-flavored pecks, “and I will listen. I am not saint” - at that he does laugh, a soft thing pressed against her white neck - “but I won’t risk losing you for my own selfish needs. I want to make you happy, too.”
There are others who will, and as his kisses cross her withers and travel down the opposite shoulder, her pulls her nearer as though to shield her from those intangible others. There are things that cut more deeply than physical pain, the memory of them sends a quiver across the chest that he has pressed against her side. It dims the fire in his blood as readily as the idea of being in the open had only moments earlier. The thought of Aquaria being used in such a way inspires that same odd sensation of protectiveness, and the next kiss he presses to her cheek as he pulls away is more tender than the ones before.
“I would show you the most beautiful thing in the woods,” he adds against her ear, “But the Mirror Pond has frozen over. Will you settle for my second favorite?”
@[Aquaria]
-- pteron --