"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
01-07-2016, 10:59 PM (This post was last modified: 01-07-2016, 11:00 PM by Vanquish.)
He comes to his queen while the sun still slumbered in her sky-cradle, before her tendrils of heat came reaching to stroke their bodies with her forever burning touch. The hues of a still sleeping Deserts cast a purple glow about the shadows of the sands and he is a magnificent sight amongst the stillness. He is every bit as thick and muscled as he had been at this age the first time around; he is a titan amongst regular men. Yael had sculpted him just as he had been in his prime, he could not have done better recreating his body himself. But it was arguable that she perhaps knew his every curve and scar better than he did.
Yael was the one unwavering light in the Nightwalker’s life, the one constant beacon that kept his hopes burning and bright. She had absolved his selfishness and forgiven his betrayals with a grace that was not expected (could not have even been asked) of her. Vanquish makes his way to their oasis when he catches her gleaming frame silhouetted against the glassy water and his chest throbs with shameless anticipation – still her beauty hurried his breath. He is at her side in a few long-legged strides, black lips pulling back to rake his teeth up her golden spine only to tug softly at the strands just behind her left ear. “Have I told you enough how much I missed you?” He asks, “mine,” he says, lipping at her golden ear.
He growls it into her ear, and good lord, she could melt. Now, Yael is a very strong woman; but there is just something about the possessive, purely masculine way that he reverberates from deep in his chest that sends her heart fluttering. They both know that she could turn him into a flower on a whim, or drag every single secret from his mind. But their relationship isn’t about that. If the golden lady were looking for a lover as powerful as she, her sights would have quickly gone to Eight… or Jason… Carnage was a bit of a stretch, but nevertheless a (very) distant possibility. She’s always loved her ferocious King, but seeing this tender side of him endears him even more. She loves watching him with his family - even the ones that are not hers.
Yael loves the contrast of light and dark, feathers and leather, and slimness and muscle that make them almost complete physical opposites. Every now and then it crosses her mind to ask for another child - and then she thinks it might be better to wait. Ahh, but then it has been so long… she leans into his brawn, sighing softly in contentment. This is her favorite place. “Hmmmm…” she teases coyly. “You could alvays say eet again, my love.”
“I missed you,” comes the dragon’s voice again, guttural and husky from deep within his chest as he lips down the crest of her slender golden neck. Their story is one rife with tear-strewn, ripped, bloodied and lovesick pages. It hadn’t been an easy one, by any standard – but they had preserved, the Willow and the Oak. A clawed wing gently curving across her right flank, pulling her closer, tighter, harder against him. A low groan left his lips (betraying his pride) as his muzzle burrows into her throat, the beat of her heart pulsing hot and gentle. He had waited so long, prayed and kept the faith for so long that one day he would once again be able feel the beating of her heart again.
Yael had taken no lovers nor bore any children in the seven long years he had been gone. It seems she had kept that same faith that had been toiling in him all that same while, her heart waiting alone as his had. So while the perhaps more practical Golden Queen thinks it better to wait a bit longer for the pair to bring in a new child, the Nightwalker does not share those same reserves. The black bumps her delicate face upwards tenderly was he dislodges himself just far enough to now nip at her lithe side, “hmmm....a boy or girl this time,” he muses aloud, “perhaps both?” He turns and looks back at her with a rogue’s smile, yeah – easy for him to ask, huh?
“I meesed you too,” she purrs back, dropping her voice to an intimate whisper that shamelessly betrays the longing that she so carefully packed away. She sighs again - deeper this time (more of a moan, really, but that isn’t quite so lady-like) - as he pulls her close and folds his wing over her in their comfortable embrace. He seems to like feeling as if he can physically protect her from anything, so she lets him continue in his way, smiling to herself. Briefly, she wonders what he would do if she suddenly grew to Percheron size. Then she might have enough room to naturally carry two of his children.
The triplets had magical assistance, and she will never deny that. There’s no way her slender frame could have carried three of them to term and lived.
She laughs, a mock accusation to say that she knew he had something up his sleeve. “Xa! You t’ink your so smooth vit t’ese suggestions…” But then she laughs again, and everything is fine, because truly, she has missed the beating of another heart beneath her ribs, and she has missed singing her children to sleep. “I t’ink just vone ees enough, and perhaps… ve leaf eet up to ze gods, yes?” Boy or girl, it doesn’t matter. Just that they create another, because the time will come when he leaves her again, and she cannot continue to bring him back. Yael reaches up and draws her velveteen nose along his jawline, tracing it as high as she can go, and then whuffling softly. This sort of touch was her favorite. It usually led to other things...
