bottom of the deep blue sea; ivar

[Ivar]

~*~mature warning~*~

I V A R i'll use you as a makeshift gauge of how much to give and how much to take She seems unconcerned; at ease with with the part that Ivar must have played in her transformation. When she presses against him, there is an invitation in her pewter eyes that he had almost forgotten. She was so ready to be rid of him in Nerine, yet as they sink beneath the water he can find no reluctance in her playful eyes. Ivar pulls back to watch her sink; the vision is a sight from his darkest dreams. This where it always ends with the others; they succumb to the pull of the deepest current and Ivar surfaces alone. It would have sated him for month - watching Isobell drown - but instead she rises with him, bobbing in the evening dark water with laughter in her silver gaze. Instinct that makes him lunge for her, but it is an instinct that he hasn't felt before. He'd pressed it into Isobell, of course, that night that he'd pulled her below the water, but this is the first time he's felt it himself. The siren call of his own kind of his own mate - is impossible for him to resist. Ivar would have lingered, toyed with the desire in the black mare until she caved with an acceptable answer but the kelpie does not have time for teasing. He has time for nothing but Isobell and the water and his own need, and as he lunges he closes his too long jaws around her perfect scaled throat and forces her beneath the water. There is no gentleness in his grasp, and Isobell's blood melds with the seawater into an intoxicating elixer that slides more easily down his throat than even the water of coldest mountain spring in Hyaline. He releases her when they are beneath the waves, but it is only to kiss and bite nip in a frenzy at her neck and throat and shoulders, shallow wounds that turn the water maroon until all the he can see and taste and touch is Isobell. Ivar floats besdie her now, his muzzle resting on the thick scar across her shoulders that he had given her a year past. There he is lingers for the first time, there he lips gently at the permanent reminder that she is his - even if she might deny it. With a flick of his tail, the kelpie moves trough the water, his ale mouth never leaving the piebald mare. He traces the line of her back, slides along smooth curve of her hindquarters to where the water tastes of both her blood and her need. It's easier now to settle atop her, to wrap a leg on either side of her scaled body. With the others he is gentle, teasing and toying until he knows they are ready. With Isobell, he doesn't bother. He buries himself within her without warning, deep and hard and infinitely satisfying. He fits within her perfectly; Ivar is reminded of that with each thrust. There is no gentleness, but as they drift in the dark water, he knows that she does not need gentle. She alone can take him for what he is, and so he does not hesitate to give himself to her (n more ways, perhaps, than he had originally intended to do). king of loess minimal smoky grullo tobiano | equus kelpus

merry christmas here is your present lololol