She steps closer and the stallion inhales, bringing his head upwards (as if she would retaliate right then and there), his burning gaze unwavering from the electricity of her own. There is a momentary pause, some kind of unspoken understanding that radiates from each one of them, before Skandar’s mind becomes hers. His orange eyes are hidden behind a veil of deep indigo as he closes them, fully focused on her movement through his mind. It had once been a practice he had despised (such an invasion, where he was no longer in control) but now he relinquishes it to her, embracing each flash of a memory with an open mind. He even relishes the intimacy in it, feeling each muscle tighten and burn as she so openly entrusts him with her own thoughts, something far beyond words and physicality could describe.
Chaos.
It is there in the heat of each scene, reminding him of their aspirations long before he lost himself in the darkness; reminding him of the power that is to be wielded and how, if they could grasp it, the entire world could be theirs. How opportunities lie before them, spread out like a banquet - ripe for the taking. He thinks of Avelina, and how she had crumbled beneath his gaze, and how he’d like to unleash that kind of ignition onto those undeserving, those who cannot attain the glory that they strive for.
When she releases him, he exhales in a shudder. Skandar’s eyes flash open, glowing red and burning, buzzing with life and fire and rage beneath the surface. Her place alongside him makes the red of his irises dim to a low hum, its glow pulsing with his racing heartbeat but contained. The press of her golden, striped body alongside his own brings tension to the hardened angles of his face, sharp and taut, as he mechanically turns his neck to watch her, to listen, to do whatever it is she asked of him.
The wetness of her blood is still warm as it seeps into the navy and violet of his skin, a bright ruby red against the starlight of his body. Skandar’s teeth grind together, the muscles in his jaw jumping with the pressure. A single foreleg trembles, aching to move closer to her (in ways he cannot describe or fathom) as she parades alongside him, lost in the way she makes him bend to her will so easily.
There is no doing this without you.
She knows he will not refuse her - not of this, not of anything.
He would burn the world for her if only she asked.
“Then I am yours,” comes the reply, heady and breathless as his teeth attempt to lock somewhere on her beautiful skin, but missing purposely. “Lead the way, Aela.” As she always does.
skandar
@Aela