"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
05-09-2020, 01:07 PM (This post was last modified: 05-09-2020, 01:10 PM by Pteron.)
and since you’re the only one that matters,---------------- ----------------tell me: who do i run to?
“Flatterer!” Pteron accuses, but it is with a flush across his pale cheeks and a smile to match Svedka’s. His olive eyes follow Svedka’s playful demonstration with rapt attention, though he glances away after for just a moment. It would have been nice to simply watch, to admire the strong curve of Svedka’s arched neck and the way his sky-streaked mane looks in the moonlight that filters down between the trees. The other man’s face is an open book, one that promises delight with its suggestive smiles, raised brows, and the place along his jaw where the white of his face melds with the gold of his neck.
The ease of his tawny companion is contagious, and Pteron must keep reminding himself to look away.
He’s on patrol.
He is responsible for Aegean’s safety.
This is another reason to find a more permanent home, Pteron thinks. He is a social creature at heart, preferring the company of others to his solitude. It is easy to forget that in the enchanted worlds that Aegean creates for them, but he is reminded of it now as he looks down at Svedka crossing the gully. The other agrees to stay through till the morning, and Pteron replies that: “I would hate for you to be the first,” with a marked wickedness in his arched brow. “I have a good record, and I’d hate for you to ruin it.”
He begins steps back to allow the other more room to ascend, but finds a bare-branched tree trunk nearer behind than he expects. They are crowded instead, just near enough that Pteron might reach out and touch the spot along Svedka’s jaw where his pied markings stitch together. The teasing nature of their conversation has filled the air between them with electricity, it seems, yet the brief kiss that he presses to that place is tender, and he darts away as quickly as it is over. He would like to linger, and is certain that Svedka would not refuse him, but there is no time for that now.
He's responsible, and cannot tarry long from his task.
“Perhaps you could tell me a story,” Pteron says as he begins to lead the way forward through the woods once more. They can talk and walk, and he can look and listen. “Why did you leave Tephra for Hyaline?”
The mischief in Pteron’s eyes brings a glimmering smirk to the pink of Svedka’s lips, idly wondering to himself what kind of trouble the two will find themselves into this evening. The idea of it causes his heart to flutter with anticipation, nostrils quivering excitedly as he comes over the ledge with a gentle lurch, met with the elusive olive-green gaze of his moonlit companion. Svedka’s mouth splits into a breathtaking smile at their closeness, inhaling sharply at the feather-like touch against the sensitive skin beneath his jawline. The wild-eyed stallion stretches his neck towards him, but misses by mere inches. Pteron flits away from him impishly, as if silently beckoning Svedka to pursue him. The ivory and champagne stallion does not hesitate; desperate to fill the cold air that is left in the winged stallion’s wake, he briskly prances forward until he is in step beside him.
There is a moment when Svedka’s eyes lock onto Pteron’s departing form where the lion begins to stir. He does not want to merely catch up with him, but give chase. The thought is misplaced and unwanted in the midst of Svedka’s own heated thoughts, but lingers all the same. He won’t allow the feeling to ruin their night, however, wherever it may lead. Besides, “I would hate to be the one to damage your perfect record,” Svedka tells him, letting his mouth and shoulder guide him into place beside Pteron, remaining close enough that their hips would gently touch whenever they fell out of pace.
The thought of the lion seems to fall to the wayside as they continue to walk and especially as Pteron casually prods into Svedka’s past. He welcomes the question, a soft snort leaving his nostrils as he thinks back to a time way back.
“I’ve never been one to be satisfied in one place,” he begins with a soft roll of his shoulder, pursing his lips thoughtfully, allowing his eyes to drag themselves away from Pteron and flicker through the forest around them, “but I always find myself ending up wherever Solace is.” There is a gentle chuckle that leaves him, fading away into a soft hum of tenderness at the thought of his twin sister. Perhaps there is something more that bonds the two besides that of blood and family. “She left for Hyaline when she was of age, and though the world called me to adventure elsewhere, I eventually found myself there – with her.” He smiles fondly at the memory – he was as wild as the wind but tethered by her alone.
With a quick exhale, his gaze breaks away from the moonlit world around them, quickly locking back onto Pteron’s green eyes. “We mustn’t spend the whole evening talking about me, though, you know.” He pauses to wink, then continues: “Surely you weren’t always a forest-dweller?”
and since you’re the only one that matters,---------------- ----------------tell me: who do i run to?
Though he has sworn off secrets, the memories of them linger at the edge of this moonlit encounter. This is not the first time Pteron has left a pregnant mate sleeping to consort with another, he finds himself thinking, not the first time he’s done more with the night than the simple patrol that he had promised. It had even been habit, once upon a time, when Pteron would spend his nights in the arms of a nereid and return to his wife and child with the dawn. He did not regret that then, and he does not regret this now.
Not when he means to tell Aegean of it, not when he is demonstrating self-control that he is certain even Aquaria would be proud of. She had accused him once of taking more than he needed, but in the moment he finds it hard to believe that she would not find herself needful beside Svedka. The overo confirms that he means to stay through the night, and though the friction from where they touch at hip and shoulder grows warmer with each step Pteron purposefully shortens, he does finally sidestep in the end to draw them farther apart.
“You are a distraction from my patrol,” The accusation is playful, but there is no hiding the hoarseness in his voice. Pteron reaches toward Svedka with the intent of further soften the teasing accusation, but draws away at the last moment, leaving only the warmth of his breath in the space between them. “Better not,” he says as much to himself as to his companion, and makes an effort to ease the magnetism with humor. “I suspect you might have a record of your own.”
With that, he looks toward the woods again, and turns one blue ear back toward Svedka when the other begins to speak again. He speaks of a mentality Pteron does not share, that of a wanderer, but when he mentions the call of family there appears a small smile of recognition on Pteron’s face. As they walk, the cool chill of the winter air slides alongside him, buffered but not halted entirely by the bulk of his feathered wings. He bites back the offer to share the warmth beneath them with Svedka as they move along, well aware of his limitations, but his self-imposed distancing does little to chill the implication Pteron sense behind the other’s wink before he asks after the dun’s own history.
Grateful for the distraction, he answers.
“This is the most recent home of many,” he admits, “Though I have always longed for one that is more permanent.” He’d tried to make Taiga that home, especially with Adarra’s arrival, but he had failed. He has another chance now, with Aegean and the child they will have in the spring. Pteron does not intend for this empty forest to be where his second child grows up. “Children deserve a home,” he says, and though the pronouncement at first seems out of place, his reasoning clarifies as he continues. “I was raised between the Brilliant Pampas and Loess, then split my time between Taiga and Loess, serving both lands at the behest of my parents. I have never been sure where I belong, but I know it is one place. And I want to find it before this child is born so they, too, know where they belong.”
Pteron sighs, feeling unexpectedly relieved by the admission of this.
Speaking of children also seems to have lessened the distraction from his patrol he feels, though he does still keep his gaze carefully ahead or on his side of the forest. “Do you have any children?” he asks Svedka, and when he meets the other’s eye there is humor dancing behind his own. “Or are you more the love ‘em and leave ‘em type?” Pteron is unaware of the irony in his question, much as he is unaware of the son that he had left behind n Ischia when he had promised never to return.
Moonlight has always made him mischievous; anything done in the daylight seems all the more secretive when it is hushed by the sound of blanketed silence, with only deeply winking stars and the pale-face moon to observe what unfolds beneath their chilling silver light. The bite in the air does not help this mischievousness that thrums in Svedka’s broad chest, his boldness growing more and more with each sashaying step he takes besides Pteron. The dun stallion sidesteps to move from him and Svedka allows the displeasure to show on his ivory face, his nose wrinkling up before a sort of pout finds his lips. As the accusation becomes more of a tease about Svedka’s own nighttime rendezvous, his pout flourishes into a delicate smile that allows him to remain aloof, not admitting anything outright. Instead, the warmth of Pteron’s breath makes him wild and reckless, high on the moonlight and the stallion’s scent; their casual conversation tiptoes ever closer to that dangerous precipice that Svedka lives to jump off of. “Oh, what kind of record would that be? I am surely the farthest thing from a patrolman, wouldn’t you agree?”
Svedka cannot help himself. Perhaps it’s one of the reasons he never turns down an invitation to meet someone new; the anticipation only heightens every sense, invigorates and makes everything all the more intense and exciting. He wonders if Pteron would tremble beneath his touch, or would it be the other way around? Svedka’s curious eyes brush over the soft downy within his feathers, the brisk air almost begging him to fall beneath its tender embrace. Svedka can feel himself nearing the familiar point where the fleeting touches and lighthearted teasing are not enough. His nostrils flare as he inhales deeply, as if attempting to steady himself.
Pteron’s voice, though smooth and inviting on the cold air, seems to steady Svedka a moment more. The palomino overo lifts his eyes to his companion’s, contentedly listening. Permanence. His trademark lazy smile flutters across his face and though he sees no purpose in creating a home that is only one place, he finds that Pteron’s willingness to find one charming. Where Svedka belongs to the wind and the sun (much like his mother), Pteron belongs to a place. It reminds him of Solace and his own father, who flourished beneath a crown and leading a people. Silently, he hopes Pteron is able to find such a place for himself.
“Anyone who truly desires joy will ever miss it. Those who seek often find what they are looking for.” Svedka’s smile is genuine and even a bit emotional as he encourages the winged stallion, tender heartedly brushing his smiling lips at the steady movement of his pale shoulder. He lingers there for a long moment, so that the other would know the touch is purposeful in its placement, and he purses his lips in a soft, diligent kiss to the base of Pteron’s neck before straightening himself.
He laughs. “No, no,” comes his response, with a gentle shake of his head. Honestly it’s possible that his bloodline has gone farther than he knows, but he has never been told any different. “Children need a home, like you said. Though being uncle to my sisters kids will probably be as close as I’ll get to fathering my own. But,” Svedka pauses with a gentle shrug, “who knows? Anything can happen, I guess. Though I truly doubt Beqanna needs another one of me running around.” His laugh is heartfelt on the cool night air, comfortably leaning into Pteron’s shoulder as they continue walking.
“Will this be your first?” he asks after a moment of silence, cerulean eyes searching the depths of his.
and since you’re the only one that matters,---------------- ----------------tell me: who do i run to?
He watches Svedka’s lovely face make its way through a myriad of emotions, all of them just for Pteron. He leans in when the other speaks, telling himself that its to catch the words spoken softly in the night and not just a reason to be nearer. It is both, he concedes when he blushes, breaking their eye contact at last. The heat of the words and touches they exchanged are so fleeting, so small they were little more than sparks. But the heat of each one builds upon the last, the warmth of a brush against the other’s shoulder feeling almost cold compared to the kiss that Svedka now presses to the base of his neck.
Pteron grows still at that, and the laughter is gone from his eyes when he draws to a halt. The smile – a little dazed – remains.
It is good he’d changed the subject, Pteron finds himself thinking. Any more talking of joy and desire and any more smoldering looks from the golden man and Pteron would be forced to choose between being rude and endangering Aegean. Neither are acceptable, and so Pteron forces away the curiosity of how it might feel to kiss his way up Svedka’s throat. Instead, he focuses on thoughts of children and family and home, which cool the heat of lust, providing a steadier – if not as thrilling – sort of warmth in his chest.
He begins walking again, listening as Svedka speaks.
Svedka is without children, he says, and seems content with that. Pteron had never considered having children at all until Reia had confronted him with her wide belly, and though he had stumbled around at first, he had found himself enjoying spending time with Adarra, and then with Halcyon. He has high hopes for this one as well.
“My second,” he answers, “and proof anything can happen”. Pteron echoes Svedka’s words from moment ago, his olive eyes one more filled with humor despite the now wry twist of his smile as he concedes: “This one was a surprise. Perhaps the Fates reminding me there are consequences to my distraction.” Perhaps children are destined to be an unknowingly ironic topic for the dun horse. Pteron knows exactly how Adarra had come about, but he is still fuzzy on the details of her unborn sibling. He doesn’t need to know, he’d decided months ago; all that matters is that Aegean seems entirely unconcerned, and Pteron takes his lead when it comes to magics unknown. His lover has two mothers, after all, and no father that Pteron has ever heard of. Perhaps he knows how to make emotion tangible as well as spin illusions. Pteron certainly believes him capable of wonderous things.
The thought of Aegean brings a fond smile to Pteron’s face, and it remains as he glances out into the woods as they move. Ahead of them, a tree split neatly down the middle looms in the moonlight. He draws to a halt at this self-proclaimed border to his home, the mark at which he turns about and doubles back. The moon overhead slips behind the clouds just as Pteron looks at Svedka. Not for the first time, he feels an eerie shiver of coincidence. It shakes loose the last bit of true temptation, and when Pteron shakes away the teal mane that has fallen across his face, it reveals the same playful smile from before.
He’s come up with a solution and he speaks it between slow kisses that start along Svedka’s ribs:
“I find myself looking forward to seeing Tephra more every minute.” The words and soft touches continue, “And ever more regretful that tonight I have responsibilities that prevent distraction.” Now his lips move up Svedka’s neck until Pteron finds that soft place below his jaw where the colors merge: “I want you,” Pteron tells him, because part of not having secrets is not telling lies. He has never been a man to limit his affections and he says as much to the overo between kisses, that he is interested only in friendship and the physical benefits that come along with it. Each touch is suggestive of those benefits he mentions, but never does the mischievous smile leave his mouth, not until he finally pulls away.
“I would find you if we visit,” Pteron continues, and though the statements are made firmly, he nevertheless meets Svedka’s dark eyes with a sanguine smile “If that is something you would want as well.”
That out of the way, Pteron steps away and begins to move ahead. His pace is slightly quicker this time, an effort to make up the time lost. He would like to make it back to Aegean by sunrise, and if they hurry, Pteron is certain they will. As they walk along, Pteron’s feathers slide gently along Svedka’s side as he readjusts them. Some things might now be off the table for tonight, but flirting is not one of them, not so long as he can still keep watch and do so. Having found the topic change successful in keeping things from getting to heated, the pegasus asks: “So Tephra, Hyaline, and the Forest. Have you been to any of the other lands? I said I would visit them all as a child, but I’ve been remarkably unsuccessful so far.”
He feels so much like himself beneath this silvered moonlight and beside a handsome man; of course, he is not truly himself (he never will be again, he presumes, with this terrible curse brooding inside him), but the feeling is somewhat freeing. He enjoys pretending that he is carefree and unshackled, like he once was, and his time with Pteron is the closest thing to it in a long while. Perhaps that is why he lingers so close to him - not only because of the natural magnetism between the two, but because the winged stallion reminds him so much of what the future could possibly hold, even with a beast lurking inside.
Pteron pauses at his touch - one that is sincere and filled with a dense desire - and Svedka draws still as well. Perhaps this is the moment where the anticipation will fall away and they will succumb to the electricity and chemistry between them both. Svedka holds his breath, afraid that even a blink would change the course they were on, racing at full speed.
Something holds them back, though. There is a sense of restraint that seems to cover both stallions, both reasons extremely different from each other. Despite the warm pit of desire pooling in his belly, something else trills there (something primal, something wild), and that feeling alone is what allows Svedka to break his touch, to inhale deeply and exhale with a staggered breath. If he lost himself in the moment, would that something awaken?
There is no denying that the sparks are still there, amidst their separation physically in an attempt to cool their heated moment - but Svedka knows they will just warm up again, playing on a line that is dangerous and thrilling all at once. The patched stallion walks calmly beside the other, listening intently. He smiles at the idea of Pteron being a father, knowing without a doubt he would be a good one. That thought is distracted by the gentle kisses that Pteron peppers against his gold and white ribcage, causing a very prominent shiver to cascade down his spine. There is a pleasant and encouraging hum in his throat that vibrates deeply, his brilliant blue gaze darkening with a mixture of tenderness and longing.
Pteron speaks of Tephra but Svedka is hardly listening, though his ears follow the dun’s voice. I want you. The confession is all he needs to turn his head towards Pteron, returning the heated kiss on his jawline with one of his own, the pearled pink of his mouth placing kisses that dance like fire across his creamy cheek. A hunger and a need tighten in his chest and stomach, a near purr resounding in his chest when Pteron glides away from him. He follows eagerly in an attempt to not lose his touch, but he is unsuccessful. There is a grin on his face, however, enjoying the dance.
“I would find you even if you didn’t visit,” he tells him with a near-growl, eyes alight and sparkling. He smiles, eagerly matching Pteron’s quick pace and settling beside him peacefully. The chase is delightful, leaving his heart beating wildly in his chest. The subject turns and Svedka is a little bit disappointed, though he cannot hide the fact that just spending time with Pteron is enough for him at the moment, especially if he did not wish to move any further than what they have already done tonight. “Not so much in Beqanna,” he muses, “the river, the meadow...though my teenage years were spent outside of Beqanna, in my mother’s homeland.” He remembers being as wild and free as the sun and the wind, where he spent the days with others just as wild as him, and where he had preened his habit of taking a lover whenever they both wished it. He chuckles softly at the memories, wondering if Pteron would have flourished beneath that kind of lifestyle as well. “You would have enjoyed that place, I think.”
and since you’re the only one that matters,---------------- ----------------tell me: who do i run to?
The sound of Svedka’s contentment is immensely satisfying, and Pteron’s teal mouth splits into a pleased grin. The promise in the other man’s words add a sense of finality to the tentative plans. He does not know what he tempts when he touches his muzzle to Svedka’s before stepping ahead and throwing a tantalizing glance over his winged shoulder.
“Perhaps I would enjoy having you hunt me down,” he replies. Though his body language seems to imply an immediate chase, he does not move any farther ahead. His eyes are teasing, after all, and the promise of a future encounter has paused progress during this one. It has left them at a delightfully tense level, though, and Pteron cannot help but feel invigorated by the electric thrum that they maintain as they brush against each other in companionable ambling.
Svedka speaks of a place beyond Beqanna, and Pteron’s brow raises curiously. He’s not been beyond the borders of this world and has met few horses who can say that they have. This knowledge serves only to add a sense of mystery to the palomino stallion, and Pteron spares him a look for an amused smile at the idea he might have liked the place
“I think I might enjoy any place with enough company,” Pteron answers truthfully, then amends with the smallest pause: “Though perhaps not a forest. Despite my similarities to a bird - ”(he shuffles his wings here for emphasis) “- I have always felt closed in by too much vegetation.”
Svedka can feel the lion purr in delight (whether it be because of the chance of a hunt, in its mind, or the raw sexual tension that runs rampant through their shared bodies) and it causes the overo stallion’s throat to vibrate, though the sound itself is much more of a pleased thrum than a cat-like purr. For a moment he is terrified, wondering what would happen if he kept this up - teasing Pteron whilst tempting the lion - before his control would no longer be strong enough. The stallion swallows hard in attempt to cool the flames between himself and Pteron, his golden ears flickering towards him to allow distraction. “Maybe we should go one day,” he replies casually with a toss of his head, a strewn mixture of ivory and sky blue cascading down the broadness of his face. He knew the chances of leaving Beqanna were slim, now with his curse and Pteron’s dream of settling down, but the fantasy of it is enthralling in itself, so he lets the idea spread a smile across his mouth.
Cerulean eyes gently fall to the fluttering of Pteron’s wings, snorting softly at the comment. “Then I hope you soon are able to leave the forest,” Svedka tells him with a smile, stretching his neck forward to playfully mess the perfectly lying feathers with his pink lips. Drawing his chin to his chest, Svedka continues beside Pteron, gladly taking patrol for the night despite the fact that he’s doing little patrolling itself. “And that you'll go wherever your heart desires.”
Midnight slowly turns into early dusk, where even the crickets are now asleep and the fluttering of bird’s wings are heard amidst the trees. Though no rays of sunlight attempt to peek over the horizon just yet, there is a certain warmth in the once black sky, no longer pitch but an ever-lightening blue. They had successfully stayed the night together; one that Svedka would remember, but not for reasons he normally would. Their rather innocent embark through the forest left a lasting impression on the palomino and white stallion, and is immensely glad he had decided to stroll beneath the tree’s canopy that night.
