let my shadows prove the sunshine
There is part of him (a large part of him, actually) that is relieved when she doesn’t press him on the issue. Rehashing the tale of his time in the afterlife is hard for him; the memory is still so new and so raw, accompanied by the notion that he had brought back his own children from it, as well as dying twice, and leaving part of himself to waste away in the afterlife itself. The overo stallion snorts softly, his pink nostrils flaring. His blue eyes scan her face quietly, curious, wondering what her reaction would be - he is no longer a shifter, like she is, and what would that mean? She did come here to check on his wellbeing and how he might need her assistance further with his lion, but now that is no longer a viable reason.
He could obviously give her another reason to stay, however.
But it seems like Vastra herself has the same idea.
Whatever expression had come over him when briefly thinking about the afterlife is now gone, replaced with the easy-going smile that the winged mare would find familiar and welcoming - encouraging, even. She circles him and he feels a single shiver journey down his spine. It’s like he’s being inspected by the stormy gray hurricane of her eyes, deciding whether he is worth her time maybe? He swallows, following her with a gentle turn of his head until he must throw his gaze over the other side of his shoulder as she circles him. Then, for a brief moment, he wonders if this is what it feels like to be prey.
He laughs at her notion of receiving a new scar, his eyes dancing with passion. “I’m not sure I can fulfill that request,” and the laughter dies a little bit when her lips brush the deep gold of his withers, where the tangle of his flaxen mane rests. His flesh nearly quivers beneath the touch, realizing just then how much he had missed such intimacy (one that seems dangerous, new, and exciting). Just before he thinks to lean into the soft brush of her tawny lips, he is met with the bright pain of her teeth against the muscle beneath his skin.
Svedka shouts in surprise and the flare of pain, turning his head towards her accusingly with a sharp and angry snort. Her next words bring a cooling balm to the shock that had brightened in his eyes, his lips falling into a grin that is somewhat embarrassed but also pleased. Vastra hasn’t moved away from him and he takes her lack of movement as an invitation to close any distance that they might already have between them with a quick and sweeping step. His withers still ache from her bite, but somehow it invigorates him - as if he wanted to feel more of it, her commanding him. Svedka nickers deeply, turning his head so that the soft pearl color of his mouth traces the creaminess of her muscled neck. “I’m sure you can find someone more than willing,” he murmurs into her skin, his breath warm against her neck. The stallion, in the heat of the moment, gently scrapes the bluntness of his teeth against her - far too worried about returning the bite but making it clear that he would participate in whatever game she now orchestrates for him.
This is a dance she initiated and Svedka is far more than curious to see how she will continue it, for he is a delighted and willing partner.
svedka
@[Vastra]