10-01-2017, 09:36 PM
 i'll use you as a makeshift gauge of how much to give and how much to take
The thrum of her purr is a soft counterpoint to the steady beat of her heart, and Ivar shivers. Heda slides against him alluringly, and he reaches out to touch his muzzle to the soft point beneath her skull. Sharp and sleek, his canines press against the vulnerable line of her throat, but the summer wind that blows against them is warm and dry, and he draws away with nothing more than a soft kiss. (No.) There is no urgency in his actions as he trails his scaled nose down the navy line of her back. The mare is soft and smooth, but summer has just begun, and there is no drive to seek anything but gentle affection. Their last meeting he remembers little of beyond the surge of hormones and an aching lack of water. Heda, at least, seems to have pleasant memories of it if her actions are any guide. The piebald stallion is enjoying their quiet stillness, but when Heda mentions something he might enjoy, he meets her hazel gaze with interest. She mentions kelpies, and his heart skips one (two, three) beats, but she is still smiling. There is almost something said, but it is replaced by something intangible, something than pulls him towards Heda and reaffirms the warm smile on his face. The feathers of her wings catch his eye, and he follows her without question. He has climbed this bluff before, but as he follows Heda through the scrub, he realizes that this is not a path he has taken before. The way the earth is shaped had hidden the spring from above, and as he follows the line of the shore, he realizes that the narrow pass they had entered was the only entrance to the quiet spring. The setting sun is all but hidden behind the bluff, and Ivar looks up at the streaks of orange across the sky. Heda has moved ahead of him, and when he looks back down to find her, his breath catches in his throat. (Yes.) Half hidden by the steam, the buckskin mare stands chest deep in the water. Ivar is beside her before he can even think, and while the water is almost too warm against his scaled hide, he does not have eyes for anything but Heda. His entire world has narrowed in on this mare, this water. There is a reason he has been avoiding water, but for the life of him, he can’t remember it now. She speaks, inquiring of his reaction to this hidden spring, but he presses his muzzle to her cheek rather than give a direct answer. “Do you know what a kelpie is?” he asks her as the smooth scales of his hide ripple futilely. (half kelpie. useless kelpie.) There is no adhesive component to his skin, he cannot bind her to him the way that his father might have. It saves her, his inability. That and the soft stirrings of love that she’d placed in his chest. She is safe, but not untouchable. Dipping his muzzle below the water, he lifts it to drip across her back, watching the way the water beads along her coat. In the shadows, she is only shades of grey, and her navy feathers are inky black where they meet the water. He has been here before, in a situation like this, but perhaps Heda will be more fortunate than the mint green girl. “I think if you did, you might not have shown this to me.” Ivar is giving away secrets, secrets that their kind should keep. The words are foreboding, but he continues to touch her gently, dripping water along the curve of her neck. Calm, he says without words, each touch so fleeting that they seem imagined only an instant later. They are enough though, enough tactile contact to soothe away concern, to return her earlier gesture of projected love with an unnoticeable hypnotic command to: (relax. let me. let go.) |
Synopsis: attempting to use tactile hypnosis to make Heda relaxed and compliant