"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
She didn’t rush home like she led him to believe. There are extensive miles between Sylva and Nerine, hours – days – of exploration and adventure. The sun rises and sinks day after day, and still she doesn’t yet turn homeward. Deciduous trees tower high above and jagged mountain peaks bury into the looming clouds. Every detail is regarded and memorized, swallowed with an artist’s eye until she musters enough strength to return home. After having been gone for days – though it seems like an eternity – it’s almost as though she can hear the lapping waves even from this far away.
The trek is long, but it distracts her in so many ways. The exploration cleanses her and settles her reeling mind, even if only the time being. Her fiery eyes – still lit by the colors of autumn – rove across the first sign of familiarity. Foliage thins and soil breaks into sand made softer the farther she transgresses into Nerine. Hearing the gulls cry above and the true sound of the waves offers a comforting blanket that eases her exhausted muscles.
But she doesn’t find solace in solitude.
The past few days have been spent in loneliness and she enjoyed those lasting moments. It had eventually become serene once her thoughts trickled out through the cracks of her mind. Now, however, she wants company to sate her needs. To hear conversation again and to drink in a scent beyond blooming trees lures her to the only place she knows him to be. ”Lior,” she croons airily as she approaches the caverns dotting the coast. A feeble grin uneasily crawls across her lips as she searches for him with footsteps that whisper across the beach dunes.
In searching for him, she is also hoping to find affirmation that she is succeeding at being a Queen. They have an ally, a sub-kingdom, but no one other than Djinni and Stillwater know. Vibrating with elation, she soon discovers him, but pauses to merely look and scrutinize his unruly locks. ”Hello, Lior,” she finally says with a salty breeze kissing her skin.
Lost among the pillars of stone and the rhythmic drips of deep cavern condensation. The sage and lilac of her skin draws him from the depths of his cave. (He has no need nor desire to roam the beaches without her) The dark male emerges from the inky depths with new found vision, silver eyes squinting slightly against the harshness of the light, but she stands against the glow of sunlight like a friggen earthbound angel. "Nayl." He breathes her name heavily from the depths of his soul. He aches for her but would not let it show, he wants nothing more than to run his lips from her jaw to her throat, to trace the way her taunt skin silhouettes the finely tuned muscles of her delicate neck.
He gives nothing away.
Instead he stands solidly, the newly emerged leather wings tucked against his spine. When the painted woman is gone, Lior is of dragon form, hiding in the depths of his cave, lulled to sleep with the sound of crashing waves and her face floating against the darkness of his closed eyes. As a dragon, he is free to travel the skies, to be bound to nothing.
And he had been doing so when days before he had seen her heading to Nerine. Homeward he raced to meet her with a churning stomache and bated breath but he would never divulge it to her. Mercury tinted eyes watch her as she stands before him, her own expression disapproving of his disheveled appearance but Lior did not bother to remove the burrs and tangles that seemed to exist relentlessly in the thickness of his mane and tail.
A smile, though small, touches the edges of his lips before he stops close to her, respectful of her space and desire to remain just out of reach. It tortured him him but if it was what she wished...well, he would give her whatever you wanted if only for a few moments of her time in return. "I'm glad you made it home safely." The words tip toe off his tongue before he hesitates a moment as if silently debating with himself but them adds, "I've missed you." There. That's it. Enough said. His voice does not rise and fall with infliction but his eyes remain upon her with his steely gaze.
Oftentimes, Lior crossed her mind, but she is too stubborn to let her thoughts roam to what could’ve happened if she had simply let him touch her. She had wanted it. The quickening of her heart told her that, but she was admittedly afraid. Underneath his whiskers, Nayl’s skin trembled with desire, but her disruptive mind forced her away from him. Regret plagued her for days, weeks.
His heavy footsteps echo off the walls of his cave, amplifying the impatience – the want – that lured her to him. She wants to lose herself in the darkness with him, to fall into him after their time apart. Stillwater slips into her thoughts, but it’s fleeting and brief as her fiery eyes blindly search the darkness for the burly stallion. Nayl gingerly crosses the threshold of the cave and takes pause in seeing him materialize from the shadows. There is something different in the way he stares, the way he walks and regards her. A hesitant step guides her sideways in which allows her to see the wings sprouting from his shoulder blades. A lopsided grin tugs at the corner of her mouth both in reaction to seeing his new acquisitions as well as hearing her name slip from his lips. ”Well, someone has been busy.” She doesn’t delve into the how’s and why’s nor does she betray the inkling of jealousy at knowing what freedom lies beyond her reach in the world of clouds.
”Lior,” again, she tastes his name, but her voice is honeyed and no longer searching. He is here, in front of her, and his eyes hungrily take her in like his final meal. There is something between them, lurking, kindled by curiosity. Another step is taken toward him and they meet so closely that she has to check that their skins haven’t met, not yet. But his body heat still races across her, caressing her and tempting her to melt into him. Resisting is difficult, her eyes lifting to meet his as a smile just barely touches his lips. ”Me too,” she murmurs with the waves rolling behind her, reflecting on the long days she had spent away from Nerine – away from him – with only a memory of rejection to clutch.
She expects to be questioned on her efforts, to divulge information that she carries so proudly back home, but Lior is nearly cradling her and their eyes hold steadily – desperately – to one another. What he admits – I’ve missed you – sinks much farther into her than even her walls can prevent. Something inside her crumbles, the anger that she has familiarized herself with deteriorates with those simple words. Her mouth opens then closes as she grasps this moment and eagerly latches onto it, savoring what may be the first true kindness she has ever received. She can hear her heartbeat quicken, but she doesn’t reach forward to touch him. Instead, she looks at him and whispers, ”I’ve missed you too.”
Her words shatter his heart but he gives nothing away. She is unattainable, perfectly painted like a porcelain doll. One that was unfit for his dirty, calloused hands. The dark stallion exhales against her skin as he hovers close but giving her the distance.
What more could she want from him? To beg for her merciless touch? He would not beg for her though the wild queen of dark sands has gripped him and held him tight against her sweet breast.
But he needs more.
Tangled mane crosses his view of her pretty features and it it enough to break his silver sight. Eyes flit over to the coast as he tastes the salt in the air with grim welcoming. He feels lost. He had accepted to be her guard but something else had drawn him there. It is fleeting between the glances and secret smiles that was exchanged in passing and now he is barely able to restrain, to honor her wish to remain untouched. "Nayl..." He bites back at the feral beast that froths and licks it's lips at the delicious temptation that was her body.
He was but a man.
The dark beast slips away from the warmth of her presence, the air cooling immediately, but it was safer. A curt nod is offered as he trembles slightly despite his efforts of composure. "Good day, Nayl." It is all he can really utter as he turns to find the beaten path between the salt grasses so he may walk the black sand beach, patrolling the home of the painted queen.
02-19-2017, 08:05 PM (This post was last modified: 02-19-2017, 08:06 PM by Nayl.)
She spun the stars on her fingernails
A moment’s hesitation gives Lior enough time to approach her – their skins so close yet so far – but he doesn’t try to reach for her this time. There is a greater part of her that aches for the contact; her curiosity is getting the best of her. She has spent nearly two decades alone, confined within the fortification of her mind where no one and nothing could ever harm or touch her. The want is devouring her as their eyes briefly lock and when he mutters her name in a tone so familiarly flat. Even then, a shudder cartwheels through her and she wants to hear his voice again. ”Lior,” she begins again and takes a tedious, thoughtful step toward him.
But his eyes divert away from her and already her grip on him is easing away. The embrace that she has used with him is crumbling as he admires the coastline before shifting away from her and forging a distance that leaves her side frigid.
Good day, Nayl, he says, and her body freezes as though suddenly consumed by ice. She doesn’t turn to look at him, not yet, but she can hear his footsteps in the sand as they drift farther from her place. The muscles in her neck and shoulders twist and coil as fire crackles into her gaze and seethes at the horizon. He doesn’t stop, deciding to abandon her here, but she refuses him, refuses his answer and rejection.
Underneath their feet, the sand squirms. It rages and waves much like the tide they were staring at only moments prior. It comes to life, springing in front of him. The earth roars – a mighty beast – as it manipulates itself in front of Lior. A wall at first, then a gate that slams down in front of him, stopping him. A hiss rains down as sand clashes with sand, the magnitude of force startling as it sprays. ”Do not walk away from me, Lior.” Her voice matches the force and prowess of the living earth surrounding them. It’s grating, rough, and demanding but there is also a desperation underlying the ferocity of her command. She does well to mask it, not wanting to accept or express the truth behind her sinful lust.
The sand is alive, barricading them together, when she turns around to finally face him.
Stillwater. Lior.
Their names echo loudly in her thoughts, but it is Lior that her eyes thirstily drink in the sight of. It’s his softness that tempts her closer with another couple of steps before she forces herself to stop. ”I want you to come here,” her voice softens and lowers. Despite trying so hard to be strong, to be a fierce power in this equation, she is beginning to crumble as the memories of her life flash in fast-forward. There is only solitude, only loneliness. Swallowing past the lump in her throat, she tries to see past her forelock into his silver eyes. ”Please,” her voice is barely above a whisper, almost drowned by the churning of her sand walls.
There is a stillness that has been felt for the first time as his back is offered to the painted mare. Each hoof falls heavily into the dark, damp sand with a dull thud. He can feel her eyes clutching at him but he wills his mass to continue on. If she did not desire the fire she fanned then he would snuff it out for good...
But wait...
The very earth moves as though alive. The dark sands move with possession, startling the male visibly as he balks back when the forge of grains fence him in. Silver eyes are wide with confusion but her voice drifts to him, stern and sharp with a barbed tongue and Lior can feel himself spinning to face the damned woman. What magic or trickery was this? Pewter eyes watch her carefully, burning from the tangle of his fore lock as she commands him to return to her. The 'please' that she offers is shrugged off with a massive roll of his shoulders. Lior draws a breath in consideration of his options (-none really-) and so begins to move back in which the way he came except Nayl stands before him. "Nayl-," he begins slowly while trying to understand the game she played with him, dangling herself like a prize, "what do you want with me? From me?" The words drip from his whiskered lips slowly as he finds a place in the sand a few feet from her whilst the sand churns around them.
Finally, Nayl has truly captured the wild beast. Lior makes no attempt to spread the leather wings at his spine but merely stands quietly while awaiting her words and his fate. If she can control the very earth at his hooves, what more could she do? Lior does not bother to fully explore the question but instead focuses on the depths of her pretty eyes.
Finally, she holds his attention. It doesn’t flicker away this time, not when the sand is alive and barring them in together. It startled him at first, but it’s what she wanted – what she needed – to do. She wanted to show him how capable – how powerful – she is, but in the same regard, Nayl also exposes some vulnerability. There is a weakness in her desire, a feeble moment that rests in the way her eyes level on his, wanting him to be closer. She tries desperately to lift her chin and be that arrogant, feral Queen that he knows, but she is breaking.
A breath catches in her throat when he turns and steps closer. Had she expected him to actually oblige? The brightness in her eyes says no, but the smug grin trembling across her lips says yes.
But he doesn’t smile at her like he once had, and he doesn’t soften as the distance closes between them. He is a marble statue when the question knives the space between them. It isn’t at all what she expected him to say. He wants answers that she doesn’t have, solutions that she is blindly groping for. Her mouth opens but words fail her for a heartbeat, then another. She racks her mind, but the silence drags uncomfortably on until she inches closer to him, her head tilting to look at her earthen wall. ”Lior,” she doesn’t know why she enjoys the taste of his name so much, ”I can’t give you a definitive answer.” Because she doesn’t even know what she wants. All she has ever wanted was to be a Queen, but now she sits comfortably with a crown on her head. So, now what?
Already she has achieved so much more than mother, so does she turn her attention to something else? Does she fill the holes of her life with greater meaning?
When her chin lifts, Nayl is searching his eyes for something, anything, but they are icy much like hers often are. Her ears are pounding with the rush of blood, her heart hammering against her chest. The muscles in her body are winding tightly together. Her mind rages and storms. They are so close; his body heat fans across her, luring her closer than she has ever been before. She is afraid, and though she tries to mask it, it’s so obvious in the way her body tenses.
Until she finally lets loose.
Until finally, she caves into her wants and temptations.
Nayl blinks quickly and when her eyes open again, she finds her body nestled against his own. The velvet of her muzzle leans against his neck, her shoulder against his. Away from his sight, she smiles.
”This. This is what I want.” They’re finally touching, and it’s electrifying.
He wants to be angry. He is about to break away, let her destroy him. At least finally he would be at peace...
But before he open his mouth, before he is able shut her out forever...
She is melting into him. Her skin is softer than anything he has ever felt. She feels small, vulnerable and he wants nothing more than to protect her. He feels ashamed that the white of her perfect skin is being marred by the dirt and sand that tangled in his coat and mane.
But he can not let her go.
The heaviness of his head is moving gently...delicately around to envelope her into an embrace in which he never wants to end. His whiskered lips are resting against her withers as he brushes his mouth against the softness of her skin. She is intoxicating and Lior feels heady as allows himself to press into her, lost in the warmth that he has longed for.
"Nayl..." Her name, the cross he bears, crawls from his lips, against her skin, in a low moan. His eyes close as he allows the weight of his head to rest against her, still holding her so close that he feels himself seeping into her, drowning in her very existence. The stallion is scared this will all end and so he buries his face into the softness of her mane, lips tracing the delicate trails of where her muscles bunch and move. He was scared to do more and so stands quietly, holding her, whispering and weaving incantations of his devotion into her mane.
Hold me, she doesn’t say aloud. She doesn’t need to. Lior’s body is molding around hers, embracing hers, cradling hers. There is an intimacy that she had never before imagined or experienced, and she wonders why she has held out for so long. Twenty years, she muses, but it was all worth it – this is worth it. The way his body heat rushes across her skin and how his breath combs through her mane and forelock. She cherishes it with her eyes lazily half-lidded, a small grin stretching across her lips as she continues to press into him.
He says her name, and her body churns with excitement, but she doesn’t move even the slightest. Instead, she merely whispers, ”Don’t let this end.” This has been a burden to her thoughts, a constant idea and consideration that she never planned to happen, but her curiosity and the temptation rose with her heartbeats until she could no longer retain herself. It was becoming almost unavoidable, especially with the broiling anger held toward Stillwater. His memory is fleeting now, a shimmering figment that is lessening its grip on her. It brings her solace, cradling into the safety of Lior while forgetting the turbulence of Sylva’s newest King. A hum of satisfaction vibrates throughout her body as her eyes shut to savor this moment.
”You’re mine,” she murmurs into the fire of his black skin, his body temperature kissing her lips as the words tumble out, ”Only mine.” Because she cannot – will not – share. For the moment, she disregards the odor of the females he has mingled with as of late. They are nothing; they are irrelevant and amount to nothing close to her. No, they can never be quite like her – not the powerful Queen that holds him so tightly now, both against her side and in the palm of her hand. They are scum, she tells herself, as her lips trace along the length of his brawny neck, her fiery eyes opening to drunkenly enjoy this time together.
