"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
The rising moon emerges into the dark, endless canvas of indigo, surrounded by a splendor of starlight and the gold of each scale is met with silver from the brilliance of the lunar light. Her breath is caught in her throat at the sight, and she is left wondering if she had ever seen anything so beautiful. She is unashamed of the way her scarlet gaze lingers just so, tracing each ridge covering the toned muscle of his neck, where soft copper tresses lay haphazard, tempting her teeth to gently pluck the entangled wisteria away – but she does not; not because she is afraid of losing what is at stake but because it is so suiting to him.
Soft lavender with the strength of gold, and all the while he is as breathless as she, and her smile is one of sincerity and wanting. I believe you, he says, and she can feel that he does and there is nothing that could make her heart lighter, nor make her heart beat faster within the tightness of her dark chest.
His laughter causes her stomach to turn with the gentle fluttering of a butterfly, of a thousand butterflies and though she did not know how or why she had come to the crested rim of Hyaline, nor why she had stopped to taste the crystalline water – alas, her purpose is standing before her, as if some part of her had always known he would be here, as if fate had always known better.
”To stay? You hardly know me,” she murmurs, but she knows him! She knows him enough to know that she would never find another to make her heart race as he does. Could he one day say the same of her? Her gaze alight suddenly with a flickering ember, wide and curious. She, the keeper of thoughts, the seer of memories, had been caught unaware! The word stay held such deep implication; it held a promise that she was not certain that she could keep – but the allure of his gold-flecked amber gaze soothes any worry in the pitter-patter of her heart.
”With you,” she finishes, the coy smile returning to her dark lips as she gazes to him through heavy lashes, encircling him once more, though she is not so demure – not so subtle. Her lips press firmly to the curve of his barrel, where his breath rises and falls rhythmically, and slowly she caresses the curve that becomes his hip, where bone lay just beneath solid and well-defined muscle, pressing a kiss along the coolness of his dragon plating.
Her refined neck is turned, and when her scarlet eye is met with gleaming amber once more, her lips draw back to bear a grin, mischief in her eye. ”I never had any intention of winning, Amet,” she breathes, touching her chin to the slope of his spine, resting there while looking up at him with wide and honest eyes. ”not when the loss is to touch you. Show me where your heart is. Show me your sanctuary; where you feel most at home here in Hyaline. Show me why I should stay.”
And then, another soft, lingering kiss on the curve of his thigh, asking him for so much more than she dares to say.
if there's a light at the end, it's just the sun in your eyes
The orange and red dusk has folded neatly into an inky night, the beauty of it unnoticed by Amet, whose amber gaze has not moved from the breathtaking Eione since it first rested upon her sipping from the crystalline lake. The celestial sky paints a bright sheen against the darkness of her back and reflects in the depths of her red eyes and Amet sighs audibly at the immensity of her beauty. Never has he ever been more enthralled ─ more enraptured ─ by another living creature. His attraction to her, this daughter of Offspring (so overwhelmingly unexpected) is rivaled only by the initial pull he had felt upon seeing Hyaline for the first time back when he was a young, scared colt with too many worries on his plate.
His muzzle lingers in the wisteria infused air, mere inches from Eione's, and her murmur pulls a gruff laugh from him again. "I feel as if I have always known you," he confesses in response to what he thinks is her apprehension, his gold-flecked eyes watching her crimson ones with a mixture of curiosity and hope. With you, Eione echoes him, and those two simple words bring a new warmth to his belly ─ not one fueled by primal urges (though he, undoubtedly and unashamedly, does feel those for her, too) but by a warmth that brings him complete, unquestionable happiness.
The coyness returns to Eione's black and white face, those scarlet eyes peaking from beneath the tangles of her forelock at him and Amet's heart skips a beat. She circles him again and he expects only to feel the heat of her breath across his golden scales but, instead ─ a shaky breath escapes the Akhal-Teke as her warm muzzle connects with the interlocking scales of his hide, a gentle kiss pressed upon his barrel only to move further back. Amet's amber eyes flutter closed to revel in her touch and he finds himself breathless as she travels to the ridge of his hip, overtaken by another wave of intense desire for her ─
(this time more heated, more frenzied ─ still, he is not ashamed of these desires despite knowing that she could see through him so easily should she choose)
Eione's muzzle lays gently against the slope of his back, her mischievous tone drawing his ear back towards her, securing his undivided attention. Amet peers over his shoulder, gold-flecked eyes connecting with the red, welcoming gemstones of hers and the dragon stallion's chest rumbles with a quiet mmmmm at her comments.
He debates on what he should show her, on how he can properly convey the importance of Hyaline and the way that each and every inch of it is home to him.
Hyaline is a sanctuary because of the way it makes him feel ─ not because of one landmark or another.
"What I want to show you cannot be seen out here," he pauses to motion across the crystalline lake, to the treeline in the distance and the mountain peaks beyond that, "it's in my head." The confession is tentative, but he is sure that it's what he wants to do. And the only way to properly explain what Hyaline means to him is for her to see all that he has endured within its boundaries. And how fitting, really, that this red-eyed temptress that has already given his heart arrhythmia can delve into the depths of his mind to experience all that he has.
"But perhaps we can find a private place before I let you pick through my brain," he says gruffly, his skin growing heated again as she presses a kiss to the curve of his thigh. It pools in his loins and shows in the swirling gold of his eyes as they connect with hers and Amet tries to rein back the desire that Eione has coaxed from him with deft kisses but there is no way to hide the longing in his gaze or the tightness of his muscles beneath a golden hide. "Do you trust me?" he whispers his inquiry (as if this isn't the first time they've met, as if he has given her any reason to truly trust him other than the thoughts of his she has already seen and the feelings of his that she has already experienced) as he turns his narrow frame from her, unhappy to break the physical contact but all the more driven to show her how he feels as he turns in the direction of the trees, where they will venture towards one of Hyaline's smaller peaks, through brush and thicket until they reach a small and private plateau that overlooks the heart of his home.
”And I feel as if I have always known you,” she murmurs softly, as if it were a secret to be kept from the prying eyes of the starlight casting an ethereal sheen over the still water, or the rising moon, swathing each in a splendor of light. The soft and gentle confession is barely past her parted lips before his desire is made known to her, freely flowing into her mind and enveloping her in a warmth that traverses the curve of her neck, the slope of her spine and between her legs – knowing, without words, that his desire is growing for her as her own is for him.
She is not knowledgeable of the entanglement that so often comes with the changing of the season – with the intimacy shared beneath a fading sun; with the changing leaves and waning temperature as summer gives way to autumn. She does not intimately know the weight or kiss of another pressing urgently onto the nape of her neck; but she is no fool and she is far from naïve. She does not need to see or know anything more than the way his lashes flutter over the deep amber of his gaze when her lips brush just so, nor feel anything but the way he writhes beneath the gentlest kiss. She is only aware that each caress and soft touch is bringing him closer to her, that the most tempting kiss lures out the dark edge of his voice to the surface.
Her mind is elsewhere, giving into the pull of her own imagination, while the dark scarlet of her gaze traces each glistening, golden scale beneath her parted lips – but his voice causes her reverie to crumble, and she is staring blankly, blinking slowly. If only he could read her mind – it would surely give color to the broad curve of his cheek. A smile, coy but warm, crosses the corner of her lips, while her softly spoken words are murmured against his hip.
The invitation for her to delve deeper, to see what he has seen and to feel what he has felt is on the tip of his tongue – and she can sense his hesitance; she can feel the hum of worry hidden within his tone but she would do nothing to hurt the dragon-born enigma standing before her. She does not carry any ill will; only wonderment. She does not seek to know the darkness hiding in his heart; only yearning to carry the burden for him.
Just then, her kiss is tucked in the crook of his thigh, and she can feel him stir with longing.
Do you trust me?
”I do,” she muses simply, seeing no malevolence hiding in his mind, nor his heart. She would follow him to whatever end; she held no fear – no trepidation. The promise of immersing herself in his memory, in the fervent heat of his thoughts, in the raw emotion of his insecurity and worry is too much to resist. ”I trust you, Amet,” she murmurs again, as her teeth nip gently across the shadow of his hip, following him through the dense copse of trees with brittle foliage draping across the length of her body and entangling in the tousled tresses across her neck.
When she has finally shaken an errant maple leaf away from her vision, a soft gasp emerges from her lips, and her gaze searches the distant horizon – and the display of Hyaline that lay before; vivid, vibrant, and breathtaking. She is quiet for a long moment, content to stand beside him, to revel in the beauty of what lay before her – but soon she is no longer looking at the tranquil water, nor the wisteria branches drifting in the wayward breeze, carrying lavender petals across the crystalline lake. She is watching him, tracing the curve of his jaw, the richness of his gaze, and her shoulder is pressed against his.
He is slender, tall and defined with toned muscle, while she is smaller – lithe and slim, but with the heavy curve of her draft heritage, filling out along the flair of her hip and the thickness of her thighs. Even so, pressed against him, each curve filling into her own while her lips gently press against the thrum of his humming pulse at the crook of his neck, she still cannot shake the desire stirring in her belly, nor the thought that she had known him for an eternity.
That she had known him for all of time, and only just found him again in this lifetime, in this existence.
”Do you trust me?” she breathes, wide and curious eyes searching his.
if there's a light at the end, it's just the sun in your eyes
I trust you, Amet.
The statement would seem so simple, so innocent, if not for the longing that tugs at its edges. Eione's lilting words trail into silence as she presses a small, playful nip to the shallow dip of his flank and Amet quivers beneath the weight of the truth between them - the truth of their desire, of the secrets he will soon share with her. They move further into the vibrant forest and the gilded stallion cannot shake the way every single neuron fires when her muzzle brushes against his hip as they venture beneath twining branches and blooms that sway in Hyaline's gentle breeze.
Despite the darkness, Amet guides her deftly, a gold beacon skittering between tree trunks until finally they emerge onto the plateau. His amber eyes fall upon the expanse of the territory below them (the calm waters that glimmer in the moonlight, and then the sweeping boughs of his wisteria beyond that) before returning his heated gaze to the daughter of Offspring beside him, his heart clenched with hope that she will come to love Hyaline just as he does. Never mind his hopeful assumption that she will stay here, with him. That she is meant to be here with him.
The sabino Eione presses her frame to his and Amet returns the gesture, the feel of her warm body welcoming against the cool leather-plating of his own hide. He stays silent but does not move his gaze from her, unabashed in his desire to memorize each plane of her beautiful face, the curve of her shoulder or of her ample hip. When finally she breaks the silence between them once more, Amet gifts her with a playful lopsided grin and a gentle hum as her muzzle nestles against the crook of his neck and shoulder.
"I trust you," he whispers to her gruffly, finding that his heated desire for her has not quelled beneath the solemn sincerity of their conversation. He shifts, bumping his gilded hip closer to hers and allowing his gaze to linger in the depths of her seductively red eyes, feeling the desire bloom hot in his loins before he reins himself in and closes his own gold-flecked eyes with a shaky breath.
He thinks of the cold fear in his chest the night he had run from the Dunes, leaving Iset and Sakir to fend for themselves. He thinks of finding Iset within Beqanna months later, their angry yelling, his aching heart.
He remembers when they laid claim to the Lake with help from Nayl and Nerine. And then, later on, when they had named it Hyaline. He remembers the night of the attack, when the Lost Boys group had broken over the invisible border and brought death and destruction to their sanctuary (and then, when he had realized Iset's involvement, to his sanctuary).
He remembers fondly the gift of his dragon scales, the notion that their presence where his coat had once been meant that he was no longer the boy from the Dunes.
He remembers fondly Hyaline's rebirth, the gift of his nihilism, the souls who had banded together to make their home into a sanctuary once more. He remembers his heated conversation with Nayl and his detraction from their agreement, the separation of Hyaline and Nerine for the good of his people.
He remembers Offspring and his kind wisdom. Sakir. Svedka. Ciri. Jah-Lilah. Circinae. Solace.
He remembers Hyaline and all of the times it has offered him sanctuary. Of all the times it has taught him important life lessons. His heart swells for the land that sprawls out before him because it is more than just a land. It is his heart. His own safe haven. His own escape from what had been a ruined childhood. He has proven to be more than what the Dunes had spit out, and Hyaline has helped him on the way to greatness.
When his thoughts return to the present, the young stallion's eyes are red-rimmed with emotion but his gaze does not shy from Eione's. He's hit again with the feeling that he has known her for more than this lifetime and it is comforting,warm... safe.
"Do you have a favorite part of Hyaline now?" Amet asks her with a gruff whisper, letting his muzzle curl around and lip with want at the tousled tresses of her mane.
I trust you, he whispers to her, desire clutching to the frayed edges of his voice – he presses closer to her, and she is nestling into every muscled crease, fitting into his silhouette as if it had been carved for her and her alone. Her lips brush softly across the gilded ridge of his shoulder, feeling him shift beneath her gentle caress. The longing stirring and rising to the surface is dark with intensity, awakening a part of her she had never known before – the boldness of his stare is captivating, parting her breath from the vast expanse of her lungs, leaving her breathless while her heart is thrumming rapidly inside of the tight confinement of her chest.
She has never known such desire, but not knowing does not deter her. She does not shy away from the way he causes her heart to throb, nor from the way her belly has become tight with unfamiliar need – she is flushed and warm to the touch, overwhelmed by the emotion roiling inside of her. It is not only her emotion – it is his, as he is exposed to her, left vulnerable by his own will as his mind traverses the long and distant plane of his memory, revealing his drive, his ambition, his heartbreak. She cannot only see his anger, his despair, his betrayal, his desire and the fleeting thought of love he once felt for the star-wielder that bore him a nameless son -
She can feel it.
Her heavy lashes flutter shut, as her own mind searches his, hungrily devouring every detail given to her – longing to know him deeply, intimately, more than word nor action could be. Her breath is soft and warm across the nape of his neck, and each small puff is a reminder of how hard and how vigorously her heart is pounding against her rib cage. Face, places, experiences wash over her like invigorating rainfall, drenching her through skin and through bone. It is as if an eternity has passed, and when the memories are once again simply that - memories, tucked away for safekeeping in his heart and in hers – her bright red eyes are seeking his, awestruck, enthralled, enamored.
Unshed tears cling to each rim of her wide-eyed scarlet gaze, and her thick lashes disturb each one into streaking down across the ivory of her skin – but unabashedly, she watches him. She is unafraid of the emotion portrayed across the feminine curve of her own features – she is touched, and just as she can see within him, she desires him to see within her, to see that she has seen all that he has given to her – and each fallen tear is an acknowledgement of it.
She is not sad – far from it!
He has given a part of himself to her – a part of himself that no one else could touch, and so willingly. She cannot keep her exhilaration to herself; her lips are pressed firmly to the ridge of his shoulder, tracing the column of his neck and tucked away into the crook of her jaw. Each kiss is fervent and laced with elation, and the desire she felt for him only minutes ago is tenfold, coiling between her legs but spreading through her veins like wildfire.
”Thank you,” she murmurs to him, locking her gaze with his. ”for sharing so much with me.”
A soft huff of laughter rises from her throat as her cheek brushes beneath his chin, nuzzling him and pressing closer to him. ”You are my favorite part of Hyaline, Amet,” she murmurs huskily, moving beneath the arch of his neck and pressing the softness of her two-toned skin against the smoothness of his gilded scales as her barrel pushes against his shoulder and over the broadness of his chest, coiling him around him like a feline writhing with affection. Her neck is outstretched so that her teeth may tug at the bronze tresses over his own neck, as her crimson gaze searches for his, burning for him as she had never burned for anyone else.
if there's a light at the end, it's just the sun in your eyes
His memories and thoughts, both the pleasant ones he'd kept close to think on often and the unpleasant ones he'd hidden away (out of sight, out of mind), pull out the raw emotion within him and for the time that Eione is exploring his mind, Amet is himself in truest form. He shows her the events and the horses who'd changed his life, his moments of anxiety, the simple things that bring a smile to his face ─ and he shows her these things without hesitation or the slightest inkling of worry, but with the immense hope that she will see him as good and kind and boundlessly hopeful. His amber eyes are open finally, peering out over the darkness of Hyaline with unshed tears before they turn to connect with the crimson of Eione's and he realizes that she, too, is rife with emotion. His emotion.
Cold anxiety grips his chest for a beat, and then two ─ she kisses it away, pushing it into nonexistence as her soft muzzle caresses the cusp of his shoulder, his leather-plated neck, the curve of his cheek. Eione is zealous in her touch and his own chest grows hot and impassioned, his torrid desire for her soaring to new heights. "I just wish I could know you the way you know me," he whispers gruffly in response to her thanks, amusement playing just at the edges of his words ─ it's his passion that takes the forefront, evident in the deepening of his tone and the rasp of his throat.
Eione's beautiful laughter rings out, gifting Hyaline and its wildlife with the gift of her voice. Her presses her warm frame closer to him and Amet sighs audibly, exaggeratedly, in his happiness as she responds in what he knows to be complete honesty. "That's what I was hoping for," his gruff voice matches hers and then suddenly Eione is shifting, curling the length of herself around his chest and throwing more heat into his fire. Amet curls his golden neck and runs his muzzle against the softness of her withers and then along the ridge of her spine as Eione nestles beneath him, lips curling away from his blunt teeth to nibble gently, hoping to coax an excited shiver from the sabino mare.
She tugs at his mane and Amet turns his head to the side to gaze at her with impassioned gold eyes, the breath stuck in his throat while gold melts into scarlet and only expelling when he can no longer hold it in his chest. The inhale that follows is deep and the air is heavy with the scent of her, exciting the leather-plated stallion further and igniting his loins until they begin to tighten and expose a portion of his manhood. He groans into the darkness of her back before breaking eye contact and turning his head in the other direction, to run his muzzle feverishly against the curve of her hindquarters before dropping his gilded head further to rub his cheek against the muscle of her hind leg, nostrils quivering in excitement to drink in her pheromones.
It does not take long for his full arousal to show, heavy beneath the curve of his belly and hot with desire. He does not shy away from the intensity of it, instead lets it wash over him and coax a low groan from the depths of his throat as he reaches his head across her rump and uses his chin to pull her closer to him (though they have already melded into one black and gold mass). "I need you, Eione," he nearly begs her, his desire unhindered by discretion or pride as he waits to see if she wants him ─ needs him ─ in return.
Her lips dance across the gilded beauty of his scaled overlay, admiring the way the rising moonlight shimmers across each individual ridge, swathing him in a silver glow that is altogether ethereal. It would almost be enough to steal her breath away, if the gentle warmth of his affectionate kiss across the tenderness of her skin had not already done so. The raw energy of each memory – however heart-wrenching, however delightful – is coursing through her, and her wild heart is thrumming vibrantly inside of her chest, alight with adrenaline at the sheer power wrought in her grasp.
He had given himself to her so wholly – never had she been given such unrestrained access to so much, and she is enamored by him, clutching each shared memory close to her chest to keep it safe within her heart and her mind. Never had she been trusted with such intimacy, and she would cradle it and nurture it, seeking only to reach into those distant qualms and worries inside of his mind to quiet them with the gentle caress of her kiss across a golden cheek.
Her hungry lips caress each ridge and curve of his tall and slender physique, yearning to trace every line and memorize every crest, and while her heart is growing nearer to the remarkable stallion before her, she is aching in an entirely different way, wanting to give herself to him as much as he had given himself to her.
She could not, of course. She could not will him to see the frigidity of ice and snow she had been born into; she could not show him the deeply buried memories of her father commanding a militia and a kingdom with twice the presence Tephra had ever had. She could not show him the way she had hidden away into the dark precipices of forbidden caverns as a young girl, turning away from the unshed tears along the rims of her heartbroken mother, unable to watch her fall apart and yet helpless to block the inevitable anguish and betrayal and anger from seeping into her mind – too young to control her power; too young to know the burden of infidelity and isolation and heartbreak but forced to bear it anyway.
If she could, she would – she would give it all to him; every piece of her until he had taken his fill. When his warm breath is dusting across the paleness of her cheek once more, a shiver traverses the length of her spine, spreading across the ridges vertebrae and all cross the rise and fall of her feminine curves, causing the coiling heat to tighten in her belly.
”You will,” she murmurs to him softly, her lips brushing for only a moment across his spine before her neck his curved and the deep scarlet of her gaze searches the burning amber of his own. ”you will know me.”
His lips soon press against the feathering of her withers, and a hum of pleasure rises from her parted lips – followed by a soft gasp as he bares his teeth, teasing her sensitive skin with gentle nibbling, as the curve of her cheek is left resting across the ridge of his hip. Her long lashes flutter closed over smoldering eyes, savoring each hitch of breath and deep, guttural moan rising from the beauty of his mouth, humming deeply into her supple flesh – so deeply that she is certain that she can feel it in the marrow of her bones.
(He does not seem to realize, or know that he has shared the memory of his breathless first time bathed in starlight and wisteria with the celestial beauty that had broken his heart, but she would not remind him – she would chase away the memory, replace it with something beautiful and unforgettable and wonderful).
After her teeth draw his attention to her with a gentle tug of his tousled tresses, the intensity of his gaze met with her own causes her to quiver and tremble, sending a shiver of longing across the two-toned splattering of her skin and down between her parted legs. She is flushed with desire for him – unfamiliar, but undeniably brilliant and overwhelming, and she has never wanted anything more than to be closer to him, to pull him deeper into her young and foolish heart.
She is left feeling exposed when his lips trail beyond the curve of her hip, drinking in the scent of her yearning, and when he nestles the broad plane of his jawline along the roundness of her thigh, she is vulnerable and aching, splay-legged and wanting for him with the long entanglement of her tail drawn to the side to take him as wholly as he would give himself.
Yet, she had never felt more beautiful or wanted, and she longed for him to feel the same deep contentment and tranquility and belonging that she felt in his embrace. ”I need you, too.” She murmurs softly to him, neck curved so that she may look back to him, with a dark lock of hair draped over the molten darkness of her crimson eyes as he draws her closer to him with the promise of fulfilling her as she had never been before.
”Be gentle with me? I have never ..” (but the explanation dies on her lips; she is flustered and breathless) ”I want you,” she says finally, her voice betraying the deep desire she cannot help but to hold for him. ”Amet, please ..”
if there's a light at the end, it's just the sun in your eyes
You will, Eione tells him, an unspoken promise to stay, to show herself to him, offer him pieces of herself so that he may begin to know her the way she knows him, though he knows that he will never be able to experience those things the way that she had. But he knows with absolute certainty that she would allow him to experience her life just as she had his... if it was at all possible. And that is enough for him.
They fall together into silence, succumbing to their overwhelming lust and their curiosity. The quiet gasp that falls from Eione's maw draws his attention, ears swiveling towards her so that he can drink in the little sounds of surprise and desire that come periodically from the sabino mare. He works to coax more from her, his pricked ears yearning to hear Eione gasp or groan, and his smirk reappears as he realizes that she is doing the same.
He explores her with a gentle touch though it grows more fervent and needy as they progress, smirking in accomplishment to himself when the shiver rolls down her spine ─ he yearns for her to know the strength of his desire, to see it in his mind but also feel it in his touch, in the way his gold-flecked eyes rove over the contours of her curvy frame and the way his breath hitches whenever she touches his someplace new. He wants all of her, this mysterious mind-reader (her mind, her body, her fears, her desires), and he wants it with such intensity that he has already forgotten that this is the first time they have met.
Amet has no doubts that he is Eione's ─ the desire has encompassed him, the magnetic pull between them unfaltering. And when she splays her legs for him as he nestles his leather-plated head against the muscle of her hind leg, he can only think that just maybe she is his, too.
The dark tresses of her tail are moved to the side and Amet is lost in the scent of her, his muzzle roving closer to her wet desire as he presses kisses against the curve of her rump. I need you, too, she confesses, and his breathy exhales wash feather-light warmth over her wetness as his own desire throbs beneath him. Eione tosses her head to the side, peering coyly over her shoulder at him from beneath a disheveled forelock, her crimson eyes enrapturing the gilded Akhal-Teke all over again.
Her failed confession catches him off-guard and for a moment (more of a split second, really) he wants to ask if she is sure that she wants him in that way... that he is really the one she wants to experience a physical coupling with for the first time, but he remembers in that fleeting instance that she has seen the best and worst parts of him. And she still wants him. Here and now. "I promise," he whispers against her skin gruffly.
Please, she mewls in return, and Amet is putty in her figurative hands. His amber eyes wrench themselves from her beautiful face and he admires the curve of her hindquarters as his muzzle follows just behind, touching the places that his gold-flecked eyes have lingered. Amet's nostrils flare and he shifts his weight so that he is more directly behind her and, for a brief instance, his gaze looks at her adoringly, parted for him so willingly, before his warm maw connects with the plush pink of her womanhood, delving into the heady wetness of her desire.
He does not rush, nor does he concern himself with concentrating on anything other than Eione. Lost in her, and in the moment, Amet squeals, a hind hoof kicking at the plateau beneath them before he raises his head and pushes his narrow chest into Eione's rump, teeth nibbling playfully at the curve of her haunches beneath his maw. His stiffness is hot, nearly uncomfortable with the magnitude of his desire now, and Amet rises carefully onto his muscled hindquarters to place himself as gently as possible onto the crimson-eyed mare. His long forelegs find easy purchase on her curves, before he re-positions his svelte frame and sinks himself slowly and passionately into Eione's warm depths.
She can no longer imagine a world without him – how had she existed, not knowing what might await her over the jagged precipice of the valley? Despite her innate capability to know so much, she could never have predicted what fate might have in store for her, beneath the waning sunlight of a vivid and stark sunset that seemed just like any other. He is beautiful, inside and out and she is left longing to have him nearer to her as the darkness of her crimson gaze takes in the slender curve of his neck, the narrow line of his lean but muscled physique, glittering in the vivid moonlight with the rise and fall of each breath.
Her neck is outstretched toward the celestial sky, where a plethora of constellations lay overhead, saturated with starlight. Her dark tresses fall along the column of her neck, and as her cheek is turned, her scarlet stare searches his in the silver glow, lustful and wide-eyed. The splendor of dusk might be enthralling if it were not for the incredible beauty of Amet. He is more captivating and more brilliant than the moon could ever hope to be. She is enamored by him, breathless and waiting, writhing beneath each touch pressed into her trembling frame.
He is placing deep, yearning kisses into the swell of her shapely hip, and then the length of her thigh, making her quiver with anticipation as his lips dance across the pattern of her two-toned skin, and she is slowly becoming unraveled and tightly coiled at the very same time. Her breath is caught in her throat when his brushes ever so slightly across her womanhood, but she is unabashed and unveiled for him – her desire for him is so deep and unwavering that she merely breathes his name in a soft plea, a hesitant step taken back to push back against the heat of his caress.
When he does finally reach up to clasp his legs around the swell of her hip, a gasp passes through the paleness of her lips as he presses deeply into her. A whimper of pleasure and pain is muffled, but only a few (slow, excruiciating) moments pass with the fullness of him filling her before the ache and discomfort subsides, replaced with renewed desire.
She becomes lost in the sheer heat of his coupling with her, closing her scarlet-laced eyes tightly to fill herself with the thoughts drifting across his mind – his white-hot burning of his own need, his desire, his unfiltered longing for her (when he yearns for her to be closer, she pushes back – when he savors the sensation, she intensifies it). But he cannot read her mind – and she cannot will him to know what is on her mind, and so she presses the curve of her rump to the perfect, shapely inlet of his groin, urging him deeper and closer to her, with a whisper of ”don’t stop” uttered just loud enough for him to hear.
