"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
This. This is the Tunnel she recalled from her dreams, not the disgusted stallion who had turned from her in the dark. He nips at her and she nickers pleasantly in return, unable to keep the smirk of delight from her dark lips. He was right after all, it was already abundantly clear that she would never run from him. Not by choice.
She had craved him from the moment she had laid her golden eyes on him. It had only intensified when he had left her there, panting and shaking in the cold forest. Now that he was here, curled around her, touching her, she still feels the need to reach for him and make sure he is truly real. That this isn’t just another frustrating dream. But it is him, from his dark face to the primitive black markings that blur into his cobalt coat. No, this is not a dream. This is real, the way he places kisses along her backside in worship and teasingly draws them along the back of her thigh.
She is a wanton thing beneath his touch and she laughs lightly as he teases her, knowing a punishment when she sees it. Two can play that game however and she leaves her own wet trails along his darkening skin, bringing her teeth to pinch the sensitive skin of his inner thigh that’s just barely exposed above the surface of the water. “Tunnel.” She says his name in a smoky voice, the need in her tone unmistakable. It is autumn and she knows that there is always the chance that this might end up in something neither of them want or are ready for. And yet, despite the common sense lurking around her lust filled brain…
Desire is a hell of a thing.
Her nips become more decisive, more passionate, and sharper as she makes it clear that she is done waiting for him. “Tunnel.” She says again in that same smoky voice but it’s clearly a demand as she throws back her horned head and gazes at him through golden slits beneath thick lashes. He had promised her something, whispered it to her in the secluded darkness of the cold forest. She fully intended on collecting that promise now.
They may call me a sinner, but I am at peace with myself;
A snort erupts from Tunnel's onyx muzzle as Bardot’s teeth pinch at his inner thigh. She nips, over and over, a rhythmic plea, her lips grazing and teeth catching at his blue black skin. Tossing his head up he bites the curve of her rump, considering her flagging tail with a torturously thoughtful look. When his grey eyes cut back to her slitted golden ones, his name is a low demand on her lovely dark lips. Bardot insists, and Tunnel’s grey eyes darken, holding hers.
He still holds her gaze as he pivots, water splashing up around his hooves in a careless spray, his tail a wet, corded whip, lashing tempestuously. ”Bardot.” Chides the stallion in a low hard tone should her eyes wander from him, from the muscle-bound bulk of his frame. He pulls himself up onto her back, her tail brushing his belly, his thighs. Black hooves scrape her sides, dark mud from the shallow riverbed smearing against her flanks, her ribs. The delicacy of her beneath him surprises and thrills him. When he isn’t on top of her she is a force to be reckoned with but beneath him she is something else, something he wants to break and shelter all at once.
Tunnel pushes himself into her while she watches, making sure she sees the way he shudders with pleasure as he sinks swiftly into the lust-heated depths of her body. Beth and Jerry, stop chewing and stare from where they stand in the nearby meadow, astonished. Tunnel reaches forward, bites down on Bardot’s withers, sinking his teeth against flesh and bone and thrusts into her again, again, again until he feels her hooves slide on the pebbled bottom, until he summons a delicious enough sound from her to guide him. Releasing the little unicorn’s withers he pulls himself against her again grappling, pushing in deeply and biting her shoulder, more viciously cutting his teeth against her skin. The stallion rumbles in obvious pleasure, a groan falling against her bitten shoulder. He doesn’t think about accidental offspring, not now. One day he may even mount her with the intention of breeding his monstrous children by her but now all he desires is to bring her to her first shivering climax of the day.
“Is this what you wanted Bardot? Is this what you meant to beg me for?”
There is no tearing her gaze from his as he pulls himself onto her back and she feels the familiar weight of him settling over her. There is only minimal discomfort this time but it’s quickly forgotten as he quickly claims her and all thoughts of not belonging to each other fall to the wayside as she inhales sharply with surprise and longing. He smears mud against her sides and she throws her head back threateningly but there is laughter in those golden eyes that fades into something smoldering as she gasps and lets him consume her.
There is a freedom that was missing last time. That first time when she was uncertain and unaware of what exactly to expect. Now she can appreciate the way he deftly handles her body, the way he moves within her, can see the mirror image of her pleasure reflected in his own stormy gaze. She ignores the scandalized horses in the distance, keeping her gaze focused on him and only him until Tunnel’s teeth find purchase on her withers and she shudders beneath him. Bite after bite and she feels herself slipping against smooth pebbles and slippery mud. She almost buckles beneath his voracious appetite until he pulls her back to him and she gives a sharp cry of pleasure as he stokes her fires again and again and again.
It doesn’t take him long to bring her where she needs to be, after torturous months of dreaming and wanting and needing him, needing this. He groans against her shoulder and she releases against him, unable to stop the raw feral noise that escapes her (his name lost somewhere in her vocal tempest) as she shivers and writhes. He does not let her go even though she is sure he can feel her trembling, his voice rumbling against her ear and she laughs breathily in response. “Do you see me begging?” She asks as she tosses her head and glances back at where he still lingers on her, inside her. The glint in her gaze lets him know that she knows exactly where that little comment will land her. But he is not wrong, she had wanted this. Badly. And she was loathe to let him leave her again so easily.
They may call me a sinner, but I am at peace with myself;
Disregard who can see them, who might watch, because they will hear her. Bardot’s voice tumbles out across the water, echoing in his black-trimmed ears that flick forward to capture every delicious note, his name tumbled in among all of it. Tunnel holds her tightly to himself as she arches and shivers under his body, and he tucks his chin in toward her barrel and rumbles as she nearly drags him along with her. He is suddenly aware of the sheer power of his own will. Not because he holds himself back from spilling into her but because he has not found her before this, because he could stand in this river and groom her for an hour’s time without throwing himself onto her back and fucking her senseless. The insults his mind fabricates for his earlier restrained self trip through his lust clouded thoughts in time with his heartbeats.
Tunnel pulls his head back she tosses her own horned one, defiance glittering knowingly in her lovely golden eyes. The corner of his mouth tugs back, rare dark amusement altering his features once again in her presence. His hind hooves resettle, splashing in the river shallows. Gripping her waist with a snort he drives himself into Bardot hard, tossing his head up before curling over her golden body. His teeth finding purchase on her skin in a savage array of bites that put the ones of that first night to shame. This time he means to mark her, to leave on her skin evidence of his presence for all eyes that might alight on this woman who is not his. Biting just below her withers, holding on and only releasing when the copper tang of blood meets his tongue or she threatens him away with that spiraling weapon of hers. Pleasure thunders through him with each heavy thrust, rumbling between their bodies as his every breath falls huskily against her damp hide.
He loses himself to Bardot’s body and the sounds she makes beneath him. Pulling her in hard against himself and catches a hank of her mane in his teeth. The darkness of his markings seem to bleed further out into his blue hide as sweat drenches his back but he is not ready to finish with her and throws his weight against the buckskin, pushing her, challenging her defiance with the brutality of his own needs. Some familiar shadow claws at him, feral, starving, and Tunnel welcomes it without thought, too consumed with sex and the scent of Bardot’s desire to resist.
She cannot stand against him, not like this, with the slick, loose river stones beneath her hooves and his body pressing fervently down against hers. The angry, lusty squeals from the river startle away anyone still lingering nearby in the meadow. Bardot has been pushed to a knee, her hocks trembling against the weight of him and though the moment of dark viciousness drifts away again he does not pull himself off of her. Water rushes against Bardot’s chest and the stallion explores this now angle, determined to feel her break apart one more time before he finishes with her.
If he is going to try to break her then he will need to try harder.
There is a raw violent beauty in the way he curves himself over her, that dark storm cloud moving over the brilliance of the sun. His teeth tear at her skin and she snarls in response, throwing her head back with wild abandon whenever he lingers too long. The pain mingles amongst the pleasure but there is a fire in her, something different than the rising heat between her loins. She knows what he is doing. The whispered remains of words she had said earlier. I don’t belong to you…
Would he like to be owned by her? Perhaps one day she would make him bow on bended knee to her, perhaps she would rest the long cloudy spiral across his shoulder as a Queen would her most trusted knight. But right now… Right now he is rumbling across her back and laying waste to the beauty of her pristine skin and as she snarls again she shifts into something else, no longer the coy beauty he had come to know. She is the creature whose spots highlight the curve of her neck, whose golden eye is something savage and fierce when it catches the thunder in his gaze.
She is not the sultry temptress. She is a tempest and the Amazonian in her detonates as her hooves slip across the smooth pebbles of the river and the current drags her down. Her knee scuffs against the edge of a sharp hidden rock and the water catches crimson as she grows still. And then explodes against him as she uses everything she has to push back against him, to find her footing and buck beneath him as she throws her head back viciously in every attempt to drive him to the place of pain and pleasure she had found.
There is a promise in the feral cry that escapes her. A promise of vicious brutality the moment he releases her. A promise of retribution that she will carve into him piece by piece until she is well and truly satisfied.
A promise that he would have to try harder, next time.
They may call me a sinner, but I am at peace with myself;
He remembers the day they had met, speaking in the meadow. She had found him during the hours in which his savagery had only just begun to bleed away from him. He had not wanted to ruin her, as he has wanted to ruin so many others in the past. He had wanted to twist her open though until the darkness came pouring out, until she showed him the real things, raw, and bloody, and beautiful.
When it happens, he is almost unprepared.
Her blood blooms into the water around them and Bardot rises up, pushing back against his violence explosively. He roars in fury and pleasure, incredibly aroused by her defiance even as it forces him to fight her. Tunnel’s right fore-hoof strikes Bardot’s flank as he regains his grip on her. His length slipped from her as she hurled herself back up against him and the blue stallion pushes himself roughly back into the heat of her body only to find himself tossing his head back away from her spiral horn as it angles to gouge him or take one of his grey eyes. That spindle point catches his face, piercing the skin and skipping up his cheekbone, his jerk away saves his left eye. Blood spills down his ebony cheek, droplets of crimson landing to melt into Bardot’s golden back. Need shivers through Tunnel’s body, and he lunges against the hurricane beneath him. Reaching out to grip the back of her neck, sinking his teeth in as she bucks and tosses herself with strength that he marvels at even as he moans into her mane, aching from the frenzy of her movements. He finally breaks, and shudders against the— ”Little unicorn…” he growls, asking her to come for him, scolding her rebellion— his body heavy and nerves aflame.
Tunnel hates to move from her, would like to just linger there but feels the vibrations of her own fury beneath him. He slides from her, reluctant, but guarded. This time he does not leave, only sidesteps away, splashing through the water, coiled like a cobra, or perhaps arched like a mongoose, it’s hard to tell which of them is which. The massive stallion’s eyes burn, he wants her, to touch her, to claim her in ways that will just enrage her further. Each heavy breath roars out of his nostrils. Around them, the river rolls calmly on, lacewings dance over the surface beneath their dark limbs. Tunnel does not move until she does, inviting her to come for him, to take her reparations in a way he has never allowed any other to. He is ruined, he realizes, thoroughly ruined.
It is her first taste of true darkness and she bathes in it as much as she chokes on it. Something in her recognizes how abnormal this was but she ignores it, pushes it down, reminds herself that nothing can be taken if it was already freely given. He releases himself into her and she can feel the sting of wounds across her back, can feel the drip of his blood as it slides down the spiral staircase of her horn. Her nickname growls against her skin and she follows where he leads, finding her own release while never forgetting every dark promise she had made as he tried to break her.
Part of her had hoped to end up tucked into his broad bruised side. Part of her had wanted another hour of grooming, of that sleepy safety she had found in him earlier.
Instead, the moment he steps away from her… She destroys him.
She lunges at him like a feral wildcat, her teeth tearing at any bit of flesh she can grab hold of. With the help of her horn, she corrals him away from her until she has better traction in the shallows. On steadier ground, she unleashes on him. Hooves, horn, and teeth fly at the stallion in a spray of violence, punishing he who had dared to mark her. She lays waste to the man who thought he could simply shatter her by exposing her sin for all to see.
You cannot break what is already broken.
When her anger begins to finally ebb, she stands trembling before him. The tip of her horn presses into the soft flesh of his exposed throat and bleeds from the small cut she leaves there. “I do not belong to you.” She spits like the Amazonian she is, reminding him (reminding her) what this was. And then with a splash she pushes past him on to the riverbank, her head held high despite the way her soaked mane curls against her neck, despite the blood dripping down her sides and knowing not all of it was hers.
Without another glance she slips into the foliage and slinks away, all the while trying to deny just how much trouble she had gotten herself into.
They may call me a sinner, but I am at peace with myself;
Bardot![[Image: BQjeje-Bardot2.png]](https://i.postimg.cc/T37nJTF6/BQjeje-Bardot2.png)
