"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
10-10-2018, 03:38 AM (This post was last modified: 10-10-2018, 03:41 AM by Leilan.)
Leilan
a dragon who couldn't be hurt on the outside could have so many ragged holes inside
She seems shocked, then - obviously - she refuses. But lucky for him, in a tone and with words that aren’t entirely serious, muttering that he shouldn’t tell her what to do. ”I will if it keeps you safe,” he stubbornly rebukes, though it’s half-hearted because honestly she is entirely distracting. A soft kiss, first, then followed with a sharper nibble with her blunt horse teeth. Nothing that hurts him, but it’s a surprise, and when she slinks away from him he almost immediately follows.
Almost. Wait. She’s moving with purpose, although he can’t help he’s longing for her touch already. But that was not the point of the game. I’ll humor you this time.” And his grin is as wide as hers when she enters the treeline, and he watches her fly.
A hundred heartbeats he waits (though they’re faster than normal, he’s excited, but she too he hopes). He loses count almost, halfway, but since he hadn’t specified how long he’d wait to follow he doesn’t think it matters much. Moving like an elastic band shot from a hand, sudden, erratic in the first two steps but in a straight, fast-forward line from there. It’s in full gallop, nostrils flaring, that he starts, her scent still clear in his nostrils, and her starting to sweat helps him track as well.
She’s moved fast enough to get her headstart indeed - she’s beyond the edge of his vision or, perhaps taking a trail away from prying eyes. But there’s always her intoxicating scent, and he’s following like a fly towards the light. So what if it kills him in the end. There’d be worse ways to go.
When his own hide is drenched as much as hers must be, he’s slowed down to a canter; her scent gets stronger and yet she cannot be seen - ah, hiding. Clever as always. Though he briefly wonders if she can be seen from the sky - slowing down further, he weighs his options. Down the cliffs, where he suspects her to be, or up where he can hopefully spy her hiding place without her noticing.
It will take more time to reach her then, but it would be useful to test her hiding skills against a bird’s-eye view. At least that’s what he tells himself when he steps deliberately slowly over grass polls and sand patches so as not to be heard against the wind, sneaking up the cliffside and peeking over every now and then. Hoping the distance is enough not to warn her; but he can’t be sure about her mental abilities. Nevertheless, when he doesn’t spot her, he turns around following the same path, then at the place of his earlier choice to go up, follows her down to the seaside.
She’ll probably see him coming, but heck, he’s hunting her and she can’t run forever; so actually, he’s hoping she’ll notice. It was a learning experience after all (though what exactly they were learning, or who’s teaching who, he’s no longer entirely sure of - he’s having way too much fun with this).
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@[Breckin]
Two things I know I can make: pretty kids, and people mad.
There's no slip in his thoughts, no accidental emotional line that she can tap her own mind into and so she's left with little choice but to rely on her other senses. Probably for the better anyway, to have to focus and redevelop her more primitive ways of reception. Nostrils flare wider when she resettles her body weight, though she no longer hugs the wall with her flushed side, she remains close.
Her breathing deepens, her sides swelling for the gentle pull of shifting winds and the warnings they carry. The crash of waves masks his footfalls, but the telltale scent of him sifting through the coastal pines alerts her to his approach. It wouldn't be long now before he would breach the cover of foliage to find her if his assumed path remained true. Breckin knew his vision now far surpassed the average horse's capabilities, just like his mother's, but even then it wouldn't be difficult to trace the mark of her sweat dampened spots.
It crosses her mind to consider moving on regardless, in an attempt to keep the distance between them. But what good would that really do in the end? Sure, she still had some steam left and could continue to flee if her heart so desired. Running was easy, running was something she knew she could do. Defending herself was something else entirely--a subject she hadn't spared much thought on until recently. No better time like the present to dip a toe in the pool, especially with someone she trusted.
From where she now stands, she suspects her back will be facing him when he finally breaks through. It will make her an easy target like it had when Klaudius had dozed past her in the cave opening this past winter. But unlike last time, she is fully aware of her surroundings and the position she purposefully maintains. The only indication that she offers of her awareness is the lazy rotation of her pale ears as her dark gaze trains on the sun's glare off the sea in the distance.
a dragon who couldn't be hurt on the outside could have so many ragged holes inside
The long route he’s taken gives her time to steady her breath and recover, he supposes – but he moves more slowly, and so he recovers enough from the chase as well. Going up the cliffside, he now knows she must be close to the rocks to have kept from his vision, which was good for hiding from the sky, and, even from the other kingdom members (hmm, he’s not sure if that is good or bad). It also means she will have left some scent marks along those rocks, though – even when he breaches the tree line in the leisurely trot he has assumed, she is too easy to track.
The question is, does he want her to be less easy to track? If she’s hiding and caught, that would also mean that anyone trying to help her, would have to find them first. Though for now, it’s almost too good an opportunity for this… teaching.
So it’s a question for later. Focusing on her mostly-white form in the distance, clear against the grey rocks, he weighs his options. Sure, he could just continue the not-too-fast pace. But if he wants to tackle her, or more importantly, not be hit by whatever kind of things she might throw at him, he’d better be quick about it. Or at least, not be too predictable.
He’s slowed down almost to a walk, pretending to go slow and steady while closing in. He forgoes the option to say something; judging by her actively moving ears she is on edge, and though it might be his way of distracting someone, he doesn’t judge that many (or any?) other stallions would make a ridiculous joke to get the intended target off-guard. Especially not an angry man acting on a previous threat.
So when he estimates the distance short enough, he sprints forward, though not in an entirely straight line, hoping to avoid getting a full buck into his chest or belly area, or a rock against his side or head, because honestly, she’s capable of that and he can’t be entirely sure how far she’ll want to take this… game, training, he’s not sure if she’d agree with whatever name he’d put to it. Since she does both kisses and bites now apparently (not that he’ll complain), there’s the off chance she might take it serious.
All good intentions aside though, he’s taking it more serious each second, slightly too comfortable in this predatory role perhaps – too late now. Upon nearing, he makes a feint as if trying to bite her haunch; but he has enough speed to end up yanking at her mane instead within a heartbeat after that. Maybe he’s a little too rough than necessary. And maybe she’ll kick and bite, though more running would not be advisory or she’d definitely end up with another somewhat-bald spot (not that he grasped at any skin, like Klaudius had). He can take a few kicks though; he’s too wound-up to notice little pains, and too experience in battling probably, not to mention the scales being somewhat more sturdy than another horse’s skin.
Merely using his momentum, he moves the both of them back towards the steep walls which aren’t that far, aiming to pinpoint her between himself and the rock. Only then, he has time to say something, hissing mostly, because her mane are still grasped tight between his teeth. ”Gotcha.”
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@[Breckin]
Two things I know I can make: pretty kids, and people mad.
Stealth is not the game she holds interest in today, or keeping the distance between herself and an attacker either for that matter. For now, her interest is held more in the realm of how she would fair during a time when she’s caught unaware. With gray tinged sunlight falling over her freckled body and her eyes drifting shut, she lives the imagined scenario where she might be dozing along the shores, lured into a false sense of security by the familiarity of her own home.
Try as she might, the rouse against herself doesn’t go entirely as she planned when the distinct sounds of heavy footfalls shatter the faux peace that had settled over her. But she clutches at the remains of her faltering self deception, releasing a held breath steadily while easing her frame to loosen. She forcibly remembers the purpose of the circumstances—to learn something.
Only when he’s near enough does her eye snap open, rolling back to catch his head drop and aim for an unprotected limb. Acting on subconscious accordance, Breckin’s leg rises from the ground, perhaps it would have been a meager attempt at a kick towards him, but she would never really know. There was no time to react before his dagger lined mouth finds a hold on her mane. And in another split second the arched slope of her shoulder realigns with the jagged rock wall, finding herself vice locked between the cold restraint of the cliff and the warmth of Leilan’s body holding her there.
Struggling, she tries to push and pull herself in the only directions that aren’t completely barred. The attempt is futile (she already knows that in a battle of sheer strength she would not rise the victor), but her lack in brawn allows for the expansion of cunning and wit. As she attempts to distract her mock attacker with as much weighted force against him as she can muster, her mind splices outward searching for a means to her survival. For as well as she actually does, the maintenance of her deception is hard to keep up, finding the frigid bite of stone scraping her side raw nearly impossibly distracting. But her efforts are hard fought, and her telekinetic outreach recoils back towards the pair eagerly.
Suddenly she stills, turning a wildly dark gaze back towards the scaled stallion for her eyes to trace over her prize. Hovering just to either side of his handsome face and lying in wait are two fragments of sharpened onyx slag. With a subtle tilt of her ivory head, they rotate forward, balancing precariously in the air not far from either of his beautiful eyes. The intent of the dual daggers is clear-- maim their target and obstruct their attacker’s eyesight. Even if they should miss their true mark, enough damage might be inflicted to hinder the sight as a result of bloodied wounds draining over the head. And perhaps then, when enough attention was off of herself, she’d be able to duck away, just in time for the horse skull sized boulder that also lay nearby in wait, to be launched in a blow aimed to force her attacker into the wall as she had been.
But all these thoughts simply remain as just that—thoughts. They are nothing more than a mediocre plan that her nearly exhausted brain could piece together within the breadth of a few heartbeats. The success of this plan may never go truly tested. In spite of adrenaline fueled thrum in her veins and the quickening pace of the heart in her chest, the rising heat of the moment could not sway her into even attempting to half-heartedly do him any damage.
The ache of her heaving sides remind her of the shallow breaths she’d been taking resulting from her ragged movements to maneuver herself out of Leilan’s hold. But it’s only when the swells of the breaths he takes begin to work in a rhythmic tandem with her own—the rise and fall of his chest so perfectly matching her own--that her fallen line of vision moves back to him. Nearly forgotten, the impromptu weapons begin to drift lazily away as she shifts her head, surprisingly encouraged by the dull pain it evokes from the pulling of her mane so perfectly placed between his predatory teeth. Breckin’s emblazoned stare searches hungrily for his and a selfish curiosity warps her ambitions while pressing her body into further into his as much as he would allow.
a dragon who couldn't be hurt on the outside could have so many ragged holes inside
Closing in, she half-heartedly lifts her leg, but doesn't kick - wrong, all wrong, if this were anything more than play. He'd like to tell her that, but, since he's moving too fast and has about a split-second of time before slamming her into the stone wall (not wanting to hurt her, not too bad at least, he instead needs to pull on her mane perhaps a little more to prevent actually knocking all of her breath out of her; she doesn't need a broken rib. Bruising, on the other hand..).
This close to her now, it's impossible not to silently enjoy the way she squirms; every move she makes electrifies his skin, the pressure shifting with her joints and muscles replacing, even though they both know it's futile against his hold - it had been tested earlier. But doesn't he just love her spirit... even if it's supposed to work against him, it's just one of those things that make her so damn attractive as a whole - this mysterious girl is full of depths and when pushing a little further, some of those depths are full of fire, and boy, does he like to get burned.
From the corner of his eye, he sees the sharp rocks being lifted, and with a smile on his still-clenched jaw, he shifts his head a little behind her neck (between her and the rock he holds her against, if he can) to obstruct the path of those obsidian rocks with a part of herself. Not that she wouldn't be able to hurt him still, she'd only need to adjust their course; but it's just enough movement to show her he wouldn't be waiting for her to pierce his eyes either.
When nothing slams into him, he starts to loosen his jagged teeth from her mane, fully intent on stepping back to let them assess her situation and give her some tips - then try again. But before he can do that, she turns her neck to look him in the eye; she's tracing over him and suddenly he's not sure who's holding who, but honestly, who cares anyway. If he's her prisoner in every way except physically, he doesn't mind; he wouldn't even mind if she'd decided to set her whole army against him and capture him for real, to be honest. As long as she'd visit. Don't they both already know he'd do whatever she asks, if she asks in the right way, though. She wouldn't need to hold him; she already does.
Their heartbeats align as well as their breaths, pressed against one another instead of the wall, both drums thrilled at the prospect of... what, exactly? A fight, or any other kind of touch, it doesn't even matter. Pain or pleasure or both, he wants it. Probably both. He wants both. Everything and all that she offers. Or more or less, that her body language does.
Somewhere along the lines, something has shifted. There's hunger in the way she stares at him, and he can't ignore the sudden shift in pressure into his sides. While he carefully disentangles his teeth from her mane, it only takes her words of admittance to confirm what he already knows. There's part of her, no, all of her, wanting to be touched, to be held, but never forgoing the challenge to see what they're made of. And he wants to know it, too.
You know, nobody can see us down here, the rocks are leaning over. He wants to tell her, but he doesn't need to - he doubts she would care if someone did see them now. Distracted from his own thoughts already by the sheer smell and warmth of her body, he's nosing his way through her mane, having left a few icicles on the hairs he'd held before (subconscious adrenalin working it's way through his throat, but not enough to cause any hurt or damage).
But it's too much, or not enough, and he needs more. Suddenly, he places a soft bite to her withers. Soft, as it would have been with regular horse teeth, instead of the sharper ones he has now. If she moves, he'll probably draw a little blood - but he doesn't want to do any lasting damage, and lets his teeth sink in only for half a heartbeat, drawing back as quickly as possible. He retreats his head to her exposed side, pushing against her some more so she can't really move away from him or the rocks; resting his head behind her shoulder and into her ribs, he gives her a moment's respite; then he moves his head slowly along the lower side of her, toward the softer parts of her belly. Perhaps it'll tickle (he hopes it does), perhaps she'll repay him for biting her (definitely wouldn't mind, it's thrilling), perhaps he gets the chance to explore some more of her below, or any other part of her he doesn't want to share with anyone (always a good idea). Perhaps he can make her scream.
One can try, right?
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@[Breckin]
Two things I know I can make: pretty kids, and people mad.
She has a plan to escape. Had a plan. Has a plan. Fuck, she was losing track.
Caught between staying focused on their initial goal or giving into her other motives of self gratification, the fine line between work and play was beginning to blur. The problem was trying to convince herself that they were two separate entities, that this training was unable to be both work and play. It would be entirely too easy to give into him all at once, the way he moves through her mane towards her withers, the way he places a surprisingly evocative bite there, the way he trails beyond and lower. It’s nearly maddening, but as much as she would like to let him continue, she realizes how much more she would love to torture them both awhile longer.
When he’s preoccupied (with his thoughts, or with her body, or both) she’s quick to react, pushing away from the wall and him both. Moving against the brief slack in his hold against her doesn’t come without a cost, her pale shoulder drags across the ragged rock face, sheering it of hair and skin. In retrospect, it’s a minor flesh wound, and she hardly pays mind to the sting as she levers and spins away while simultaneously calling on the large boulder she noticed before. The second she’s in the clear, she uses the momentum of the boulders path through the air to meet behind Leilan’s shoulder, forcing him into the cliff side as she once had been. While her movements had been quick and purposeful, she maintains enough control over her makeshift projectile to keep it from actually damaging him. Her intent is to keep him pinned, doing do by using the telekinetic force of her mind on the rock to hold him firmly in place. And though he might be able to move forward and backward directly a bit, she holds enough steady force to prohibit him from moving out entirely.
With a smug grin, she closes in on him, pressing her muzzle into the heat of his neck. When she moves, it’s against him, trailing her mouth over the length of his spine, enjoying the coarse feeling of scales beneath her flushed lips, stopping just at the curve of his rear. For a moment she remains there before her brown eyes flash dangerously, meeting his expression with her own simpering gaze. At that point she finally gives herself over to her selfish desires entirely, breathing a husky “Gotcha” over his roan skin before chasing her whisper with a firm bite.
Satisfied and painfully unsatisfied at the same time, she breaks away, flying towards the shores, weaving carefully again between the looming trunks. As she departs, she doesn’t stop the girlish laugh this time that resurfaces and it’s only when there’s sufficient space between them that she releases the boulder, letting gravity pull it down with a dull thud she doesn’t hear.
The leopard mare had a destination in mind—the preferred cave she came to favor along the coast. It would be there that she would stop, sides working with winded exertion as she stepped through its doorway. Leilan would find her again, unwilling to ignore the silent challenge she had issued him.
But this time, she knew with confidence she had no plan to escape.
Fuck, he thinks a moment, but then, it’s a good thing she does. It’s not that this would have worked with many other attackers probably, since honestly, he had somewhat forgotten what he was doing and gotten lost in that look she gave him earlier. But still - she’d taken the opportunity of a small slip, which was a good thing in itself.
Not for him, though. He’s about to turn to watch where she’s going, fully intent on following, but instead, she has a pretty large boulder slamming into him. Had she just been waiting for the opportunity for some time now? He can only hope that some of it was genuine - but no, she would have kicked him out long before now - maybe she just likes to tease.
And teasing she does. While he still struggles to move backwards so that he can at least breathe normally (his protesting ribcage is trying to convince him otherwise); she’s back at him already, while he’d expected her to run. Tracing his spine in such a manner he almost gives up to fight the rock at all; but a painful breath intake reminds him of the fact that it’s there, and she still has the upper hand.
At the very end, where spine flows into tail, she lingers, and it’s becoming entirely too much - yet he can’t break away. Turning his head slightly to stare at her intensely with one left eye, he waits (burning up inside) for her move which is sure to come. But nothing still prepares him for the sharpness or perhaps the electricity of her teeth; he jolts upwards on his hind legs, a near-futile rear that mostly sets him free to breathe (a gasp is all he manages, not exactly the best way to go at it but at least there’s something in terms of oxygen). He is in a precarious position now; caught between a rock and the mare that forever holds his interest, but rather exposed and not daring to move much; slightly light-headed too and he’s not sure if that’s her or his previous lack of oxygen combined with a racing heart.
Her voice though; the sudden whispery, hoarse sound it had - that had not been forgotten. It’s a lure, a trap and he knows it, yet he can’t stay away. So when the distance is finally large enough for her hold on the boulder to falter, he lands heavily in the grey sand, and his mind is twisted in all sorts of possibilities.
It’s cute, the way she laughs. She has every right, he figures. She’d won this round - but frankly she’d been pulling his strings so much longer, he’s too used to it to care.
He’ll be damned if he gives in too easily though. Besides, his rib might have taken a hit, more than he’d like to admit. He takes a few steps, tests it - yup, gonna hurt to run. And why bother? He knows her longer than the day; no doubt there’s a secret spot she’ll want to share. He knows her; knows her scent, and tracking her won’t be hard. And she’ll be waiting.
It takes some time. He takes his time, getting his breathing in order, trying to save his energy because god knows what other tricks she has up her sleeve. But there are no traps on his way, and he dares a slow trot, face less grimacing with each few feet, getting used to the bruise perhaps, or maybe the bloodflow through his muscles helps ease the harmed point on his side. Prevents a stiffness. What does he care anyway.
When he finally finds the cave she’d selected, he lingers at the entrance; finds a wall for support, casually leaning against it a moment, while he lets his eyes get used to the dark. But when that’s not quick enough for his taste, he switches vision; yellow-orange eyes pierce the room more quickly and find the heat she emits. Does she seem hotter than usual? Not sure. He knows he is, though.
He doesn’t really want to move, but he has to. Don’t want to get roughed up by the same trick twice; she has to do better. If she still wants to.
There’s an unusual calm in his movements, he’s purposeful. Hunting. Stalking. He dares admit, just needy, too. When he trades one type of vision for another, his eyes hardly change color. Rather, they stay a dragonlike yellow, and though there may be a hint of blue or green in it, it’s mostly the lack of red tints that may alert her that he no longer relies on heat vision. He shouldn’t after all, in a cave like this, where he could loose his footing in the shade.
But all in all it’s not the cave he comes for, is it? Maybe if he hadn’t such a focus on his dotted white goal, he would appreciate the place itself more (maybe later then). Now though, he just moves in a determined stride, not particularly fast, not particularly slow, until he’s close enough to touch her, until he simply bumps into her as if she weren’t there, but stops and slides his head along her spine anyway. Almost like an afterthought, back to front in an opposite of what she did to him.
No matter the cost, he’ll always want to hold her close. And if she’ll let him, so much more.
Because if she’ll let him, he’ll do it all over again. This time he places a kiss on the probably-sore spot between her shoulders, traces her jawline, sweet caresses that he knows to be effective on others, and probably on her, too. Touches of which he also knows she’ll not be satisfied with. They both know that it’s not enough.
He takes his time though. Let her feel the agonizing pain of going just not slow enough to make the feeling stop, but just not fast enough to satisfy either. But the next time he slides his body alongside hers, he clings to her. First by hugging her close under his neck, just pressing against her some more. A gentle yet aggressive hold, he wonders if he presses harder she’ll have difficulty breathing like she did to him. Tries a bit more. Squeeze tight. Hold still.
His own breath is ragged against her skin; there’s still a numb pain to his left rib that’ll probably stay for days. She needs to pay for that some more - with a sudden rise to his hind legs, lands his hooves over her back in a perpendicular position, then snaps sideways-down at her shoulder and he playfully pulls her mane, albeit his playfulness is the rather rough type. Using his body weight to hold her down. See if she can bear it when he’s not giving her an inch. ”Gotcha again.”
Never know what that’s useful... training for, hmm?
@[Breckin]
Two things I know I can make: pretty kids, and people mad.
His lengthy absence gives her time to over think her actions, feeling herself begin to slide into insecure tendencies of her unforgotten past. A not-so-subtle worry starts to bloom in the hollowness of her gut. It burns away most of the adrenaline and lust that had motivated her during their struggle, making her feel suddenly sober falling from a hormonal high. Within the cave that echoes the sounds of the ocean, she wonders if she hadn’t taken things too far.
Maybe he didn’t appreciate her sudden aggression, and didn’t care to actually come find her now. Or even worse, maybe she did not have has much control of her power as she had presumed? Was he still there between the stones, struggling for breath? She hadn’t waited to make sure he’d actually come free of her hold against him. Self-loathing is all she feels now as she begins to move back towards the entrance of the cavern as swiftly as her body nearing exhaustion could muster, head clear enough now to set a direct path back to where she’d fled from.
But in the brightness of the archway a silhouette materializes, causing her pale hooves to slide and settle over the pebble strewn surface. The momentum causes her alabaster mane to shift and fall obstructively over the deepening brown tone of one eye, and her head rises to peer curiously beneath the intrusion, unwilling to move anymore than necessary as he began to move nearer. The stark yellow of his eyes is piercing, matched only in intensity by the steady intentions behind his strides.
The path his head takes over her back is a balm to her previous anxiety; his touch alone the remedy to her ailing mind. The trill of her heartbeat accelerates, triggered by the pressure he causes against the tenderness of her withers. Her breath catches in her lungs, only to be released with a painful slowness when his mouth blazes a path along her jaw.
But he is messing with her, of this she’s nearly certain by the way he tempts and coerces a certain set of provocative feelings to the apex of everything she desired, only to withdraw and pull her into an embrace beneath his neck. Leilan knew this game better than she, and whatever angle he was taking managed to rouse enough irritation for her to pin her ears along her crown in obvious displeasure with the snap of her tail against her barrel.
And he threatens to force the wind out of her lungs, pushing against her, restricting the expansion of her sweat dampened sides. But he can only claim his victory after he shifts backward, rising to only fall just as quickly over top her, effectively knocking whatever breath she had still held in her chest.. Breckin had been too caught off guard to react appropriately; had she been taking this training exercise more seriously, she might have had the heart and instinct to try and flee again. But she is entirely too enraptured, too distracted as she is restricted of much movement, forced to tilt her head back marginally under the influence of his unwavering clutch on her mane.
Gotcha again.
The woman hardly hears the words, the scaled stud’s voice muffled by the rush of blood and the roar of the ocean filled chamber deafening her ears. She swallows, nearly choking over the tension in the way her neck gently arches backward, her own voice husky and strangled when she finds enough air to force it through her charcoal lips. For as much as the words come out reminiscent of a demand, she is pleading.
His breaths are as shallow as hers, even if not dampened by a weight such as his own - quickened by the pace of his heart, too excited by how she responds, or more accurately, how she lacks to respond to his restraining movements, and just lets him do it. Stilled, perhaps, or surprised. She doesn't seem shocked though. That's good. Shocked might mean fear, and he doesn't want to make her afraid if he can help it.
He lingers with his head behind her neck and her mane still grasped in his mouth, grinning at nothing in particular because she can't see it (better not, he probably looks like the idiot he is) - good thing they're alone. And in the dark. And pretty far away from the world - shut up about the world, head. The only sound they make now are their hushed words, and the waves crashing against the rocks, outside. He's about to let go when she finds a way to force out a few words.
Don't let me go.
It's more of a question than a demand, and perhaps she hadn't meant for it to sound that way. And it might have the opposite effect of what she means in this moment, because his head is more clear than ever, compared to every time he's this close to her. He feels his jaw loosen, and fall open to do just that, let her go -literally-, shuffling his weight across her back, towards her hindquarters so she can breathe, then slides sideways off her back, landing with a dull thud. Had she wanted to use this for another escape, she could have simply bucked and run; she doesn't seem to want to do that.
No matter how much he liked being on top of her (ahem), he can stall a moment, because what he wants to tell her is more important.
Sliding in besides her, skin to skin -small exception for the place where she seems to have dragged open her hide against the rock-, his nose trails the line of her shoulder and neck, coming to a still behind her ear, where he leans his head against her neck for a while. Choosing his next words carefully, then going with just two.
"Never again." He confirms that softly, then nips at her ear with his lips, remembering the day that he did. This time though, he shakes his head, and leans into her - so close he never would have dreamed she would allow him to, back then. He's almost absent-minded in his movements, trailing across her skin, and yet, he is certain about it: he can't stop touching her after all. And if he could, he'd crawl into her skin and be whole, be one, be home.
He slides his neck across hers like he's done before, unwilling to let her go, though this time he makes sure not to crush her. Can he just keep the moment, and stay in it forever? Hmm, probably not. Worth a try, though. Can he try? He muses over these thoughts, his eyes tracing over her body in the futile attempt to memorize all of it. Memory will never do her justice. He knows that. Has learned that. And he knows he's being selfish for wanting to keep her here forever (impractical too), but he can't find it in himself to care, and he can't find it in himself to stop wanting to touch her everywhere at once, and having to settle with this, turning his head over her back and neck to place a kiss at a random spot, or a nip at irregular places (not that irregular - she has dots in those places but she probably doesn't know that).
@[Breckin]
Two things I know I can make: pretty kids, and people mad.
10-23-2018, 07:03 PM (This post was last modified: 10-23-2018, 08:00 PM by Breckin.)
He does the opposite of what she wants, releasing her ivory locks while simultaneously moving to alter his positioning in favor of standing next to her versus over her. Not the effect she had intended with those four simple words, having meant them in the literal sense. But at least she could breathe fully now, and she takes advantage with a deep inhale and exhale before making a soft sound a disapproval.
Couldn’t he see the hungered intensity burning brightly behind the darkness of her eyes? Didn’t he notice the unwillingness and lack of fight to keep practicing the game they had started? She could have kept struggling, kept fighting, tried to get away again. But she hadn’t, she no longer wanted to run—she only wanted him. All of him, all of this moment for what it had become and was becoming.
Never again.
The soft rumble behind her ear quiets the frustrations. He had taken her statement to a much deeper level—to heart—unselfishly cooling the heat behind the moment and taking the time to reassure. Try as she might to keep up the steely facades with so many others, he had first met her as her most vulnerable, most unconfident self. Breckin realizes then, that she would never be able to fool him otherwise (it would be like trying to fool herself), and that at her core would always be the same shy and insecure woman he had initially stumbled across that day. He simply knew what lied at her roots too well, and she wonders if he already knew it was a promise she would never tire of hearing, and if he had already predicted how much that statement would mean to her.
“I love you,” She says finally, her way of returning his own sentiments; it was what she should have said, should have confessed to him so many years ago. If he starts to say something then in response, she abruptly cuts him off. “But don’t just tell me you love me too.” It wouldn’t be good enough alone now. She didn’t think it was possible but somehow she found herself craving his touch more than ever, wanting him to stoke and prod the slow burn of longing building beneath her skin into something all consuming.
A carnal desperation motivates her, finding an easily accessible piece of his skin to grip tightly between her smooth teeth. The scales make it difficult the way they want slide to beneath her mouth but she’s a stubborn thing and makes her mark regardless, hoping to stimulate a small aching pain with the steady pressure of her jaw against him. Her bite doesn’t last long, but she doesn’t make a move to pull away either, holding her lips still pressed into the same spot as if to kiss away the hurt she might have caused in the first place.
The timber of her voice is low when she talks again with the inflection of a whimper and muffled by his body that she tries to meld into. “Speak with your actions, Leilan, show me how much you love me. Please.” He’s already begun to fulfill her demand, but they both knew there was a whole lot of room—and desire-- for more.
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