let my shadows prove the sunshine
Her eyes do not fail to fall away from his own, even as his gaze timidly wanders in attempts to appear relaxed. Svedka feels this impeccable stare prick into his skin, as if she could see beneath the ivory and champagne and the lazy smile - as if her storm grey eyes could pierce beneath the facade to see what stirs furiously within, begging for control once again. Her suggestion brings the crisp cerulean of his irises to hers, slight confusion flickering across the handsome angles of his face. But even with the incredulous look of surprise, he knows without a doubt that she means what she offers and that there is no hesitation that hides in her voice. She doesn't know what she is implying, he tells himself, but there is something in her eyes that says she knows precisely.
For once Svedka has no quip to follow, no charming response to have floated into the air between them and smooth any discord that has erupted from the topic at hand. He merely blinks at her, stunned into silence and nearly afraid to open his mouth - terrified what might emerge: fangs, perhaps? Her voice melts into something else in the quickest of moments and though she has not lost that predatorial edge, Svedka can see the memory on her face as she recalls her own affliction. She, however, does not fail to keep him locked in her sights, studying him with a gaze that makes his spine begin to shiver while in the depths of his chest the lion begins to push against the bars of his prison.
The stallion’s tail flicks sharply against his flank as a snort escapes his pearlescent mouth. Her words are far more relatable than she can imagine (or perhaps she knows that they are and that is precisely why she is telling him) and when her gaze does not wander, he wonders if she is waiting for some reaction - a certain reaction that will cause his skin to split and fall away to tawny fur and claws.
Svedka inhales deeply, a sigh slipping through his lips as he steadies himself, forcing his gaze to meet hers again. This time, when the lion presses him, the feeling is almost welcome.
“What did you do?”
He is unnaturally serious in the way that he asks, emboldening himself to even take a few shuffled hoofsteps closer, brow furrowing.
svedka
@[Vastra]