you're paralyzing me, any

[isakov]

throw me in the water, don’t think about the splash i will create
leave me at the altar, knowing all the things you just escaped

Were he cruel, perhaps Isakov might have smirked or cocked a questioning brow, chortled at some private joke at the purple stallion’s expense. Were he cruel, he might have leered and asked, ‘what kind of name is that?’. But Isakov is not cruel, so he does none of these things. He merely watches a moment, as if waiting for some kind of tell that the stallion was joking, and when one does not come he nods.

“Sleaze,” he murmurs, dresses it up real nice, makes it sound pretty. And, in the end, he does smile but there is nothing in it that mocks him. “It’s nice to meet you, Sleaze.”

Even nicer still when he steps into the water. If Sleaze hesitates at all, Isakov does not notice. And perhaps the dark stallion thinks his own assessment stupid, but Isakov ducks his head and skims his mouth across its surface again. The smile remains when he looks up, peering at Sleaze through a mess of sooty lashes. “Isn’t it?” he sighs, swaying his weight against the current.

Creeps a little closer to the dark stallion.
Almost reaches out to touch him but doesn’t. Just blinks those golden eyes, tilts that fine head, doesn’t look away when he answers. “I love the water,” he says, honest. And he studies the dark stallion a long moment before he finally touches him, just barely when he asks, “what do you love?”

isakov