09-10-2020, 08:29 AM
Leilan
They are like magnets, thrown at one another; pushing and pulling and twisting and dancing. Like two stars, pulled to each other and returning for another close call. One time, these magnets may twist and turn around and click. One time too, these stars may clash, and the damage of their collision may be unimaginable.
Damage he personally doesn’t want to think about; in fact, the few dancing steps away he takes are no movement to indicate he’d actually move away from her; rather the elasticity of the magnetic bond between them - gravity pulls - is going to force her to come right back to where he waits for her.
It’s possible that she is less good at hiding her feelings than she hopes; it’s equally possible he is attuned to such minimal differences in her expressions, or that his draconic vision allows him to see more than most. Perhaps he just pays attention to her in a way not many would. Nevertheless, the opportunity of chasing her wriggles its way into his mind, and when she comes back to him in all her dismissive teasing, her focus too-clearly elsewhere, he places a small nib on her withers - retreats just as easily - serpent-like, cat-quick in his movements. But what would ice know about fire? ”What, indeed,” he says, his tone somewhat distant, mulling it over as he tries to ignore the growing combination of secret wants and a far more recognisable drive for competition and winning this game that they started. They seem opposites, ice and fire. He knows better than most, that the damage the extremes inflict are the same. That ice and frostbite burn just as much as fire. That the warm-skinned have trouble distinguishing one from the other.
They seem opposites, this summer woman and the ice-bearing dragon. But things are not as they seem, are they? The red mare and the red stallion both have lured the other in, in a way that seems inexplicable to most. Stars and mirrors don’t need explaining between them, however, not right now.
The silver roan’s body moves to touch hers every now and then; purposeful glimpses for the fiery mare as to how cold exactly his skin might be. He knows his way around the temperatures - the right touch here, a hot breath there, a sharper set of teeth into a sensitive part to trigger her; all of this might warm her up so quickly she would start to crave the refreshment of his colder breath and scales.
But there’s always the danger of falling. He’s playing with fire, and thinking he might still win.
Damage he personally doesn’t want to think about; in fact, the few dancing steps away he takes are no movement to indicate he’d actually move away from her; rather the elasticity of the magnetic bond between them - gravity pulls - is going to force her to come right back to where he waits for her.
It’s possible that she is less good at hiding her feelings than she hopes; it’s equally possible he is attuned to such minimal differences in her expressions, or that his draconic vision allows him to see more than most. Perhaps he just pays attention to her in a way not many would. Nevertheless, the opportunity of chasing her wriggles its way into his mind, and when she comes back to him in all her dismissive teasing, her focus too-clearly elsewhere, he places a small nib on her withers - retreats just as easily - serpent-like, cat-quick in his movements. But what would ice know about fire? ”What, indeed,” he says, his tone somewhat distant, mulling it over as he tries to ignore the growing combination of secret wants and a far more recognisable drive for competition and winning this game that they started. They seem opposites, ice and fire. He knows better than most, that the damage the extremes inflict are the same. That ice and frostbite burn just as much as fire. That the warm-skinned have trouble distinguishing one from the other.
They seem opposites, this summer woman and the ice-bearing dragon. But things are not as they seem, are they? The red mare and the red stallion both have lured the other in, in a way that seems inexplicable to most. Stars and mirrors don’t need explaining between them, however, not right now.
The silver roan’s body moves to touch hers every now and then; purposeful glimpses for the fiery mare as to how cold exactly his skin might be. He knows his way around the temperatures - the right touch here, a hot breath there, a sharper set of teeth into a sensitive part to trigger her; all of this might warm her up so quickly she would start to crave the refreshment of his colder breath and scales.
But there’s always the danger of falling. He’s playing with fire, and thinking he might still win.
I am the dragon
and you call me insane
and you call me insane
Image commissioned by Vanilla, made by AshesDrawn on DA
@[lilliana]
Two things I know I can make: pretty kids, and people mad.
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