The fire she wields so expertly flares wildly in her chest - brought on by the darkness they bathe in and Isakov’s closeness. She’s never known resistance, never thought to do anything less than she wanted. At this moment, she wanted Isakov - with his tricks (ones that he kept veiled from her, hidden from her) and all. She allows him this and perhaps it is the excitement of not knowing that she does so. What is it that causes him to be such a force; one that beckons her forth in the middle of the night, far from her sisters and the watchful eye of their father? The mystery captures her wholeheartedly, perhaps even more so than the fire that had just been dancing across his muscled chest.
He is careful with her, the young woman can tell in the way he does not return her heated touches. Isakov doesn’t move away from her, though. She would easily trap him if he attempted to, but a softer part of her likes to think he wouldn’t run from her because he didn’t want to - he had been looking for her, after all. She smolders beneath him still, however, despite his resistance to bringing his lips to her own obsidian and gold skin. Even with his mystery and his version of flame, he still finds her unpredictable. Sunlight grins at the thought, finding it delectable and empowering.
Of course it was just for her, she echoes to herself when he tells her what she already knows. Who else burns as brightly as she does? Her sisters, perhaps, but she doubts he has come across them - she is not sure he would survive the three of them all at once. Sunlight hums with satisfaction against his throat, wondering if he can feel the heat that begins to burn within her very skin as she orders her fire to remain within.
Her golden eyes widen as the brightness of his own flames come to life across his skin, a soft gasp - warm and breathless - into his neck before pulling her face away to admire the colors. Is this what she looks like, she wonders? Wrapped up in dancing flames, bright and fierce and wonderful? She touches the flames without a thought as they filter across his skin, only warmed by his blood alone. It is not the same as her fire but it is a solid attempt at its recreation and it pleases her wholeheartedly - a gesture (a power) that she greatly appreciates.
“Didn’t your mother tell you not to play with fire?” Her voice is playful while her eyes never waver from the false flames that flicker hungrily across him. A few moments more she admires his illusion before her golden eyes click to his with a mischievous smirk on her lips. “Well, I’m here now.” The dark mare closes the space between them in a single step (knowing he wouldn’t dare back away from her, not that he would want to) so that she can press her lips across the myriad of colors that follow wherever her mouth traces. Unsatisfied with the amount of heat it produces, a tiny and slender flame erupts from where her mouth meets his skin, and in the same moment, she wonders if it is enough to frighten him or will he allow such a sensation? Whatever his reaction, the flame is doused in the same second it is brought forth, her eyes still focused on the playful flames he gives her.
sunlight
@[isakov]