03-03-2016, 02:30 AM
lend me your hand and we'll conquer them all.
but lend me your heart and i'll just let you fall.
but lend me your heart and i'll just let you fall.
Her breath was warm against his skin, and her words are broken whispers that he strains and struggles to hear. He can feel her crumbling against him, tucked against the crook of his neck. His jawline brushes against her tangled tendrils of obsidian, which hang across the slender curve of her neck - the static in the air encases him with stray hairs as she remains close to him. Though his sinewy muscle tenses at her touch, he does not draw away. He is intrigued, albeit uncomfortable with her closeness, but his mind urges him to press her for answers. Her soft pleas are not unheard as she loses herself in her own mind, plagued by something much more sinister and devious than his own mind could possibly comprehend.
His own breath brushes softly against her forelock as she remains tucked against his mass, his heart hammering within his chest. He had not expected to find himself in such a predicament, and he was still deeply startled by her abrupt appearance next to (or rather, against) him. She was stunning, but he tried to swiftly push the thought from his mind. His eyes darken as she weakly murmurs beneath her breath, her voice soft and sweet, though tainted with anguish and distress. It is only when his words reverberate against her skin that she seems to recognize and understand that she in the presence of a stranger, and for a moment he holds his breath. His ears pin tightly against his skull, attempting to anticipate her next movement.
She then turns away from him, but he is too far enraptured with her discontent to allow her too far. He sweeps his long, thick neck down, his crimson gaze peering from behind the tightly woven locks of charcoal that hang above his eyes, attempting to catch her vision once more. He is searching, though he is as uncertain as she is. Her words come out in fragments, which he struggles to capture and piece together, tenderly weaving an intricate view into her mind - trying to paint her painful visions and fractured thoughts within his own, trying to understand.
When she finally manages to grasp a solid string of words, he is taken aback. In her head? It is then that he catches her gaze again, the same deep, pleading doe eyes staring straight into his own of fiery red, and his breath catches as he listens closely to her pained words. You're different. I don't know why.
He seizes, watching as her momentarily softened features harden again, willing him to understand yet still trying desperately to understand herself. He leans his muzzle back, nostrils flaring as he inhales deeply, speechless for the first time in such a long time. How to respond to such a statement? There were many unorthodox things about him, and different was one of many ways to describe him. Emotionally. Physically. She was emphasizing mentally.
He hesitates, though his voice rumbles again, breaking the stagnant silence that had settled for a moment between them. "I don't think that you are crazy," He muses, deliberating his words carefully. He can still feel her pressed against him, and it stirs an uneasiness within him that had been dormant for many years. "but I'm not sure that I understand .. how do you mean? Different from what ..?"
His own breath brushes softly against her forelock as she remains tucked against his mass, his heart hammering within his chest. He had not expected to find himself in such a predicament, and he was still deeply startled by her abrupt appearance next to (or rather, against) him. She was stunning, but he tried to swiftly push the thought from his mind. His eyes darken as she weakly murmurs beneath her breath, her voice soft and sweet, though tainted with anguish and distress. It is only when his words reverberate against her skin that she seems to recognize and understand that she in the presence of a stranger, and for a moment he holds his breath. His ears pin tightly against his skull, attempting to anticipate her next movement.
She then turns away from him, but he is too far enraptured with her discontent to allow her too far. He sweeps his long, thick neck down, his crimson gaze peering from behind the tightly woven locks of charcoal that hang above his eyes, attempting to catch her vision once more. He is searching, though he is as uncertain as she is. Her words come out in fragments, which he struggles to capture and piece together, tenderly weaving an intricate view into her mind - trying to paint her painful visions and fractured thoughts within his own, trying to understand.
When she finally manages to grasp a solid string of words, he is taken aback. In her head? It is then that he catches her gaze again, the same deep, pleading doe eyes staring straight into his own of fiery red, and his breath catches as he listens closely to her pained words. You're different. I don't know why.
He seizes, watching as her momentarily softened features harden again, willing him to understand yet still trying desperately to understand herself. He leans his muzzle back, nostrils flaring as he inhales deeply, speechless for the first time in such a long time. How to respond to such a statement? There were many unorthodox things about him, and different was one of many ways to describe him. Emotionally. Physically. She was emphasizing mentally.
He hesitates, though his voice rumbles again, breaking the stagnant silence that had settled for a moment between them. "I don't think that you are crazy," He muses, deliberating his words carefully. He can still feel her pressed against him, and it stirs an uneasiness within him that had been dormant for many years. "but I'm not sure that I understand .. how do you mean? Different from what ..?"
OFFSPRING