10-26-2017, 08:05 AM
 i'll use you as a makeshift gauge of how much to give and how much to take
She responds to his touch, bringing a pleased smile to Ivar’s pale face. He had known that she would – he is himself after all, and he knows Heda well. His teasing words, however, do not go over as well as he’d intended, and there is bitterness in her laugh after she asks if he is asking for a promotion. Rather than give her an answer, he laughs, and the scaled stallion continues to trace the line of her neck. Taking a step forward, he slips from the shelter of her wing, allowing it to fold into her so he can slip back. ‘I want to be yours,’ she says, and the kelpie smiles. The desire in her hazel eyes is mirrored in Ivar, and this time he does not toy with her. (Though he does want to; the hunt itself is just as enjoyable as the kill). “You are mine,” the stallion says, rearing up to grasp her hips with his forelegs. Ivar’s words are gentle in her ears as he pulls her back to him, as he settles his weight atop her body. “You are mine.” The possessiveness of the statement gives him a primal thrill, the instinctual satisfaction of knowing that she belongs to him. Ivar is a kelpie, and the knowledge of how to please a mare is instinctual. She had asked for his love, and he gives it to her, the breathy whispers and the flutter of her heartbeat acting as his guide. When she is finished, and they on level ground again, Ivar moves to wrap his neck over hers as he stands beside her once. “Is that what you wanted, my sweet?” He asks, a hint of laughter in his voice as he lips at her throat. “If not, I’d be more than happy to try again. ” His kisses against her neck had been soft, but this time there is a painless hint of teeth, a match to the wicked light in Ivar’s brown eyes. He is still playful, and he’s most certainty satisfied, but he cannot help but be curious as to what Heda’s boundaries might be. |