06-05-2018, 11:45 AM
 I V A R promising everything i do not mean |
Ivar had come back to Ischia for Kylin, remembering on some subconcious level that the lavender mare always made him feel better. And she had, as he had known she would. Yet he finds that she is a sadder creature than he remembers, full of long sighs and tears always on the urge of falling. The kelpie cannot fathom such complex emotions, how one can be safe and full and protected and yet still sad. Kylin seems readily able to feel a myriad of things all at once, and Ivar feels this as she sighs against him. A sad sound despite the contentment, despite the paradise in which they live and the safety and affection Ivar supplies. The piebald stallion trails his damp muzzle across her far shoulder, tracing the pattern of her two-toned coat as he is prone to doing. He could do it in his sleep, he imagines; he can see their shape as clearly as he had once seen Isobell's. Those are more faded now, darker, as though they have sunk beneath the sea to where the light cannot reach. Ivar is aware of this fading on some level, but there is no tangled knot of emotion tied to that acknowledgement - it is simply something that is. He cannot know that Kylin dwells on the past, that she has so recently seen the father of the child who she had told him was just one night. Where she goes when she is not with him is of no concern to Ivar; she is safe here on their island. When the purple mare tell him she is different yet not, Ivar only returns her gaze with a smile and a gentle touch of his nose to hers. The words she uses are philosophical, and the kelpie is not. The mention of the flowers seems to cheer her, and there is a spark of his happy Kylin in her eyes when she corrects him. “If I recall correctly, they attacked me.” Ivar replies, his voice purposefully droll. “No flower should have that much pollen. It's unnatural.” He is unable to keep the facade for long, and quickly grins as he presses a soft kiss to the mare's pale cheek. She seems flustered, glancing away as she says she likes the flowers, and Ivar's pleasure grows. When she looks up at him from beneath her thick lashes, Ivar hums quietly, as if in thought. “Hmm. I suppose I could tolerate them,” He finally says, shrugging his shoulders as though resigned to living in concert with the hibiscus. “There are other pretty things to occupy myself with, at least.” Kylin has never been as overtly flirtatious as the grey and white stallion, but they have always been physically affectionate. She lets Ivar hold her without a thought, and he has never been anything less than gentle with her. Teasing sometimes, like when he'd pressed his teeth against her throat, but he is curious how far he could push her before she reacts. She looks so meek and fragile, looking up at him, and it is early enough in the year that Ivar feels safe giving into the urge to (take her. mine mine mine.) at least for a while. Here in the shallows there is no danger, even with the way her warm hide tastes of the sea. Ivar presses a kiss to her neck, to the place he'd rip open beneath the water and watch her turn the world around them red. There is no urge to do that here in the sunshine, but he can almost taste the coppery blood beneath her skin as his caresses grow firmer and slide up the column of her neck, until there is just as much teeth to them as lip when he reaches her throat and feels her pulse against his tongue. |
I know my lies could not make you believe in my dark times, baby this is all I could be . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . |