----------------kiss me until i can't speak
Pteron is weak.
Not in every aspect, but in this one, in the way that seems the most important. The inner voice that had so sharply declared that he does not want this has grown no quieter, and still chants a determined: ‘no no no’. When he pulls away, startled by his own reflection, it all but crows in victory. Emboldened by this unanticipated achievement, Pteron feels stronger, takes a deep breath and makes to pull away. He’s braced for a visceral reaction from her, a snap of her teeth or a kick of her heels. What he doesn’t expect is the way she pushes against him even as he pulls away. He’s not ready for the way her golden hips fit against his chest, or the staggering effect that the smell of them will have on his mind.
He tears his eyes from them, from the way she’s fit them together, and his scowl is thunderous. It matches the low rumble of his voice, strained by the internal battle. "Stop it, Reia."
His body and Reia want the same thing, but his mind wants another. He wants to run into the woods, even if she pursues him with fire, to hide among the trees until she loses interest in a half-century. His mother had tried to warn him of the possessive nature of dragons, but he had thought perhaps his childhood friend was an exception. She is not, it turns out, and she will not take no for an answering when it comes to gathering her hoard.
He wants to run, but he is weak.
His name between her lips is a sucker punch, the arch of her mostly-white neck a second blow, and way she slides her hips across his chest finally knocks the wind from him entirely. ‘I’m yours’, she tells him, and then he makes it so. Pteron has heard many stories about what this might be like, but nothing had quite prepared him for the truth of it. It is easy to give in to instinct, and to shut away the inner voice that reminds him he is ‘weak weak weak’. The heat that had sparked when he had gotten carried away kissing her returns a thousand fold, and even the scorch of her flaming mane is dim against it.
Some bitter part of him had thought he might be rough with her, might take this single change to teach her a lesson. Yet each time he means to bite her, the touch instead becomes a caresses, at first tasting, and then finally teasing. His vengeance instead comes in the little gasps he can elicit from her by doing this and the way she moans when he does that. Reia had been so insistent about this, and now Pteron understands why. This is by far their most pleasurable adventure, and yet as he slides off her, sweating and more than physically satisfied, he breathes soft words into her ear that he’d been too weak to say before.
“That will be the only time,” he promises her, “You are not mine. I am not yours.” She’d not said the last outside, but she is a dragon. They are all the same.
@[Reia]
-- pteron --