03-03-2017, 01:56 AM
It’s been too long since she’s enjoyed simple pleasures. There was a time (before her little red girl) when she might’ve taken him up on the irresistible offer, turned her face to the moon and stars and never looked back. These days though, turning her face to the moon takes on a whole new meaning, one she’s not sure Canaan may understand. The path she trod wasn’t easily traversed, not to mention that it had already cost her dearly. Feeling him pressed against her only serves as a reminder that she’d prefer not to lose this … feeling again. Being alone had been so very, very terrible.
It’s why she’s suddenly so aware that his eyes are trained on her lips, her jaw, her skin - and she won’t deny that she likes it. Was it so wrong to feel so … right? There are only so many hours she can enjoy, and these few are some of the most wonderful she’s had. There’s the gentle movement of his mouth against her neck, a soft tingling that coils in the pit of her stomach, then the reply of, “Don’t be sorry for me.” It had been her choice, after all. “And freedom alway comes with a price.” She sighs, feeling the weight of a thousand years she hasn’t lived.
There’s an open patch of golden skin right between his unusual wings, just large enough to allow her slender muzzle access, so she scratches it casually for him while her mind prepares itself for what her heart is advising against. Another brief moment of silence envelopes them, one where only the wind murmurs over the blades of grass, and then she understands that she can’t postpone the inevitable any further. “And use up all of my excuses to spend time with you in one night?” She toys, “I think not.” Her smile can be felt now, there was no need for him to see it. “I’ll find you, soon enough.” She promises, the pressure of her nose against him suddenly turning cold and wet while she captures his scent.
“And then you can make good on your offer.” She ends, kissing him as faintly as the breeze that causes her to shiver. The two-toned mare won’t say anymore - she can’t, for fear she might change her mind - so she breaks away and leaves him nearly as suddenly as she had come.
It’s only when she reaches the forest that she turns to look back, shaggy brown head pointed to the sky in hopes to see him in glorious ascent. It was more magnificent than she could’ve ever imagined.
It’s why she’s suddenly so aware that his eyes are trained on her lips, her jaw, her skin - and she won’t deny that she likes it. Was it so wrong to feel so … right? There are only so many hours she can enjoy, and these few are some of the most wonderful she’s had. There’s the gentle movement of his mouth against her neck, a soft tingling that coils in the pit of her stomach, then the reply of, “Don’t be sorry for me.” It had been her choice, after all. “And freedom alway comes with a price.” She sighs, feeling the weight of a thousand years she hasn’t lived.
There’s an open patch of golden skin right between his unusual wings, just large enough to allow her slender muzzle access, so she scratches it casually for him while her mind prepares itself for what her heart is advising against. Another brief moment of silence envelopes them, one where only the wind murmurs over the blades of grass, and then she understands that she can’t postpone the inevitable any further. “And use up all of my excuses to spend time with you in one night?” She toys, “I think not.” Her smile can be felt now, there was no need for him to see it. “I’ll find you, soon enough.” She promises, the pressure of her nose against him suddenly turning cold and wet while she captures his scent.
“And then you can make good on your offer.” She ends, kissing him as faintly as the breeze that causes her to shiver. The two-toned mare won’t say anymore - she can’t, for fear she might change her mind - so she breaks away and leaves him nearly as suddenly as she had come.
It’s only when she reaches the forest that she turns to look back, shaggy brown head pointed to the sky in hopes to see him in glorious ascent. It was more magnificent than she could’ve ever imagined.
Circinae
I need the crack of a whip, I need some blood in the cut
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