dark side of the morning; Kylin

[Ivar]

i'll use you as a makeshift gauge
of how much to give and how much to take

Though the water is now shallow enough to stand, Ivar continues to float. The pied colt is never ready to give up the water so readily; given his druthers he’d rather always be at least slightly damp. His long pale legs are tucked under him as he drifts along in the current of Kylin’s movement. She’s returning to shore, but she does not make it all the way there. She stops, still in the water, and Ivar straightens his legs to stand beside her. The panic of her earlier racing heart is subsiding.

(too late now. not fun anymore.)

“You were floating,” he tells her with a grin. The elation on her face is thrilling in a new sort of way; he enjoys seeing her this happy. He is glad he – or at least his suggestion of swimming – is the cause of her smile.

Ivar takes a few more steps to match hers, feeling the warmth of the humid air drift across his broad black back as it breaks the water. He’s tall enough that it does, even though Kylin’s back remains submerged. He does not mind.

They’ve only ever been friendly before, childhood playmates sharing a fascination with water. So when Kylin reaches out to thank him with a gentle brush of her muzzle, Ivar surprises himself by returning the gesture with a kiss. It is soft and fleeting and he pulls away so quickly. Not embarrassed, just unsure.

(ohh. i see now. different)

Her cheek was salty from exertion and not the sea, and though Ivar wonders (longs even) to see if her jaw, her throat, her soft neck are the same, he does not act. He’d rather swim more often than risk scaring her away with unwanted advances. She was Ivar’s first friend, after all, and losing her to the too-adult sensations that swirl heavily through the autumn air is the rare risk that he is not willing to take.

“Oh yes,” he tells her, “We can swim any time you’d like.”

IVAR