Kiss me again
Kiss me until I am sick of it
Perhaps he tries to convince himself that Aela is just a distraction. It’s only partly true. Although the images of the jaded young mare annoyingly buzz in the back of his mind like a gnat that just refuses to be swatted, he is genuinely attracted to the striped mare, who glows like warm amber sunlight just before the sun settles to rest. It’s more than just her looks. It’s the way she volleys his questions back at him, refusing to get bogged down in his traps. She’s quick with her tongue (and he cannot help but wonder in what other ways that wicked tongue of hers might find use) and every time he thinks he’s caught her… Has figured her out… She leaves him guessing. Leaves him wanting more.
“Perhaps.” He muses, a murmur of warm air that dances briefly across her bright skin. Maybe he does care what she thinks. Just a little.
The way she brushes against him makes him grit his teeth a little harder but he cannot stop the rugged sigh that escapes him as her lips begin to trace the hard planes of his shoulder. As he leans into her touch. She asks about politics and he can’t help but laugh darkly, his red eyes blazing as they look back to where she lingers on his onyx skin. “I can think of better things to do then talk about politics.” He growls but falls silent as the memories suddenly seep through his flesh.
The ocean in her eyes flash with lighting as unwanted images flood through his head. He sees lands he knows and some he doesn’t. Some are missing where others seem more prominent. Part of him resists against this assault (remembering Wherewolf’s agitation) and his frustration expresses himself with the sharp snap of his tail whipping against his haunches. However he stays put, unwilling to pull back when her muzzle was still pressed to him, still moving lazily along the length of his body.
When she pulls away, it’s definitely the need of her touch that outweighs any displeasure with her magic.
He doesn’t let her get far.
His own lips finding the sensitive skin of her withers, gently plucking bits of sunlight between his teeth before his own muzzle begins to travel further upward. “What do you want from me Aela?” He breathes into her neck, his blazing gaze once more finding hers. It’s a question of multiple interpretations. One speaks of the tension that rockets between them, as the hunger to explore her becomes a craving that demands to be satiated. The other refers to her images, to the memories she had shared, to the unanswered question of politics.
Perhaps if she asked nicely, he would answer both.
Obscene
@[Aela]