"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life
She's so wrapped up in her own feelings that she hardly notices his, or his lack thereof now. Fighting an internal war against herself and her company. Take things slow Wichita, be a lady, you know how this always turns out. She's so sidetrack that she almost doesn't notice it, that little hum of excitement that flickers with vibration from his being. A sense of anticipation though it has hardly broken the surface and it's gone again before she's had time to fully appreciate it.
Everything is both silent and loud, her own breathing sounds like the drums of war in her chest, the way it rises and falls takes on the dramatic appearance of theatrics. She's flustered, nervous, and shocked. She's busy being panicked now, the flutter of her heart is like a caged bird, thrashing wildly to free itself from captivity. He's so close.
She's afraid to move he's so close, bursting the confines of her personal bubble but she can't say she hates it- because she doesn't. And he's saying so many things now, or it seems to her that he is, everything spinning wildly with the rush of her adrenaline. He's having a good time, or he says so in a round about way. He's not bored of her already in the very least and her stomach leaps to her throat, and again he pulls in. The hot breath that touches her skin now sends her stomach falling back to her barrel, releasing a breath with a groan through her barely parted mouth. "That feels good," she whispers, eyelids fluttering before she's registered what she's said.
"I mean that's good." She clumsily attempts to save face, but not pulling an inch away from the buckskin stallion. "I could almost tell, for a second I think, something changed a little." She's so embarrassed now that she just blabbers, not knowing what to do with herself, her feet, her mouth. So the words spill without breath in between them, without a pause and she can't say she's sure she's even breathing now at all.
01-01-2016, 12:33 PM (This post was last modified: 02-24-2016, 08:07 PM by R A P S C A L L I O N.)
I am the Patron Saint of Lost Causes
A trained eye or heart rather, would find this indicative of having the capability of feeling. The hangup with the buckskin was he had never known what these things meant to recognize them when they were more than obvious. Wichita was probably giving him the most intimate conversation he had had his entire life - all nine years of it. Something, he is unsure what exactly, draws him in instead of away when she speaks it felt, corrected (though he still caught it) was good.
"Something has changed, indeed, but if you thought that felt good...perhaps there are other things to be euphoric," he says, matter of factly. From any other man this might have been a boasting phrase to inflate one's ego but even in the most primal of instincts, Rapscallion was a gentleman. He moves now to her side, sliding up with his neck brushing against her ribs, next his teeth candidly grazing her shoulder. "That is if you want to find out more," he stops, waiting for her to give him a swift kick to the head or welcome him.
R A P S C A L L I O N
the sociopathic private of the gates
ooc: super short but I wanted to get something up really quick so I promise my next response will be better!
01-06-2016, 10:11 AM (This post was last modified: 01-07-2016, 08:40 PM by Wichita.)
Wichita
surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life
She can hardly resist, not that she tries to. She's far too wrapped up in the irresponsible feeling that's taken over her. To hell with the way her mind warns her away, to hell with it. Her mind speaks nonsense now because her body says otherwise, her body sinks into each pass of his neck on her ribs. Nibbles prick her skin and she quivers, forgetting what all they had been speaking of. The conversation is lost but that's okay, she doesn't need words now, she couldn't form one if she tried.
Instead she just lets emotion fill her, pulsating across her body in waves that ripple outward. If she could make it so- they would be heat, fire, consuming her body. If she could stand it, they would be light, red and blinding. Eyesore from staring at the sun. If it's the emotion taking her over, she would never know, as far as she was concerned it was him. He was taking her over, she was letting him, she was begging him. She was demanding it, she wanted him to, nothing would make her happier. The build was far too much now to ignore, lest they both slink away feeling rather blue. Not today though, today they wouldn't have to torment themselves in such a manner. Today was just right for giving in she thought, today was a good day to let him in.
So when he presses against her, she doesn't fight. If she could pull him closer, she would. The stallion is weightless against her because this is ecstasy, blurring her sight against all that was and wasn't real. She can't muster a coherent thought so instead she moans an "Mhhm." Gasping each time the touching ends.
amen.
Lady and Governor of Heaven's Gates
looool
hue hue we kinda missed it, didn't know how much you wanted that all played out, but here is my skirting around the situation whilst letting the drift be caught
