"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
04-21-2019, 12:40 AM (This post was last modified: 07-06-2019, 03:17 PM by Misfit.)
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Trees flash by, pillars of darkness in the fog. Before him they are spectors looming fast in his path to be swiftly dodged as the boy tears reckless though the endless succession of black trunks. He pulls the ground toward him, pushes himself away from it, his strides accompanied by the rhythmic sound of his locomotive breathing. There is little other sound than this because the creature that pursues him, that waits for him, makes no sound at all.
Misfit leaps a fallen trunk moonlight striping his grullo skin with thick bars. He lands in the leaf litter but does not slip or stall. He is a terror among these ancient redwoods, careless, fierce. Half grown and entirely wild, called to heel by his mother alone (Ether by extension, and barely, but to disobey his stepfather would be to disappoint his dam). The Taiga has been a perfect battleground for the children of his family, though not all of them are terrors the two most likely to make trouble have a vast wilderness in which to do it.
Fog marches on, whorls around him like smoke as each fluid step pushes him on. His mistake is failing to notice when the ephemeral mist twisting around his limbs turns turns from ghostly to black. The darkness before him grows to be, not a tree, but a vast impenetrable blackness that is suddenly everywhere and impossible to recoil from.
Misfit drops his cobalt hocks and whirls back, his blue mane flying into his face. He knows without looking that he cannot return the way he came, that the blackness will be there like a shroud before his eyes. A snort erupts from amongst the quieting breaths as he acclimates to stillness, frustrated, amused. Here in the dark, ordinary boy, but he has long since forgotten fear of the shadows. Its disappointing to be caught, but this is just the beginning of another game. His head drops, serpent-like, shoulders rolling as he waits for what he cannot see, or smell, or hear, but cannot wait to touch.
The forest is at the same time miniscule and endless. For a youth like Haunt, what is far is merely a step and what is near could be an eternity. The shadow does not measure time and distance in the same way others do. The shadows are home, and where they touch, so too does the congruous creature. The space belongs to it, much the same way the sun does to the ones who revel in its glory.
The land is ephemeral beneath impossibly dark feet as a lithe and gangly body stretches across strewn leaves and weaves between haphazard trucks. It feels good, this pursuit, an almost unnatural amalgamation of predator and prey. The eerie silence of Haunt’s step and the shockingly sharp slant of not-quite equine teeth speak of a dangerous predator, but the creature needs no meat to sustain life. Just as no sun or breath are required either.
No, this hunt is for joy and pleasure alone. For the thrill of the chase and the giddy delight of the capture.
It’s easy enough to bring the chase to an end when Haunt grows tired of the flight through seemingly endless trees. There is barely a breath of space in this forest shadow does not touch, and those shadows belong to the creature. One moment Haunt is slipping into the curls of the mist, the next Misfit is crashing into the darkness, breaking the still silence with the clip of his hooves and rasp of his breath. To Haunt, it is a beautiful sound.
The blue and gray youth drops his head, staring almost sightlessly into the hollow darkness, waiting for the creature he knows to be there. But Haunt does not take the expected course of action. A faint huff of laughter is all that give’s the shadow’s presence away, followed by a few trilling words.
“Fiiiiittttt.” A soft whispered melody, eerie if not for the familiarity of that name on it’s tongue. “Come here.”
A single blink, glowing yellow eyes the only trail to follow.
i got issues, you got ‘em too
so give ‘em all to me, and i’ll give mine to you
i got issues, and one of 'em is how bad i need you
The soundlessness of the shadows is too deep for the boy to call it Silence. The din of his own breathing, the grate of his hooves and the brush of his mane against the edge of his ears are sounds he has heard all his life and filtered out. Here in the blackness there is nothing but these self-made rackets and his senses hone in on them, clinging to the familiar in this otherworldly place.
Haunt’s whispers trigger a twitch in Misfit’s lips, a smirk, a snarl because the game is not the one he expects it to be. The echoless hushing of his own breathing slows and deepens, and the wall of blackness before his blue eyes becomes a chasm from across which a pair of golden eyes glow. It would be an offense to them both if he hesitated for a moment to try and reach those two pricks of eerie light. Shadows have closed around him before but the boy has never moved into them unguided. A few heedless steps are taken before it occurs to him that there may not be anything beneath his feet. Instinct stays his progress and Misfit paws at the darkness that falls—rests—beneath him. His hoof scrapes something before him and so another few steps carry him toward Haunt. They may hold their ground or disappear from him but the leggy mustang moves gracefully on.
When the two of them were small Misfit learned not to strain his eyes after the shape of Haunt when they are joined to the shadows. He would charge into the Taiga’s darkness to chase, or spar, or be ambushed but here in the void with no distant sunlight or break of trees to remind him he can flee back into the day, his pursuit of golden eyes is his sole objective.
If Haunt permits the boy to find them, he assures himself of the boundaries of the youth’s body, by pressing his mouth to whatever he is able to reach, tasting for the void of their pelt, pulling the mane, and the tail made of shadows through his lips. Misfit’s side presses against whatever he finds, keeping track of Haunt’s outline as he circles them. Their play has always involved an utter disregard for personal space but for Fit finds that he is paying careful attention to the texture and topography of his companion’s body, that the invisible planes, angles, subtle youthful curves stir a desire to linger rather than play or fight.
The whispered taunt of temptation is enough to draw the young man in, though his steps bleed caution as he tests the ground before him. The shadows are endless and malleable, and should Haunt so desire, the shadow creature could send Misfit tumbling down for eons. Haunt would never do that to Misfit, of course, but the blue and gray stallion is correct to use such caution in a place where his eyes can stretch no farther than the barest of spaces. But as Misfit closes the gap, a wide, delighted smile stretches Haunt’s lips, sharp teeth gleaming invisibly in the endless pitch.
With the softest huff of laughter, the odd creature dances forth, pressing abruptly into his paler companion, leaning eagerly into the boy’s hungry touch. Yellow eyes glow with feral triumph as the game fades into something altogether different. Something far more dangerous.
Haunt returns the eager touches, teeth perhaps a little to sharp against sensitive skin, though they do not break the surface. Following the planes of Misfit’s body, Haunt tracks the changes there, the sharper lines, the more masculine ripple of sinew and muscle. Pressing closer, the creature almost idly tugs a blue strand of Misfit’s tail before sighing with delight. “Oh Misfit,” the shadow whispers, voice caught in a tenor timbre, neither feminine nor masculine, so easily mistaken for both. “You’re my favorite.”
Without warning, the light begins to brighten, allowing subtle shapes to echo through. Though the place the now stand is filled with deep shadow, it must seem as daylight after the impossible black they had just exited. Damp rock surrounds them, the hush heavy here, but not nearly so deafening as only moments earlier. A low, pleasing gurgle lends a tantalizing musical note, indicating the unobtrusive presence of an underground stream.
Haunt had discovered this place only recently, and determined Misfit must come too. A lovely, dark space accessible only by those who could move by unnatural means. Yellow eyes gleaming, the shadowy youth blinks mischievously at it’s oldest friend before coiling almost unnaturally around and pressing against Misfit until he is caught between impossible dark skin and unforgiving rock. Reaching up, Haunt nibbles gently at a blue tipped ear, teasing the edge with a sharp tooth.
“Do you like it?” Haunt asks breathily, voice harboring more than a hint of glee. “I found it just for us.”
i got issues, you got ‘em too
so give ‘em all to me, and i’ll give mine to you
i got issues, and one of 'em is how bad i need you
A huff, an exhale, loud in the vast smothering blackness as Haunt collides with him. It is a familiar thump of body against body, one that had many times begun a tussle full of biting and sparring. This time too there is a catch of teeth at skin, the needle points in the shadow creatures mouth pinching with just enough pressure, not drawing blood even as they nearly stipple the grullo boys skin and carve furrows into his pelt. His own teeth do not grab, or nip, but drag pulling them together though there is no need for encouragement on either of their parts.
The corner of Misfit’s mouth follows the curve of Haunt’s thigh, his ears hardly needing to move to catch the sound of his friend’s voice but they do, inspired by the same greed that roughens the blue pointed boy’s reply. “You are mine, Haunt.” He says as he rests his chin and jaw upon their rump. He echoes Haunt’s words but his tone is possessive, not controlling, he does not own his friend but is consumed by his fondness for them. They have always belonged to one another, since the first hour of their meeting.
He does not feel Haunt move them, it’s not a thing he can sense, this pulling from one point to another. Blue eyes blink only once to adjust to the natural darkness and he lifts his head to cast a look around them. Earthen walls and the smell of dampness unadulterated by any living thing, only the richness of the cool depths. His feet shift (he is pressed to a cool damp wall and yields without question) and beneath them floor is solid though a layer of silt cushions and mutes the movements. Of course he cannot long focus on the cavern because his shadow playmate slithers around him to nibble at his ear, the touch of shadows is familiar but the liquid sensation on his skin makes Misfit growl appreciatively. Haunt’s entrancing voice is breathy, the tip of their teeth catching on the ear they drop the words into.
“Yes. Where is this?” He murmurs the question as though to attempt a distraction from the way he is angling his head to trail his lips up Haunt’s bared throat. He might have taken the chance to grab another time but now his touch is heated in another way, tenderly burning its way over the void-black skin. “Say you’ll only come here with me.” Possessive again, new masculine depths to his low voice. He is not his father (though he does not know of the man), he does not believe himself to own Haunt, does not think himself master or feel the need to be mastered... but desire makes him selfish to keep something special and all their own.
There is an almost forbidden thrill in bringing him here. A delicious secrecy in the moment that delight’s Haunt’s every last sense. In showing Misfit this place that only the shadow could bring him to. That would forever be theirs and theirs alone. A perfect backdrop to the tantalizing wonders they had, to this point, only been teasing and toying with.
Cool, shadow-black skin presses so easily against dusky gray, almost natural in it’s deviance. Yellow eyes gleam with such wicked delight that there could be no question as to the thoughts tumbling through the dark creature’s mind. Haunt claims Misfit with touch and taste as much as Misfit had claimed the unusual creature with his words. The claim might not offer monogamy, but it is binding nonetheless. Eternal, in all the ways that matter.
Haunt’s tongue trails over blue and gray, tasting the earthy tones of Taiga’s air, the damp mustiness of underground stone, and a masculinity all Misfit’s own. It’s a teasing touch, one designed to provoke. To promise.
With a small trill of almost-laughter, Haunt pulls abruptly back, gleaming eyes fixing on their delicious companion. “This is anywhere we want it to be,” the creature murmurs huskily, eyes bright with wicked humor. Another step back. And another, until the splash of water breaks the silence and wets one invisible hoof. Disembodied eyes tease, a less than subtle invitation. “This is my gift. To you.” A whisper and a promise. “Only you.”
07-26-2019, 03:29 PM (This post was last modified: 07-26-2019, 03:30 PM by Misfit.)
i got issues, you got ‘em too
so give ‘em all to me, and i’ll give mine to you
i got issues, and one of 'em is how bad i need you
It doesn’t matter where they are, though he may memorize this place with the sightless precision of one entirely blind. For as much as his eyes might be healthy and his vision precise in the darkness they are worthless and so his body devotes itself to other senses.
There will be others but this is the first, the greatest of them even though the boy does not know it now. He can only think that perhaps there is a scent to Haunt’s skin, elusive but cool like the air at night, something he can’t recall until he breathes it in again, something easily lost even when his muzzle is pressed in to velvet skin. Misfit growls softly, rising to the provocation of the familiar tongue sweeping over his skin. His neck arches but Haunt backs away and forces Misfit to curl away from the wall to track golden eyes receding into the dark, his own hooves grinding softly in the dust and mud when he turns and follows. One step, two. How deep is the water? A flicker of thought, unimportant in comparison to the sound of Haunts lyrical voice.
“I want something else too.” Amusement threads its way through the words and he presses toward the glow of those eyes, playing the pursuer once more. His muzzle snakes out into empty air or against flesh to land a sharp nip and corral Haunt close to himself again. A forehoof splashes into cold water but forces himself close to the shadow creature in the midst of the cavern, gravelly laughter rumbling up from his throat as he presses his chest to theirs, before stepping back himself and instead pressing his lips beneath Haunt’s right eye before drawing down the delicate, dark face to press them just beneath the jaw and then finally, eagerly, lips to lips. A kiss not meant for a playmate, or a sibling. A kiss for a lover he'll crave all his life.
It seems everything in their lives had been building to this moment. This endless breath in time. Perhaps in the distant clearing where they had first met, there had been some inkling of it, if only one looked close enough. A thought planted when Haunt had first touched tongue to skin in bold playfulness.
Now though, there is anything but playfulness threaded so thickly through the air.
“Something else?” The whisper hangs teasingly in the air, daring dangerous truths to be drawn from where they’d been sheltered. A hum of delight and wicked temptation. A demand to put the thoughts into words. The lips touching theirs is one answer. A sinful one, but only half the satisfaction.
Still, the creature leans into it. Teeth scrape perhaps just a bit too roughly, tingeing tongues with a faint hint of copper. Heightening senses and reminding the pair of the dangerous reality of the moment. Something that serves only to spike the delight already coursing through Haunt, sending them invariably down a path of no return.
Dark lips trail up, teasing the sensitive hollow above one corner of Misfits lips, trailing along his cheek, finding the dip just beneath. Warmth radiates from him, pulse throbbing against Haunt’s lips and tongue. Teeth toy with that vulnerable curve, teasing with almost impossible patience.
“Tell me, Misfit,” the shadow whispers, a gentle, lyrical taunt. “What else?” A breath blown, deliberately cooling the dampness of the skin where tongue and teeth had been teasing. “Say it.”
i got issues, you got ‘em too
so give ‘em all to me, and i’ll give mine to you
i got issues, and one of 'em is how bad i need you
The taste of copper on his tongue is rich, a bright shock in the haze of his appetite. Warm blood wells and tracks down a blue lip until it smears against Haunt's dark mouth. Misfit's blunt teeth catch in turn before Haunt's lips look for tender hollows in which to nest themselves against his face, and leave the boy sighing. Beneath lips, tongue, and teeth his strong pulse is perhaps audible to his companion. He knows the sharp darkness that lives within that perfect mouth and still eagerly bares his throat for them.
Tell me, Misfit whispers the shadow and a dark smile draws onto the boy's face. What else? Coaxing, a breath against damp skin and Misfit's teeth catch at the nape of Haunt's neck a memory of childish rough-housing in the gesture. He lets go slowly when the indelible voice commands him to say it and his mouth hovers above the void-black skin.
"You." His voice husky but as clear as approaching thunder in the closeness of the cavern. No secret to whisper. "Tell me I can have you." Heat radiates off of the young stallion's frame and he wants to further touch Haunt's familiar body in unfamiliar ways... but their knifes are still at his throat and so he allows restraint to shiver over him instead. A perfectly painful hunger twisting in his belly. "We can have each other."
In this moment, time seems to hover both superfluous and eternal in the same breath. Everything stills with the exception of the two of them, impossible black entwined so sinuously with rich grey and blue. And yet, somehow, black presses even closer, as though the pair might truly meld into one effervescent being. As though they might somehow defy all laws of magic and physics.
Here in the darkness, in a cave share only by the two of them, known by none other, anything seems possible.
As shared warmth suffuses normally cool flesh, Haunt teases lips over gray skin, seeking more. Ever more. The shadow is not certain more would ever be enough. Not for them. The feeling of blunt teeth against jet strands and arching crest is divine, and Haunt hungers for more, almost wishing for a bite to those regrettably equine teeth. The sharpened teeth tucked so precariously behind their own lips nibble teasingly, dragging a sharp line. Not quite enough to draw blood, but enough to feel it bubble beneath the surface.
In a low, husky whisper, Misfit answers the question, and Haunt smiles against his skin in wicked pleasure. The creature doesn’t answer immediately, instead nibbling rewarding little carresses along along the vulnerable hollows of Misfit’s throat.
Finally, in a nearly inaudible whisper against Misfit’s skin, Haunt replies, “You have me. You’ve always had me. And I you.”
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