"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
The pale green of her eyes seem to burn against the gray skin. Winter is absolutely insulting against her skin as she walks to the meadow for the only reason of needing nourishment. A flat, annoyed line replaces smile that usually flirts upon her tapered lips. The wind was relentless today and Romantica groans whenever it decides to take a nasty lick against her hide.
The meadow is rather empty as it always is in the winter. A few horses lingered for the same reason that Romy does but there is further disappointment in the lack of any grass. Lids fall over the sea green eyes as the granite dappled mare takes a moment to calm herself and accept that winter is truly a selfish bastard. With a shiver in her walk, she moves to return to the sanctuary of thick pine trees that lines the meadow. Perhaps she could dig up some acorns or grass under the blanket of needles.
Limbs pick their way delicately through the ankle deep snow, each footfall that of a practiced ballerina. Romy had no intention of slipping and freezing to death today.
All this damned cold. No, cold wasn't so bad. This stupid ass snow. He had to fly around everywhere like a damn wonky-ass bird in order to remain unnoticed. Unless there weren't others around, of course. No one to notice the very visible hoofprints beneath the entirely invisible man. That was ideal. Flying was great and all, but a tad annoying when it became necessity over hobby. Like a chore, yeah?
So he was flying. And it sucked. The wind bit the hell out of him and random winter gusts came out from no where to try and knock him off course. Bastard.
It was safe to say he was pretty much hating today. Up until he saw a lone figure, nearly blending in with the snow as she trudged her beautiful ass towards the line of trees edging the meadow. Ah warm body! Perfect. He made to land in a patch of soggy grass, but ended up leaving a lone hoofprint in the snow before it. Ah, close enough. Then he waited for her beneath the trees.
As soon as she entered, he realized he knew this one. Her name slipped into his mind quickly like an eager pet. Romantica. The beautiful gray he'd played with a few months back. Imagine that. Was nice seeing her again, not that he could say that. They hadn't actually met, he'd just sort of touched her a bit. And enjoyed every moment of it. Perhaps she'd appreciate more of that on such a cold, cold day. He certainly would.
He walked right up to her and planted a sweet kiss on that soft dip between neck and shoulder, his familiar scent hugging her close. His hooves mashed down the damp pine needles, but it was probably only noticeable if she were watching for it. Then he moved further down, circled around. Such a nice ass. Another sweet kiss to her opposite hip, and then he reined it at her right shoulder.
The feathers of his right wing reached in front of him to caress her cheek in just the same way he'd done so long ago.
Like the bitter tang of a smokey Cabernet on a cold winter night, he is biting and comforting in all the same breath. His scent is like spiced dates, exotic and intoxicating but the gray mare does not realize it. His cologne is seducing though Romy does not know who is the possessor. How achingly long had it been since she has felt a hot mouth desperately seeking her skin? Lids close as a primal groan creeps from between her parted lips. She must be finally becoming delirious with her hunger.
The trees above form a canopy that protects her from the fall of thick snowflakes. Romantica does not see the press of pine needles nor does she care. This was a lovely (possibly delirious) dream and Romy full intended to let herself continue without interruption. The touch of a cloaked figure against her hip and the caress of something so light that it was almost missed, makes her shiver, but not from the cold. The slow curve of her lips grow as she lifts the long sooty lashes to reveal the emerald depths of her eyes. Lobes barely catch the voice of -someone- and breaking the trance. "Hello? Her voice is still a velvety purr as though she were waking from slumber. Limbs move the woman around, hips shifting as she looks over either shoulder with growing suspicion. "Who are you?" Romy does not deny the still tingling places she was kissed. She does not deny the pleasure she derived from the keeper of the voice, the unseen ghost. A coy smirk touches her lips as she is unsure if there was even a voice at all or perhaps she is truly slipping into madness.
Ohhh that groan. So raw, so helpless. So perfect. He needed more of that. Purr for me, kitten.
Her breath was catching, quickening. Beautiful green eyes opened, hazy with built up tension. Oh, she would be a passionate one. His skin heated, eager for more, needing so much more. Her sexy sleep-voice vibrated in his ears, a warm, seductive concoction. His lips parted with a lazy, half-cocked grin. She was perfect. Just what he needed. She needed him too, she'd soon know just how badly.
Delicious hips shifted into him as she tried to find her secret admirer, her hidden lover. He was helpless to hold in the pleasured groan, low and needing. Her skin was so cold, and he was so very, very hot, so he pressed against her more firmly. His left side and shoulder warmed her as he sent more little kisses dancing up her neck like a breath of wind. Dark lips tasted her sweet flesh, knowing how hungry she was for this. She would learn to crave him. His scent would burn in her memory, and she'd ache for his touch. No other would make her feel like he did.
Only a ghost, he breathed into her skin, content to preserve her delirium of desire. He nipped sweetly at her cheek, nudged her angel's chin up with his nose, left a lingering kiss on her throat. Her heartbeat pulsed against his lips, and his breath came heavier.
Nier... Say it, Romy.
He pulled away just enough for green eyes to stare into matched emerald green, though she may never know just how perfect they were for each other. Always invisible. Just a ghost.
