you taste like whiskey when you kiss me || any

[Calderone]

He remains unimpressed. Beqanna had offered no secrets, no mystery.

Like a virgin on prom night.

Calderone moves with heavy thuds of lightly feathered hocks. Dark eyes shift in their sockets as he examines his new home. A land of rumored promises and hidden pleasures. Thus far he has been disappointed by it's seemingly peaceful, quaint solitude. Cald wonders silently how much longer the land could stand to remain in such a dormant state.

The chill of autumn twines and tangles the knotted mane that lay matted against his neck, thick and coiled. The male is tall and can see plenty at his advantage. Mares mingled here and there with already bulged sides. A frown moves the edges of his lips as his brow furrows. 

Pity.

The dark stallion finds a place amongst the naked and scarred tree trunks to scratch an annoying itch on his right side but just beyond the click of his sharp teeth, The bark would prove useful to rid himself of the minor annoyance. A yawn coaxes from his scarred lips as he stands rocking against the dead trunk, eyes half masted and bored, picking through the horses for any that may pique his interest.

calderone

Where the bad boys blow smoke. 
Just like they're James Dean.