11-18-2019, 09:24 PM
 i'll use you as a makeshift gauge of how much to give and how much to take When her heart reaches his favorite speed, Ivar smiles. It widens when she spits out an answer, fighting his command. To explore, she tells him, and Ivar knows of a great many new things he might show her. “Have you ever seen a coral reef?” He asks, and were it not for the sinister nearness he keeps between them and the way he ignores her discomfort the query would sounds genuine. “I could teach you how to swim with the whales,” he adds, and the truth of his words slips out with one last press of his lips to her neck. The flex of her wings that follows his release of her does not keep him away – if anything the brush of her feathers against him send a thrill through him. It has been some time since he’d had a woman with feathered wings, and hers are especially lovely, shining in a way that reminds him of the blue-black butterflies that are sometimes blown over from the big island. The scent of her fear is heady, and Ivar swallows it greedily as he traces each of her stripes. She would be easy prey, he knows as he tastes the long strands of her violet mane. Too easy, maybe, but he is distracted from his contemplation by an answer he’d commanded she give him,. The kelpie pulls away from his mealtime contemplation with an aggravated huff, and what she has to tell him only deepens the scowl. A new message? She clearly hasn’t’ even listened well enough to the old one. Yet is the gruffly spoken - and incredibly accurate – assessment of his wife’s preferences amuse him, and the mercurial shift in his temperament changes the scowl to a lascivious grin in an instant. “Oh little explorer,” he laughs against her cheek, “The lengths I have gone to keep my wife from boredom would make your hair curl.” The memory of those lengths – most of them bloody – soften her refusal to give a direct answer, and she will find that he is still smiling even when she pulls away from him to look him in the eye. The offer to bring him to Isobell is unexpected, and the idea of the two of them together is appetizing. Ivar imagines the look in Isobell’s eyes as he drags Oceane into one of the deep Loessian springs, as she watches her newest friend writhe beneath him, as he presents her with two gloriously iridescent wings. He nearly salivates at it, and the sharp note of fear in her voice brings him back with a jolt. That will never work if she is afraid, he knows. He can’t have Isobell knowing that he has frightened her, lest she suspect that he’s bewitched her too. He frowns, for just a moment, and moves away. The damp undergrowth brushes uncomfortably against his dry scales as he positions himself directly in front of her. Then he reaches out and taps his muzzle against hers as though in a casual greeting, as though he has not been just pressed against her most intimately. “My name is Ivar,” he says aloud, and just before he pulls back, tells her wordlessly [forget it all | these are the first words he has spoken to you]. And then he steps back, smiling an impossibly handsome smile. The distance between them is appropriate for strangers, but the way his eyes flick admiringly across her iridescent skin suggests that he would not mind becoming more than that. “I’d just been planning on visiting Loess, and here you are to show me the way.” @[Oceane] that if you talk enough sense then you'll lose your mind |