"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
When his smile falters, hers does the same. Thankfully, she's not left to wonder and conjure up scenarios to fill the silence for long.
“Oh.” She repeats in much the same tone he had used when uttering that single word.
Gone.
There’s no point in asking how or why - neither of those answers matters to her. She attempts to keep some of her expression neutral, but Vastra lost whatever social graces she might have had in childhood when she shifted into a lion and never looked back. She has regained something in the last few years but not enough. And yet the shift in her expression is obvious - this is disappointing.
She does not move, either forward or backward, as she takes in this news - as he takes another step. For a second, Vastra just looks at him, and she can feel herself teetering on the edge of something. One movement could send her falling either way. She feels a coil of anger and knows that’s on one side - and even though it’s more directed at herself for misunderstanding, she’s certainly capable of wielding it as a weapon against someone else.
“Well.” The word is carried on a soft sigh and then she grins in a manner almost feline. Now she moves, but not away. She slips to the side of Svedka and, if he does not move, she would circle him before coming around the other side. “I had been hoping to collect a new scar today.” She stays close. Her head moves to close the gap between their bodies and the touch on his white and gold skin is light, as she takes another step. A brush of gentle lips on his withers before she stops when they are almost parallel, side by side.
With only a flash in her eyes as warning and deft quickness, on that same spot her lips had just been, she moves to bite him. Harder than necessary, but only just. Whether the strike lands or not, she remains where she is - her entire body feeling like it is coiled to spring, only moving her head so they can look at one another again. “If he is not around, perhaps I can find someone else to oblige.” Her voice is low and there’s a spark in her storming eyes that is more mischievous than angry. This is not the most dangerous game she has ever played but it is a game, isn’t it? She and Svedka had not spoken of anything but lions and shifting and then had gone a few years without seeing each other. She didn’t really know him at all - which, of course, had hardly stopped her in the past.
She’s made her move, and now which side of the knife they fall to will be up to him - and she's incredibly curious to see what will happen next.
There is part of him (a large part of him, actually) that is relieved when she doesn’t press him on the issue. Rehashing the tale of his time in the afterlife is hard for him; the memory is still so new and so raw, accompanied by the notion that he had brought back his own children from it, as well as dying twice, and leaving part of himself to waste away in the afterlife itself. The overo stallion snorts softly, his pink nostrils flaring. His blue eyes scan her face quietly, curious, wondering what her reaction would be - he is no longer a shifter, like she is, and what would that mean? She did come here to check on his wellbeing and how he might need her assistance further with his lion, but now that is no longer a viable reason.
He could obviously give her another reason to stay, however.
But it seems like Vastra herself has the same idea.
Whatever expression had come over him when briefly thinking about the afterlife is now gone, replaced with the easy-going smile that the winged mare would find familiar and welcoming - encouraging, even. She circles him and he feels a single shiver journey down his spine. It’s like he’s being inspected by the stormy gray hurricane of her eyes, deciding whether he is worth her time maybe? He swallows, following her with a gentle turn of his head until he must throw his gaze over the other side of his shoulder as she circles him. Then, for a brief moment, he wonders if this is what it feels like to be prey.
He laughs at her notion of receiving a new scar, his eyes dancing with passion. “I’m not sure I can fulfill that request,” and the laughter dies a little bit when her lips brush the deep gold of his withers, where the tangle of his flaxen mane rests. His flesh nearly quivers beneath the touch, realizing just then how much he had missed such intimacy (one that seems dangerous, new, and exciting). Just before he thinks to lean into the soft brush of her tawny lips, he is met with the bright pain of her teeth against the muscle beneath his skin.
Svedka shouts in surprise and the flare of pain, turning his head towards her accusingly with a sharp and angry snort. Her next words bring a cooling balm to the shock that had brightened in his eyes, his lips falling into a grin that is somewhat embarrassed but also pleased. Vastra hasn’t moved away from him and he takes her lack of movement as an invitation to close any distance that they might already have between them with a quick and sweeping step. His withers still ache from her bite, but somehow it invigorates him - as if he wanted to feel more of it, her commanding him. Svedka nickers deeply, turning his head so that the soft pearl color of his mouth traces the creaminess of her muscled neck. “I’m sure you can find someone more than willing,” he murmurs into her skin, his breath warm against her neck. The stallion, in the heat of the moment, gently scrapes the bluntness of his teeth against her - far too worried about returning the bite but making it clear that he would participate in whatever game she now orchestrates for him.
This is a dance she initiated and Svedka is far more than curious to see how she will continue it, for he is a delighted and willing partner.
Svedka’s reaction to her bite is awfully extreme, she thinks, and she manages to bite down the impulse to call him a baby and to laugh at him. She cannot stop her eyes from dancing, though, intent as they are upon him - amused by his angry snort. Perhaps there’s a little fire in Svedka without his lion after all. The space between them evaporates again and her eyes flutter closed at the first trace of his lips against her skin. She can feel the electricity of the touch course through her entire body, invigorating her.
But then those eyes flash open a moment later as his words briefly worry her, even as the breath of them is hot against her skin. If that willing someone wasn’t him, she needed to know now. Doubt plagues her that they are somehow playing different games, and his is one she cannot understand. Had she not been obvious enough? She’s about to open her mouth to ask, to make sure, and shed this feeling of unease that has come crawling back.
But when he scrapes his teeth against her skin, her breath hitches in a gasp of surprised delight. It’s not nearly hard enough (he hadn’t even broken the skin!) but it’s a start and it has the effect of soothing away her worries.
“You can do better than that.” She surprises herself with the breathiness of her voice. The embarrassment of how much she’s enjoying this is almost strong enough for her to pull away. Almost.
When she reaches out for him again, the nip she immediately makes is lighter than her last - just a tug of the skin - and it is followed by a brush of her muzzle against the same spot. Her entire focus is on him, intent on reactions so she can adjust the movements against his skin accordingly.
Of all the ways to get to know someone, this was not the worst.
The heat and electricity that grows between them is undeniable; excitement pulses through the air and is nearly palpable. Svedka is drawn to her more and more with each passing second, finding himself intrigued by her actions and words, so unlike anything he had experienced prior.
He had scraped his teeth against her hide gently - a test, a trial, to see how she would react to such a thing as well as to see how Svedka himself felt about it as well. Turns out, the stallion realizes with a soft snort, the roughness was rather delightful.
You can do better than that, she coos to him.
Her encouragement brings a warmth that spreads throughout his body, nickering deeply as a lopsided grin finds the pink of his lips as they continue to trace the tawny gold of her skin.
Vastra pulls at him again, making the game they had been playing now a physical one. His skin shivers as her warm mouth presses against him in the same spot, his own lips now roving the hollow of her throat, unable to hide the shudder of delight in his breath as it flutters against her. Slowly - still unsure of how far he was allowed to go - the tracing of his mouth turns into heated and purposeful kisses, ones that pepper her throat with pinching bites in between. He is gentle in this way, but as he follows the curve of the underside of her neck, his teeth find it easier to grip her skin fervently, needily, forcefully.
Svedka suddenly stops, his breath lingering just inches from her as he keeps his trembling mouth from continuing. "Better?" He asks, his voice deep and full of intention. He is smiling to himself, wondering what her reaction will be as he teases her in such a way.
Feeling more comfortable, he knows that soon any of his previous hesitation will dissipate fully.
