G A R E T H
Do you dance?
The question punctuated by a salacious flutter of lashes as the mare approached him, meeting him as an equal. A hearty spring breeze pulled the feather-light shawls she wore across his shoulders, and he could have almost sworn that it was intentional. Pangaea twirled away, drawing him further towards the fire, though he only managed a few steps before she was in front of him again, sparks dancing across the stone.
Brazenly she swept her muzzle across the thick muscle of his neck, pushing aside loose twists of mane as she traveled to his ear. What do you want? The words were phrased like a question, but the way she spoke them told the stallion she already had an answer in mind. She danced around to his broad side before he could answer, the heat of the bonfire warming his skin just as much as the teasing performance she was putting on. Everywhere the saurian touched was electrifying, sparks skittering across his flesh.
A shiver rolled through his body like thunder, a low rumble barely recognizable as his own radiated from his chest as her fangs pressed to sensitive muscle. She answered her own question before moving in a flurry of silks once more, pirouetting around his flank to wrap him in those same silks when she came to a halt in front of him. Gareth’s heart boomed in his rib cage, and he thought it might leap from his body and straight into hers as she pressed into him.
Surrounded by her like this, in every possible sense of the world, the stallion was being driven to the brink. If it had been her intention to break down his careful barriers, she had done an excellent job. The medic was a gentleman, but he was a man after all, and cloaked in her touch, lit by the same golden glow of firelight, everything fell away.
The ache in his heart he hadn’t wanted to call fear transformed into another hurt entirely. He had been lonely, been running when their paths had, quite literally, collided. He didn’t want to believe that this pull he felt could be real. For all his folk wisdom, Gareth had no knowledge of women. His only romance had been star-crossed at best, and it had torn him to shreds. Noor had painstakingly tried to rebuild the healer into the man he had once been, but it had left parts of him hollow and bitter and angry. He had tried to drive that bitterness away by healing those around him, to distract from the root of his hurt, to feel some sense of progress. He hadn’t wanted to admit that for as much as he had been tending to Pangaea, she had been tending to him, too.
Without having known a word of his former life, of the failures he had brought upon himself, of the heartbreak that still cut him to his core, she had taken that beating muscle and soothed it, her presence in his life a balm to the soul. The warrior woman had taught him how to begin to trust again, the necessity of deep connections, of family, something he had been nearly content with never achieving again. She had slowly worn away the sharp edges of his brokenness and filled the cracks with gold.
Gareth gave over to the instinctive pull, the part of himself his grandmother had taught him would never lead the stallion astray. Following her steps as best as he could, the brute circled the dame, keeping close enough to brush her golden cream skin, to feel the sparks as they flashed across his legs, and he danced. With the taste of wild blossoms and ancient stone and warm sands on his tongue he pressed his muzzle to her bound curls, drinking deeply of her scent, accented with notes of sweet wine and ash.
“If you were to count all the stars in Caligo’s clearest sky,” he rumbled, sweeping his touch across her neck and behind her ear. “It would still only measure a fraction of my desire for you, Pangaea.”
Thoughts and feelings can be kept in one’s heart like a secret, growing without ever seeing the sun, without knowing the full extent of their potential. Some would say that it is better to keep these things close, as confessions are fragile things, easily broken by harsh words of ridicule or rejection. Words when spoken can never be undone. Like spells woven by talented magicians, they carry power and truth. Some do not understand the strength of that truth until they are shared aloud. Confessions of affection, of the seeds planted for budding love, these are often far more powerful than those who harbor them could imagine.
The stallion did not know the strength of his conviction until he spoke, sudden clarity in the absolute truth of it. He did desire her. To know her, to have her, to see where life would bring them both. Perhaps it was the influence of the full moon, known to heighten any emotional state. Perhaps it was the spring air, full of laughter and light and joy. Perhaps it was the bonfire, the wine, and the way Pangaea moved as if crafted by the hands of the gods themselves. Whatever the case, as the words fell from his lips, he knew those feelings to be true.
The question punctuated by a salacious flutter of lashes as the mare approached him, meeting him as an equal. A hearty spring breeze pulled the feather-light shawls she wore across his shoulders, and he could have almost sworn that it was intentional. Pangaea twirled away, drawing him further towards the fire, though he only managed a few steps before she was in front of him again, sparks dancing across the stone.
Brazenly she swept her muzzle across the thick muscle of his neck, pushing aside loose twists of mane as she traveled to his ear. What do you want? The words were phrased like a question, but the way she spoke them told the stallion she already had an answer in mind. She danced around to his broad side before he could answer, the heat of the bonfire warming his skin just as much as the teasing performance she was putting on. Everywhere the saurian touched was electrifying, sparks skittering across his flesh.
A shiver rolled through his body like thunder, a low rumble barely recognizable as his own radiated from his chest as her fangs pressed to sensitive muscle. She answered her own question before moving in a flurry of silks once more, pirouetting around his flank to wrap him in those same silks when she came to a halt in front of him. Gareth’s heart boomed in his rib cage, and he thought it might leap from his body and straight into hers as she pressed into him.
Surrounded by her like this, in every possible sense of the world, the stallion was being driven to the brink. If it had been her intention to break down his careful barriers, she had done an excellent job. The medic was a gentleman, but he was a man after all, and cloaked in her touch, lit by the same golden glow of firelight, everything fell away.
The ache in his heart he hadn’t wanted to call fear transformed into another hurt entirely. He had been lonely, been running when their paths had, quite literally, collided. He didn’t want to believe that this pull he felt could be real. For all his folk wisdom, Gareth had no knowledge of women. His only romance had been star-crossed at best, and it had torn him to shreds. Noor had painstakingly tried to rebuild the healer into the man he had once been, but it had left parts of him hollow and bitter and angry. He had tried to drive that bitterness away by healing those around him, to distract from the root of his hurt, to feel some sense of progress. He hadn’t wanted to admit that for as much as he had been tending to Pangaea, she had been tending to him, too.
Without having known a word of his former life, of the failures he had brought upon himself, of the heartbreak that still cut him to his core, she had taken that beating muscle and soothed it, her presence in his life a balm to the soul. The warrior woman had taught him how to begin to trust again, the necessity of deep connections, of family, something he had been nearly content with never achieving again. She had slowly worn away the sharp edges of his brokenness and filled the cracks with gold.
Gareth gave over to the instinctive pull, the part of himself his grandmother had taught him would never lead the stallion astray. Following her steps as best as he could, the brute circled the dame, keeping close enough to brush her golden cream skin, to feel the sparks as they flashed across his legs, and he danced. With the taste of wild blossoms and ancient stone and warm sands on his tongue he pressed his muzzle to her bound curls, drinking deeply of her scent, accented with notes of sweet wine and ash.
“If you were to count all the stars in Caligo’s clearest sky,” he rumbled, sweeping his touch across her neck and behind her ear. “It would still only measure a fraction of my desire for you, Pangaea.”
Thoughts and feelings can be kept in one’s heart like a secret, growing without ever seeing the sun, without knowing the full extent of their potential. Some would say that it is better to keep these things close, as confessions are fragile things, easily broken by harsh words of ridicule or rejection. Words when spoken can never be undone. Like spells woven by talented magicians, they carry power and truth. Some do not understand the strength of that truth until they are shared aloud. Confessions of affection, of the seeds planted for budding love, these are often far more powerful than those who harbor them could imagine.
The stallion did not know the strength of his conviction until he spoke, sudden clarity in the absolute truth of it. He did desire her. To know her, to have her, to see where life would bring them both. Perhaps it was the influence of the full moon, known to heighten any emotional state. Perhaps it was the spring air, full of laughter and light and joy. Perhaps it was the bonfire, the wine, and the way Pangaea moved as if crafted by the hands of the gods themselves. Whatever the case, as the words fell from his lips, he knew those feelings to be true.
"Speech" | | @Pangaea | This is a clunkety clunk express, I'm sorry
