P a n g a e a
i wish it was cooling me, but so far, has not been good
it's been shitty and i feel awkward, as i should
Pangaea would be the first to admit she enjoyed the reactions she got from her stallion. It was proof that it wasn't in her head, or the right mood. That what she felt for him all the time, was reciprocated. Where she felt like a monster, an oddity, a creature of nightmares in the eyes of others, to Gareth, she felt beautiful. She felt wild, and admired, and a woman. And where before she'd always felt like the struggles of these locks she refused to cut from cultural beliefs, she now felt like Rapunzel, being stared upon by a man for the first time. Young, and free, and full of the promise of adventure, should he climb those locks and enter the tower she'd been locked away. She was Fiona, hidden from the people, awaiting the kiss of prince charming so she wasn't a monster when others discovered her; only for Gareth to come and declare she was perfect as she was, fangs, claws and all. He'd slid the glass slipper upon her clawed hind leg, and deemed her his princess.
And as he seemed to blossom into the embarrassed stallion who had stumbled upon a dryad bathing; she felt those wondrous feelings returned. Wild curls flowing freely, she felt like that dryad, gently crooning for the poor villager to come closer, to pepper kisses upon her bare shoulder as she pulled him beneath the willow branches from the searching eyes of the other whispering druids. The way he looked over her, feral and awed had her heart beat just a little faster. How, in this mess of wild curls that tangled around her like some living monster, did he find beauty? How, when he looked at her like that; did she believe it?
His eyes finally met hers, his muzzle seeming to gape, repeatedly opening and closing. The look drew a sound she'd never made before, a soft, startled giggle from her diaphragm, the sound far more delicate and feminine than she was used to. A debutante on her first debut; and he was that best friends who looked like he finally saw the light as she descended down the stairs. A filly experiencing the flutter of romance for the first time. And then those feelings roared to a fireball at his lack of speech as she suggested the Amare Creek playfully. The knowledge she could render him so thoroughly speechless was exhilarating. She watched the shiver run down his spice, that title she had taken into the habit of using, purring it like it was the most alluring thing she had ever heard, producing such a reaction.
She lived for the proof that this wasn't one sided, and his responses, despite his gentlemanly behavior were that proof that it was real. She wasn't imagining it. It wasn't a brief carnal lust of firelight and wine. It wasn't him generously giving as she pressed and pressed for it. She wasn't forcing his hand, in making him act like he wanted her for her benefit. He approached her with an affirmative, but the low rasp, so husky it sent a shiver down her spine, her eyes widening to hear the effect she held in his voice had a small smile touching her muzzle. He entered the water with her, and as he did, she immediately reached for him, her muzzle pressing to his neck, arching against him, as she shifted closer (as much so as she could, half trapped in those wanton locks), her muzzle slipping down until her forehead was pressed to his flesh.
His returned touch was warm to her skin, starkly contrasting against the cool rush of water, as he brushed the locks away, his whispers enticing a rush of heat to her belly, as she grinned against his skin. "Oh, you plan to try and behave yourself . . . and here I was hoping for a fun bath time experience with you." She teased, letting her fangs scrape lightly against his flesh as she spoke, wanting to hear that primal growl he always let loose when she did. She pulled away before his intoxicating presence could pull her from the task at hand, laughing as she tossed back some of the combed through locks, that forelock tumbling away from his eyes.
This time the press of her muzzle was against his, cheek to cheek as she nuzzle him, "I appreciate it. Thank you, Gareth." It was a softer tone than she typically used when she played with him, a subtle continued proof that her advances weren't just for random nights of fun, but for the stallion himself. For him at her side forever. Whether it was helping her control her locks, or raising small children with draconic wings, and blanketed faces, downy soft fur growing in rich feathering over darkened honey bodies. For gathering herbs together in companionable silence, to his gentle lessons on what each one did, as she listened eagerly to the knowledge he had. To nights snuggled together and just existing. She wanted it all . . . with him.
She smiled as he assisted with shifting through part of her mane, mentioning dividing the sorted locks to the other side of her neck, once they'd cleared the debris and set the curls right. She nodded eagerly, gently lifting and flipping the bit around her face she had completed in such a directed manner. "This part is mostly done. Not a lot, but at least it keeps the majority of it from my eyes so I can see what I'm doing . . . though, judging by the amount of dirt and dust coming from you . . . we were both in the need for a bath." She teased, motioning to where the water was still running dark, while his sock was becoming noticeably lighter, her expression light hearted and playful as she teased him, even as she began working her way through untangling a lock of curl, checking that there was no debris left trapped in the strands, before tossing it to the other side of his neck, and repeating the process with the next curl in line.
since i thought you and me
i am imagining, a dark lit place, or your place or my place
"Speech"
Thoughts
@Gareth
Notes:
well i'm not paralyzed, but i seem to be struck by you
i want to make you move, because you're standing still
if your body matches what your eyes can do
you'll probably move right through, me on my way to you.
