Hold me in this wild, wild, world
'Cause in your warmth I forget how cold it can be
And in your heat I feel how cold it can get
She doesn't know whatbwould be scarier, being honest with herself, and what she wanted, or letting this stallion slip away. She could make any number of hollow excuses. The cold of the cave needing combined body heat to survive. Or the ground being uncomfortable, could she lean against him. Instead she'd spoken abpartial truth, refusing to elude to deeply to how she has come to crave his gentle touch, her heart spiking at his husky laugh; how his smile was her undoing.
He didn't even know her nor she him. Not really. Yet he was like a drug to her senses that she didn't want to ignore. His booming laugh lifts her gaze and she can't help the smile that tugs at herblips when he casual responds about her not encroaching when he was the one digging through her flesh. But she feels a shift as he suddenly watches her with that intensity that does funny things to her inside.
She freezes in surprise, holding still as his muzzle comes towards her, burying deep into her mane. She can see the way he temples. Hear the croon as he breaths deep, and she's afraid to move, afraid to scare him off, even as her heart starts to hammer, her voice soft, suddenly breathless as his breath ghosts against the her skin, tickling the edges of the sensitive scar, "Gareth . . ." She doesn't know if it's supposed to be a plea, a question or resounding approval. It's somewhere in the middle of all three.
He shifted, that contact she had been denying for so long coming to face, feeling the warmth of his chest to hers, as his muzzle drifts down to her spine. Her eyes close, her head dropping to his shoulder, pressing her forehead against the joint, her breath softening as shebwelcomes the contact, drinking in him just as much as he seemed to partake of her skin. His words were a whisper, a promise to her soul and she lightly turns her skull, her forehead still pressed to him, still clinging to him as if he were a precious gift from the gods. But those golden eyes of hers had warmed to molten honey, "Okay." Her words were softly whispered against his skin, her lips brushing against his pelt as she spoke, as she leaned into his touch, accepted what he would offer at his own rate, and allowed herself to finally drop the pretense, allowed herself to, at least for the moment, admit the butterflies where real, he, every part of his being, did something to her. And while he was offering, she'd take all she could. For as long as he offered.
His name on her lips was like wine to a dying man, the pressure of her returned touch a sweet release. In this one moment, he allowed himself to indulge in simple feeling. He cast out all visions save for the winged warrior he cradled to himself. If Salome had been a starless sky, Pangaea was the breaking dawn. The sweetness of her skin against his wrote the melody of spring, the harsh winds of winter far behind them. He nuzzled into her, stroking the muscles between her flight appendages, mindful of the delicate instruments. Everywhere he touched her he laid a trail of affectionate kisses, tracing over battle scars and unmarred flesh alike with the same tenderness, murmuring sweet-nothings between stolen breaths.
“How does the sun compare to your brilliance,” he questioned, not expecting an answer as he moved to the wild tangles of her mane for a second time. He nuzzled her here, too, his vocals husky as he continued. “The clouds in the sky so envious.”
The stallion held her there, savoring the feeling of her pressed against him. He allowed his thoughts to be consumed by visions of what could have been. The life he might have had, if his heart had not been ripped so violently from his chest. The night he might have had if he hadn’t truly cared for the saurian. For all the sensual words and lingering touches, that was not the type of man Gareth was.
He knew that this ache he felt was the fear of loss. He had spent too long within himself to tell Salome how he begged for her in his heart, and she had been whisked away, and returned something else. The icy grip of fear twisted in his belly again, but for different reasons now. He could not take advantage of the injured woman. No matter how much she claimed to enjoy the prospect of company. No matter how much the earth beneath him quaked at the thought of belonging to someone, anyone, for just a single evening.
No.
The brute had built her trust so that he could help her to heal. Even if his reasons for doing so had not been as pure as he had led her to believe. Healing the woman had been a selfish act. A distraction from his own turmoil, and when there had been distance that had been enough. Now that he had placed hearts on the line, his actions were intolerable. Reprehensible, Noor might have said. To get her hopes up only to dash them away. He would not use this mare as a building block for his own ego and to soothe his sorrows.
Gareth’s muzzle drifted along the crest of her neck close to where her skull now rested against his shoulder. “Pangaea,” her name smoldered like embers as he whispered in her ear, his breath tickling her skin. “I don’t want to hurt you.” His lyrics became thick as he choked down his shame, swallowing his hurt as hot tears formed at the edges of his amber pools. “I can’t hurt you.” He said.
He rested his cheek against her, holding her tightly. “I don’t want you to make a mistake. I don’t want you to feel as if you owe me this. Please,” his words were barely above a whisper now, the only other sound the crackling of the fire and his own stumbling heart. “Let me heal you first, so that I know it is your own choice and not me leading you.”
He’d never forgive himself for hurting her- any mare, really, but especially not her. It was a particularly cruel thing to build a relationship with someone only to use them and waste them. He refused to be that kind of stallion, the ones that abused their positions of power in order to fulfill their own desires.
The stallion needed to know that if she stayed, it was because she truly wanted to know him, to be with him. Not because she had nowhere else to go, not because she might die without him. He needed to know that he wanted her to stay, not purely from his desire to repress the ugly memories their current surroundings held. The chain that looped around his neck felt ice cold, though all matters of physics knew that to be impossible. He needed to pull himself back from the edge before they both went tumbling down and never came back up again.
"Speech" | | @Pangaea | Sorry this got a little clunky @-@
Hold me in this wild, wild, world
'Cause in your warmth I forget how cold it can be
And in your heat I feel how cold it can get
How could one being hold so much power in their simple touch. His gentle caress of her nuzzling along her spine, kisses pressing against her body. Her breath caught with each one as his scent surrounded her, pulled her into this slow fall. Soft words whispered against her body, her hair. Her heart jumped straight into her belly at the husky tone to his voice.
Shebwould be a fool to not admit this need for closeness wasn't a mere desire for just any company. To wrap herself in the essence of his being, and stay for eternity was sp much more primal. Her own muzzle ghosted against his shoulder, his neck, soft nuzzles and the faintest of flutters of her lips against skin. But where he drank her in like the finest wine, Pangaea moved slower as if to memorize every muscular curvature of his form, every stretch of skin. She is held close, and just in this moment, she feels content.
Perhaps that sense of contentment is her own acknowledgement that this didn't need to be a mere stolen moment of stolen desire. As his muzzle trailed up to ear, her forehead returned to the spot against his shoulder where his scent was strongest, and the whisper of her name in that tone made her eyes flutter. But when he spoke again, his voice think with emotions she wanted to chase away from him, she offered a reassuring smile, as his cheek pressed to hers. She nuzzled her face against his before pulling back.
The lack of contact was brief, her forehead gently pressed to his in the symbolism of silent support her people used. "Shhh." She soothed gently, pulling back again to make eye contact with him. "You're right, this isn't the time, the place. But we have plenty of time to figure out what this is. If this is real, or a brief moment of weakness." She agreed, before pulling away from him. But the lack of that could tact is brief, only long enough for her to shift, and this time she makes that first move.
Her body leans into him, her side pressed against his in an innocent touch, a more healthy touch. Not quite a cuddle but a comfortable closeness that allowed him to choose how close he wanted her to be. Her muzzle drops back to the ground, but this time, her muzzle presses gently against his thigh, and this mere contact, innocent and pure, was more than enough for her right now. The tension draining from her with a soft sigh, "Tonight, though, maybe . . . You can just hold me?" Her voice is soft, letting the pace of this be a mutual decision, trust that he would understand the piece offering being presented by the mare that was starting to come to terms that this wasn't a random encounter but a brewing one from the close contact of the their travels together, the getting to know one another. But they had all the time to see where it went.
And where this would lead the day he deemed her healed enough to decide if she really did want to leave. But tonight,, this closeness,, her body cuddled against his, curled slightly into his side, their near same height making the fit more comfortable, less dwarfing, she finds it enough for now. They had all the time to figure out more later on.
Electricity danced across his skin as her own touch mirrored his, shoulder ablaze with her warmth even as she shifted to caress his cheek. The tenderness in her movements brought the tears to a head and they rolled down his features, hot and heavy with their burden. Unlike the tears of a mare, he would find no relief in them, no chemical balance restored. He had just met his breaking point, coming to an understanding of what he had nearly done, and just as importantly why he’d done it. Pangaea deserved better.
The warrior woman pressed her forehead to his, a gesture his grandmother had done for him many times in his youth. The old comfort he found in that touch crumbled his walls further, and the stallion seemed to fall apart into her, momentarily chasing the contact when she broke it before her words reached his ears.
Rather than turning him away, she understood, without him needing to further explain. Did this mean the twist he felt in his gut was rending her insides, too? This primal hunger for each other did not just belong to him. Perhaps hers was more pure, with no memories to colour her feelings, no connection to this place to drive her. The acknowledgement of the possibilities, that this could only be a moment of weakness, stirred discomfort in the stallion. She hadn’t known how true those words would be for him when she spoke them. He resolved to be sure that he did not make the same mistake again, that he did not succumb to his raw emotions. The saurian woman was his patient, and he would need to remind himself not to cross those professional boundaries again. Some part of him knew that it would be easier once they were allowed to leave this cave, where he could once again lock away the memories, and the torrent of feeling that came with it.
The mare offered him her side then, pressing her muzzle gently to the chorded muscles of his piston. The fire crackled, the atmosphere still charged, though her touch was less sensual now. Her shoulders relaxed, her body seeming to uncoil as she sighed into him, asking the medic to hold her.
The innocence with which the words were created was the final thread that brought the brute back into his right mind. The thick cloud of energy around them began to dissipate, and as Gareth took a deep breath, his shaking exhale pushed the last of it away. His thick boa arched, and he carefully pressed his muzzle to the top of her head, her scent drifting into his nares, but no longer sending him into a frenzy. “I can do that,” he said, lyrics barely above a whisper.
The stallion shifted himself only enough so that he could cup the mare more comfortably, though he left her plenty of room, should she suddenly decide to push him away, that this was too much, and he was not and could never be her packmate. He tried not to dwell on why the thought bothered him, assigning its origin to the intimacy of the cave itself and not his own feeling. He couldn’t trust it just now, in any case. Instead, he was a gentleman, and as the warmth of her fur melted into his bones, he closed his eyes. The fire crackled pleasantly in the background, and he knew that it would burn down to embers by sunrise. The exhaustion overtook him, and with Pangaea’s scent like a balm to his soul, he held her close and finally succumbed to rest.
Hold me in this wild, wild, world
'Cause in your warmth I forget how cold it can be
And in your heat I feel how cold it can get
There was a heat in the air, an electric charge that seemed to weave around them like a dense fog that promised so much but would harm even more. It was the tenderness, the softness as they both realized this wasn't right . . . or that is; it was not the right time. There was time to explore, time to find out more. Time to see what was a frantic beat of the heart at the first touch of skin after years of solitude, or the flushed energy of a being pressed into a time and space that only caused a rush of pain. There were aspects to this moment that would have only hurt and only been temporary. And so, the two set it aside.
But it didn't stop the mountain man from falling apart. She felt a rush of alarm and the instant need to soothe and reassure. Her muzzle pressed to his cheeks, brushing those tears away before she guided his head to her chest, letting him hold onto her, merely offering soft words of comfort, the hint of a foreign lullaby as her words melded out to a gentle hum, soothing what had clearly been his breaking point. Because her heart couldn't handle seeing him so frailed, so distressed. It wasn't a matter of what they almost did, to her mind; it was a matter of sheltering him when he clearly had no strength to shelter himself. So she allowed him the peace to fall apart, her muzzle brushing through the corded twists of his mane, sweeping along the curve of his neck, the touches gentle now, instead of needy, and that soft melodic hum of a lullaby soothing the ragged man who would fall apart at her comfort and understand.
She was at a loss, however, at guessing where this would go, so instead, she would take what she could get, curling into his side, her eyes half closing as she watched the fire crackle before them. He took a deep breath, and the air finally began to settle over them, gentling, no longer charged with an energy that would have been their mutual undoing, turning more innocent, purer, more relaxed. His own muzzle settled, pressed atop her head, and that gentle weight settled the last of her nerves far better than his words prior. She smiled gently at his conformation, shifting only enough that their positions became more natural, more settled.
As his breathing settled, the stallion keeping her close against his side, her own eyes grew heavy, the soft sounds of his breathing, his scent wafting like the most peaceful of blankets, it wasn't long before she too fell asleep on wishes and wonders of a future, and the what-ifs, on where their relationship was heading now. Security and peace lulling her into the most restful sleep she'd had in months.
