Oh, if looks could kill... There was no need for words, no need from her silvery voice to explain him him the storm that raged within those dazzling silver-blue depths that met his so fiercely. Perhaps if he were any other stallion knowing full well in the back of his mind that he had essentially abandoned her, abandoned them all, simply for the sake of some peace and quiet to escape from the womanly demands and the squeals of children, he might have felt some form of guilt or regret - maybe even remorse. Ah, but this was Bastille we're following and such things were not to be felt, even though it was clear that ninety-nine percent of stallions in such a situation as this would surely feel their stomachs churn and flip with a sense of self disappointment and disgrace. Call it a gift, his lack of remorse if you'd like. It wasn't like he was entirely heartless... more just disconnected with the part of him for the time being because it was quite likely that if he could truly feel such possessiveness towards his darling dove that the little demon called guilt might one day surface itself. If there was one thing he was slowly and almost sluggishly beginning to understand, it was that his whole world was truly beginning to shift into a different light now as he came to allow a small part of him to realize just how much he wanted her, craved her.

The girl's movements were anything hut surprising to the beast of bronze and bistre. On the contrary, he's surprised that she hadn't acted so rashly until just now. Sure, she had been almost cute with her snide little retorts as she hoped to metaphorically stab at his heart with her looks of resentment and cold hatred, but words were terribly easy for testing dappled stallion to shrug off. Her words had been like diamond droplets of water on the feathers of a bird, rolling off effortlessly and leaving no evidence of their existence. Despite his almost completely enthralled state of mind as Larka gave him a sultry smile that only caused his desire to flare even more, hardly even taking note of Larka's hissed warning to the filly, he was able to hear the sound of snow crunching beneath the weight of the girl as she came closer to him. He can hear the sound of her fast movements and he is quick to turn his handsome Spanish head in time to see her preparing herself to kick out her hind daggers, especially since she seemed to pause with contemplation. He could hardly manage to refrain from laughing as he took a few effortless steps back and threw his head skyward, her kick missing by an astounding amount of space. Pathetic little girl.

He doesn't even give the girl the same stars glance as she turns and leaves. Good, the little pest was finally gone so that be could have his alone time with his silvered doveling. With the minute distraction out of the way, his lustful mahogany eyes take in the full fire of Larka's, the silent warning before the storm that began to unfold before him in a startling yet delightfully delicious display of agitation as her silvered voice lashes out at him like cold steel, colorless tendrils flicking against the luscious curve of her womanly hips the further emphasize her displeasure. Oh dear, she was quite upset wasn't his pretty little bird... For a moment, he is actually taken aback and could not seem to find a witty comeback for her. Well, this was new now wasn't it? So it really was true, the white hot intensity of a woman's scorn? In truth, he'd never really stuck around one long enough to actually witness a mare's wrath before now. Audits flicker amidst his sabled forelock truth hay tumbled haphazardly down the bridge of having face.

"Oh my, I'm sorry my sweet. I suppose the time escaped me and I was occupied with my beta duties after all. I'll make it up to our daughter... Amaretto was it? A lovely name for the daughter of an even lovelier woman."

His baritones were smooth and low in their honey-sweet and swooning way as he attempted to quell the intense desire he could see in her gaze to give him a good as well aimed bite (that he more than deserved, really he whispered a tiny little voice in the back of his thoughts), almost sounding genuine even to himself although he was sure that with this new and splendid fire his Larka seems to have found, it was almost guaranteed that she wouldn't believe him. He moves closer to her now, his shoulders brushing against his as he arches his handsome nape and reaches to tenderly, ever so softly brush away a strand of sabled forelock that fell before her right eye - much like a lover's hand tucking the hair behind her ear - in the chilling winter breeze that stirred across the dale, only to let his whiskered maw trace seductively along the curve of her jaw, his lust almost unbearable at this point, his masculine parts burning with that familiar desire to make her his as he had so many times before.

"Let me make it up to you first though, my darling..."

He could stand it now longer, unable to keep the heat of his desire beneath the surface for another moment. No, it was not quite spring but he did not need the enticement of her heat to stir in him the hunger that devoured him. He traces she lips along the arch of her nape, hopeful that the effects would grasp bed rapidly and firmly as they'd done before. He continues to step back, tracing his lips seductively, softly against the curve of her back that was exposed from beneath her soft plumage and down the length of her womanly hips, moving slowly and lustfully all the while. He is behind her now and with powerfully chiseled muscles working, hind limbs lift him upwards and his weight presses against her frame as he shuffles forward, entering into her sacred temples with a wicked moan of pleasure. Forelimbs pin her wings to her sides and he thrusts within her hungrily time and time again, bared pearly whites nipping at her withers ever so gently so that he did hurt her but enough to let her know that she was his in more ways than one. He groans satisfactorily when at last he releases himself within her, despite knowing that his seed would not find purchase within her womb just yet. This he did purely and solely out of lust for his little doveling, not for the sake of procreation. His breaths comes heavy and hot against her nape before almost regrettably he slides from her back, all fours finding the snow beneath him again as he slowly walks back up alongside her, caressing her soft skin with his whiskered maw until he reaches her cheek, standing beside her once again, heart drumming fiercely within his broad chest with regard exertion of his lust-ridden act. He is silent now, lipping her skin affectionately. She would always be his, no matter how she tried to fight. She would come to see that again, despite her fire.


__________________________________________

I'LL GIVE YOU FEELINGS
THAT YOU WON'T WANNA FIGHT
__________________________________________

Bastille

Stallion

9 years

Lusitano

Seal Brown Cream (Brown Buckskin) [image!]

Two hind socks, thin blaze in the shape of a jagged lightning bolt, starting in a pointed star in the center of his forehead and ending in a thick snip between his nostrils.

Ee/A^ta/nCr/nSpl