Meadow

Solomon

Like a gopher snake mimicking a deadly rattlesnake, she threatens violence with the pinning of her slender ears and the narrowing of this enchanting eyes. And like the same gopher snake, the signs were there that the threat was not nearly as deadly as was promised. The way she flicked her tail at him and taunted him with the sultry tones of some accomplished seductress implied that she might yet still be wooed.

She twists his words back at him and a chuckle rumbles from him in response. When it came to Fall, wisdom was very often the first thing discarded in favor of the burning in one's loins. Even he, knowing what it is that he desires from her in the long run, is distracted by his immediate want of her body, and the craving of feeling her flesh against his. Even now, his eyes track the sway of her tail as it slices through the air, and he has no doubt that it was meant to draw his attention.

"Wisdom is usually the first to leave the room when desire starts talking," he offers with a smirk. In the distance, the warring stallions separate. They are not ones that he knows, and he does not care to investigate beyond making sure that they stayed far away from his newest obsession. At her question, his eyes flicker with desire and he takes another step closer, but pauses to let her introduce herself. As she shifts, his attention goes where she bids it, and he sucks in a breath made ragged by her charms. "I'd just as soon let them watch and drool with jealousy, if I'm honest."

Grinning, he closes the remaining distance between them, although he is wary of the ways in which she might retaliate. In truth, the thought of her lashing out at him is thrilling in its own right so he doesn't worry about being too careful with her. Her admiration of the sparring stallions implies to him that she was not above a little roughness either. Solomon aligns his shoulder at her hip as he approaches, snaking his head out to trace the fur of her withers before burying his muzzle briefly in the waterfall of her silver mane to drink in the sweet feminine scent that was all her own. He settles shoulder to shoulder with her, his ribs pressed close to hers in an effort to not only touch her, but to thwart the momentum her hooves may have gained if more distance separated them.

"I sincerely doubt you are as innocent as you would lead me to believe, Sabriel." Aided by their proximity, he lowers the tone of his voice to a masculine husk that is transparent in its desire. "As for what services I can offer, I've reason to believe I'm a decent masseuse but an even better cuddler."

It is not surprising that his thoughts have taken such a turn, but he offers other options, certain from the sweet and sour nature of her first response that she will not take to the bait so easily. "Unless you'd rather take a walk to get away from the prying eyes of jealous men, or a spar to whet those claws you threatened."

He does not move from her side, not eager to allow space between then bodies once more. She clearly knew of her own allure, at least to some degree, but he was not certain she understood quite how strong it was.

Dutch Harness Horse Mutt | Champagne Grullo Tobiano Stallion | 17 Hands | The Cove