A man of the moment, of making the most of the moment, Tandava can see the chase for what it is. He has no herd to promise her, no established home to grant her, but he has his body and the warmth of a fulfilled season that he is more than willing to offer her. And surely, it is not her voice that tells him it is welcome - but he wasn’t above convincing the mind that what the body wanted was worth the dance he knew that was more clumsy than the one he ran dancing circles about her.
Her body calls to him, as it would any seeing beast and any creature with nostrils to breathe. He does her better service than to flare his lip at her - but he goads her into a merry sort of chase to dampen the embarrassment that had cooled her to him just moments before. If she thought a moment’s stumble would erase her from his mind, she’d another thing to learn about the men who’d see her ears and know the value of her consideration.
Why she was still free, flying in the face of the office of men, not snatched up and already laden with the future in her belly - well it didn’t matter now. "Why not!" He guffaws, chasing her within inches of her flanks, glad to expand his lungs and drink the drafted wind beside her barrel as she sliced through the breezes that crossed the beach.
"Maybe if you catch me, I’ll tell you my name!" And with that, she takes true flight.
He laughs into the oncoming air, swallowing down his playfulness and adopting a heated gleam in his eye, sure of himself in the very masculine way men who know no rebuttal to be irrefutable sometimes do. He is a dangerous one, for certain, and perhaps capable of dark things in light of a woman, but for now she teases and plays with him as any man would only be glad to participate in.
He dodges with her, letting her break the air and split it around him as he follows, only wallowing one time in a divot she made in her tracks. Then, at the first hint of flirtatiousness or playful teasing, he digs in and snakes his head low. She might not be his, but this is nature and he is but a creature of instinct on even his finer days. She calls to his virility and it relieves him to find one so to his tastes on so lonely a night as this.
When he draws nigh her flank this time, he surges forward to lay his teeth on the hair of her withers, releasing when she slows. “You are caught, succubus,” he says with a voice deepened by the run and by less civil thoughts than perhaps Pilar had intended for her evening. “A name for your captor to call you, then?” He arches his neck, sliding bodily alongside her with a few small rakes of taunting teeth just behind her shoulder and up her crest, should she remain still enough to accept them.
|
