Meadow

From the beginning, the painted mare’s spirit had captivated Jaskier, drawing him in like a moth to a flame. Though the nature of their boldness stemmed from two different sources, it was a delight to meet someone whose heart beat with as much passion as his. Who neither yielded nor stood unmoved in the face of that passion, but met the steps of his dance with a finesse that matched— no, surpassed his own. Because if there had been any doubt of this truth in the golden male’s thoughts when his teeth gently clasped her skin, it was banished the instant that Enya matched the gesture. And even before the slender woman spoke, Jaskier understood. Her pride would not permit her to accept his claim— but in claiming him in turn, she was marking them as equals.

As partners, if only for as long as this moment should last.

In the silence that followed her proclamation, the ivory-and-gold mare circled him, her gaze lingering on the parts of his body that had been branded by her teeth and hooves. Jaskier stood still beneath the weight of her scrutiny— or at least, as still as he was capable of being. If his striped skin quivered in anticipation and his lips reached out to brush the curve of her flank when it swept past, who could truly blame him? Life still pulsed like liquid heat through his veins, and it begged to be expressed. This impulse could only be restrained for as long as it took Enya to complete her circuit of his body— and as soon as that was complete and she was still, the young stallion took up the steps of their dance all too eagerly.

A first cycle was made around her thin figure, this one marked only by the gentle probe of his gaze. By the second, the circle had tightened so that his skin brushed hers, as his muzzle could trace the taut muscles of her neck, the ridge of her spine, the curve of her rump. By the third, a fleeting sort of courage had been found in the pheromone-muddled tangle of his thoughts. Jaskier rose up to embrace her then, his teeth finding the nape of her neck again to pinch it in a gentle hold. This dance was short, and at its end he released his partner hastily— sucking in a breath as he shied away in anticipation of a retaliatory blow. In truth, Jaskier would be disappointed if his temerity went unpunished. Though the adrenaline of violence had never been to his liking before, the taste of it that Enya had given him was...different, somehow.

Danger is the most tantalizing fruit.

The striped buckskin could not help the warm laughter that parted his lips at this statement— that his companion should echo the sentiments of his own secret ruminations so succinctly. And though he could not be certain whether it was safe to do so, he found himself led back to her side. Lingering near enough that he could reach out and touch her if he desired, near enough that she could easily give him cause to regret their proximity. “More trouble, as if you yourself haven’t proven more than I can handle?” Jaskier mused, his voice husky with the last remnants of his desire. His amber eyes wandered south as well, stretching the silence out in a show of reluctance that he didn’t truthfully feel. In this moment, if Enya had instructed him to throw himself from the heights of the Peak that stared at their backs, he would have done so.

“But you did defeat me, and then claim me. From here, I suppose that I am at your command, Enya— for a time.”