Meadow

Jaskier quickly learned that violent delights such as theirs were often chased by violent ends. That fire and powder could not kiss without one consuming the other. But if the pain that his companion inflicted was the cost of the pleasure that he’d also won from her, then the golden stallion would pay it gladly. Still, he could not help but to wince at the ache of his much-abused body, and wonder whether they would prove to be as compatible long-term as they had for these moments of courtship. Even in her rare moments of submission, Enya had proven herself to be defiant, fierce. And when that ferocity ebbed in favor of her gentler side, the pinch of the mare’s teeth was still sharp enough to evoke a soft hiss from the young male— though it also sent a shuddering thrill of warmth down his spine.

He’d spent the entirety of his short life being routinely abused by his sibling Hyacinth, but this— this was different. And Jaskier didn’t have the slightest clue how to respond to it beyond submitting wholly to the painted mare’s claim. Leaning into the press of her body. Lifting his head to expose his throat to the nipping kisses that she marked his skin with. Following her with his amber gaze when she circled him once again, eyeing him both appraisingly and speculatively.

For a time, I am inclined to see what comes of that. Again, Jaskier was surprised by the golden woman’s judgment— by her acceptance of him, blunders and all. His own smile even returned in the wake of that promise, though the words that she chased it with were less than reassuring. On his part, the slender stallion was certain that he could throw himself at her time and again, and fail each one. And when he continued to disappoint Enya with his lack of battle-prowess, her interest in him would wane. Sooner or later, he was certain, they were destined to part ways— to surrender to the gulf of differences that separated them.

Passion— like everything else in life— was fleeting.

As if his reflective mood was a contagious thing, Enya asked abruptly about the place that the buckskin had come from. About his travels, and any place that might have caught his eye. Jaskier followed the line of her gaze, his lips turning downward thoughtfully. While he had lived there longer than he’d been away, home was quickly fading into the backdrop of his memories. “Before I came here, I lived on the mainland. It was a long enough journey to reach here, and I have no intention of making it in reverse.” He was briefly silenced by the unforeseen revelation of his words— left wondering about what sort of life he might build for himself here. After he found Larkspur and his sister, of course.

“These islands are the first place that have offered enough to hold me,” he continued after a moment. And then his smile became rakish again, his amber eyes warm when they found hers. “Though perhaps it isn’t so much the scenery so much as the intrigue. The promise of adventure.” As you, he might have added if he were the type to spin webs of maudlin words. Instead, he chuckled, baring his throat again unconsciously to the bold, bright girl. “You already know that I am yours to command. If we don’t intend to venture to the grotto today, then we will simply have to entertain ourselves in other ways.” His voice had turned sultry again, suggestive— though Jaskier doubted his ability to survive another round of the fierce mare’s affections.

Still, her attention could be held in other, equally-pleasant ways— which he sought to illustrate in the gentle rake of teeth along the elegant curve of her neck.