Drogon

Holding her is its own sweet kind of temptation, even for him. Drogon had gone so long in his forcing himself to be impervious to temptations of both the flesh and heart, that indulging in his softer side with Svenja had also awakened the other. It hadn't even been a conscious choice on his part, but he could not deny that the little roan meant more to him than almost every other horse on these forsaken islands. Or had, anyway, until recently. Taking solace in this pretty mare's company would not undo the sting of what Svenja and Charybdis had done, but it would be enjoyable in its own right; a concealed middle finger he could throw up in his mind the next time he was forced to face the aftermath of her decision.

What he hadn't accounted for was the way the lithe desert mare's murmured censure makes something twist down deep inside, prompting a darkening of his gaze and a catch of his breath. So far, the script had been running unobstructed, each of them playing their parts to the letter with no additional notes. She, the fresh-faced young actress, and he the seasoned professional. Except... that wasn't quite right.

There was something about the way she lowered her voice, the way she pulled him in, the way she did not protest against his boldness that spoke to a deeper intelligence. That kept him silent as she pulled away from him, his eyes half-lidded with desire as he watched her bathe. He might have done better to press forward and trail his lips across her skin, to rub away the sore spots with gentle ministrations until he had what he wanted... but there was an illicit pleasure to be found in watching her. She was beautiful, and for the moment, she was his alone to watch and enjoy.

She finishes her ablutions with a laugh, and he smiles, still quietly watching from the rim of the pool through which they entered, his dark eyes nearly black beneath the heavy canopy. Her private show had kept him captivated, although he cannot shake the feeling that there was more to this pretty painted temptress than met the eye. She felt like his match in a way that he could not explain, a woman thoroughly capable and willing to play at his game of chess without every claiming to know how to play.

Her first splash catches him by surprise, and his head jerks up to avoid it. As he looked at her though - with her cat-in-the-cream smile and soft brown eyes - he couldn't resist joining at her own game. Play wasn't much in his nature, but he could take pleasure in watching the water cascade over the elegant arch of her neck, in the way it fell like rain across the slender span of her back, pooling in the dip of her backbone and inviting other, less than appropriate thoughts.

He pulls back to give her the advantage and she takes it, albeit not in the way that he expects. He watches hungrily as she moves toward him, her shell-colored lips skimming across the water's rippling surface, and then remains silent as she plays the part of innocent maiden just a little too well.

A smirk curls at the corners of his lips, but he presses it down, hiding the twitching corners of his smile with an inclination of his dark face. Touche.

"The pleasure of meeting you is thanks enough," he murmurs with his own Cheshire grin, striding through the water to join her. "But you may have my name on one condition..." he offered quietly as he stepped away, circling out and around her. He did not aim to crowd her with his presence, nor to make her nervous (not yet, anyway), but to let her know she was seen, and very much appreciated. As he finished his circle, he narrowed the gap between them, aligning them shoulder to shoulder rather than face to face. He turned to her, neck bowed into an arch and his dark lips curling into a smile that fully implied he was entirely ready to give her whatever it was she wanted. "That you give me yours, so I can call you something other than than the prettiest mare I've ever seen."

Can you feel it?