Ocean's Breath Plateau how long can you hold your breath?

there was a small pool in one of the smaller glades on the plateau; a trickle of a stream meandered out of it, through the brush, and off down the coasts. it was a source of fresh water in a place where salt ruled, and govinda drank thirstily upon discovering it, nearly shoving his entire muzzle into the water with relief. without volition, then, he stuck his entire head in--

i did.

blood. panic. a love lost suddenly, with the snap of jaws and rake of claws. . .

peace go.

govinda lurched upwards, gasping for air and sending water flying, shuddering. his eyes were dark with scenes only playing out in his mind, now, and it was a while before he came back to reality, shaking himself. droplets fell from his chin, sending little ripples out into the pool. endless circles, spreading. . .

he didn't dare to think on how he had been the disturbance in the water that was undersea, sending even larger waves forth. he had destroyed their little word, shattered their ideas of safety and friendship. ruminating too hard on how he had set fire to not only a relationship but, rather, an entire community was masochism, plain and simple.

it was done. the island burned. and here govinda was, the match extinguished, the droplet dissolved into chaos.

erzulie watched the figure from the bank, flanked by the unseen loa that had not left her side since she departed marie. oh, ma petite colombe d'or! the woman had exclaimed, peppering erzulie's cheeks in a frenzy of kisses. her new man had loomed nearby, dark, his eye trained on the scene with a mild expression of indulgent disgust. after all, the child his bride cooed to in french had been nothing more than a budding harlot.
nous serons de nouveau ensemble très bientôt, ma chérie. 
a promise.
erzulie had not seen her again. 
the wolf on the shoreline gasped, shocking the jezebel back into awareness of where she was. the loa whispered; she scoffed, but did not abandon their words. the figure, the cold shore, rosalyn napping in the nearby trees. water arced in long droplets, and she chose that moment to rise, to approach. the distance shortened — the masculinity of his build became apparent, and she was curious to know if the fragrance of sorrow clung to him beneath the streaming brine, or if some feral delight had only gripped him momentarily.

he blinked the water from his eyes, upon seeing her. izel? no, she was lighter, softer, but still silently staring at him. with a ragged sigh, he shook the moisture from his ruff and padded toward her, his gait limping and unsure, and came to a halt. his golden eyes lacked the warmth they had once enjoyed, but his face was still vaguely friendly--just relatively blank.

"namaskar," he murmured, realizing he hadn't used that greeting in a very long time. . .perhaps since childhood. he had taught it to pema, but a simple 'hello' had always sufficed. what good did it do to start a conversation in an unknown tongue? but this came so readily to his mouth now; he could not deny it.

"can i help you?" there was the sentinel again, rising from the ashes of his ruined persona. you're on my land, he thought wryly, knowing how far from the case that was. what are you doing here?

"hello, vwayajè." erzulie did not know his tongue and did not expect him to know her own, but she had surmised it was a greeting all the same. two-toned gaze drew the details of him forth, gleaning with an expression to suggest the harlot appreciated the offering of the man's presence.
"perhaps i can help you," she declared, shaking out her honeycream ruff and laying her eyes more firmly upon him. "i saw you put your head beneath de watah," erzulie went on, glancing at the places where his pelt still rested against his body, sodden. why? came her curious shift in regard; she stood silently before the man now, inscrutable in her determination, even if she did not understand why.

another interesting, foreign tongue. hmmm. there was warmth in her sentiment, and govinda flashed her the barest of smiles, face dimming once more as she continued. he looked down at the pool, the still rippling water. why had he done it?

why had he done any of it?

"i was thirsty," he murmured, slightly defensive. he licked his chops, and nearly went back for more. he was--really--thirsty all of a sudden, and had been before, and perhaps always had been. just as his paws itched, constantly. govinda found himself backed into a corner by this woman, as if she stared right through his eyes into his soul. it was both intriguing and frightening.

"how can you help me?" he asked, tilting his head.

she arched a dark brow but said nothing. paws beginning a slow trek, erzulie circled languidly to the right of the man. she did not wish to offend, nor assume; some cowl of unseen, blackened feeling lay over him, the harlot felt. how could such a thing be mitigated without first moving beyond flesh?
now spoke the loa in low murmurs she herself could barely here. there was a catharsis to her craft rarely employed, and though he was a man, there was nothing in his bearing to yet suggest a threat. she was intrigued by his actions at the water, implored by whatever sundering she only half-sensed.
keeping her two-toned gaze trained upon him, erzulie's expression lit with some humour. "i can quench dat t'irst." now she ceased the movement of her limbs, nearer the man than before, offering some measure of vulnerability in this moment. "clear de shadows from your mind."
the mintglow eyes lifted to his own in silence.

his gaze was heavy-lidded and dazed as he stared at her, beginning to fall into a sort of stupor he knew all too frighteningly well. avoid pleasures of the flesh, had warned hari, and he meant to heed that warning. but intention was one thing, reality was quite another. she was quite beautiful, and he quite lonely.

lots of thirst to quench, he responded, his mouth suddenly dry. lots of shadows to chase away. oh, if she only knew. she would flee from him--there was no other end result. the skeletons in his closet were more like corpses: newly dead, the flesh just beginning to rot away. perhaps with time, govinda would more easily shove them back, but for now they lingered close, dangerously close.

common sense had a funny way of losing out to desire.

what is your name? he inquired softly, golden eyes drifting slowly, steadily, over her visage, her body. then again, maybe it would make him feel less guilty if she remained anonymous.

i answered this last night but the board ate it reeee

​

his eyes like burnt-gold coins drifted over her, and erzulie knew she had him. men were not difficult, after all — easily enticed, easily avoided. this one, however; the pall of him intrigued the harlot far beyond the whims of skill or even a benign lust. her attentions were satisfied by rosalyn, and in a softer way than men knew how to give — why then did she lift her mintglow gaze to him? he asked after a name, the man flecked with water; it froze on the tip of her hesitant tongue. if she plied her craft well, he might ask after her by name. such was how erzulie had worked her trade before.
but now there was rosalyn to consider; flesh-peddler, night-walker, jezebel. could she subject her lover to the ignorant stigma that had followed her since the beginning days?
"marie," the chai-tea creature breathed instead, arching closer that he might feel the warmth of her flank. his scent rose in her senses — seawater, pain — and erzulie passed her tongue slowly across her lips she she regarded him for a moment's silence. "what be yours?" his words for now went unaddressed; let her eat his shadows and chase away the spectres lingering in dark corners of his mind.

he mouthed her name, the sound of it the barest breath from his lips. marie. then she asked his own name, and govinda hesitated--for what was govinda but a rejection of his former self, the man entranced by flesh? govinda couldn't--wouldn't--give in to temptation. it would be a betrayal of everything that hari had given him. . .a new chance, a fresh start.

"vishal," he answered, remembering how earth-grounded and insatiable his uncle had been. that fit much better; assuaged the guilt, at least. she smelled like things ancient as the sea--of life and death, the sweetness of desire. he inhaled and let out a tremulous sigh, turning his golden gaze toward her again.

"you are beautiful, marie," he continued, and felt something stir within him.

"and you be handsome, vishal," erzulie remarked in turn, bold enough to run her body against the length of his, slowly. if not rebuffed, the jezebel ducked her muzzle beneath the arch of his proud throat. seeking there to preen salt from the tangles of his neckfur, erzulie purred a low sigh. "let me show you beauty, mm?" came her soft invitation; he was fragranced with things she wished to explore, lands she had not seen, things he had not spoken. 
drawing aside, erzulie turned now, to lead him into the shadow of a nearby looming stone; her hips poised to sway him serpentine toward glory and perhaps, when it was over, a certain sort of inner doom.

his eyes closed slowly, a small gasp escaping his lips as she pressed herself alongside him. she would be able to hear the groan caught in his throat when she pressed her muzzle there, taste the musk-sweet scent of his pelt. he followed her without thinking much, inexplicably--yeah, right--drawn to her, a river to its end.

once nestled in the shadows of the rock, he set upon her like a man long hungry faced with a feast, running his mouth along her body if she permitted, grazing his teeth gently across her skin. he pressed the bridge of his nose against a rear thigh, breathing in the heady smell of her. so warm, so close. he hadn't had a woman since--

so tight. alarian flashed through his mind suddenly, and he recoiled, emotional pain breaking through his physical stupor. then dawn's amber eyes, and a glowing blue. . .coelacanth. the iron tang of her blood in his nostrils. the ice in her voice. it shivered through him, turning his veins--so hot, just before--to cold labyrinths through his body, rooting him to the ground.

he sighed, a sobbing sound, and tried to claw his way back into the present, trying--trying--

erzulie arched in his embrace, offering herself more fully to his touches, widening her stance that he could glean of her fragrances more easily. the dance was rote; but he was not, was not, still dragged at by some unseen thing. the sob that rose in his throat caught the swivel of her dark ears, and in the shadows the harlot turned toward the withdrawing man, to seek the newmint glow of his eyes with her own.
be not afraid
she feathered kisses along his brow, his cheeks; erzulie sought to draw him back to her again, murmuring a snippet or two of the french she recalled marie using with her culls. but this one, not an ordinary and rough-necked fuck in discomfort; a broken and sensitive thing, and somehow it was for that she was urged.

the encounter became suddenly intimate, tender, as she kissed his face, and he leaned into the touches. he closed his eyes, a whimper escaping his lips that was all sensual vulnerability. he didn't want to hurt her; he didn't want to be rough with her. rather, he wondered if he could find healing in her embrace, and perhaps give her something she needed, as well.

but he didn't know what she needed. he hadn't asked.

govinda did a delicate semi-circle once more around her, then lifted himself onto his hind legs, wrapping his forelimbs gently around her chest. please? he whispered in her ear, drawing his tongue along the curve of the delicate shell. his hips put soft but inexorable pressure against the warm, warm center of her, his desire as insistent as his voice was questioning.

he was the first man to ask; erzulie's dark ears flickered backward in surprise, but it was with renewed intrigue that she snaked her hips back against the rut of him, sweeping her tail aside so that they might meet. he was gentle, this tormented shade; she found herself without fear in his embrace, thrumming with a desire only smokestep had ever engendered in her as a man. rosalyn did well for her love, for the true urge of her body, but cunning were her lusts.
beneath him, the harlot gave a purling, low gasp and urged him onward.

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he received no verbal response, but the motion of her body was enough. he pulled her hard against him, a tight and sudden squeeze of his limbs, and thrust himself to the hilt in one firm, slow motion. a guttural groan rose in his throat as he began to rock, possessing her, the blood leaving his brain in a mass exodus south.

so warm and tight. my god, he whispered. was that blasphemy? who gives a fuck, said his cock, which had never been given the gift of sentience, only sensation.

it had been all too long since he had taken a woman, and thus, it wasn't long before the tide rose to consume him; he cried out as if struck, half-collapsing against her, his desire leaving him in hot, fast spurts--god, like blood. as if he were bleeding out within her, a severed artery. she'd taken his body and with it, his soul, if only for this moment.

no, govinda never had anyone in callous, unthinking fashion. every single woman--and man--he had bedded possessed a bit of him, and would do so forever.

woefully unprepared for his reverence, the ramming-forth that never came, erzulie found she bore a new sort of man within and without. his gasp against her nape spurred her own desire, in a surprisingly intense rush that ran the length of her body and sparkled appealingly in her veins. her body responded to the thrum of his own; erzulie found her own breathing ragged, a gentle pair of moans driven from her throat.
the hot rush of him; his cry; the harlot shut tight her eyes and panted with half-stirred flesh beneath the man called vishal, wanting more of what he had given and yet twisted with something like revulsion within herself. had she ever enjoyed a male? she could not recall; what a foreign feeling. still, she remained soft in his arms, affable; a jezebel knew which path to walk, always.

once the knot had loosened, and his body had regained some form of solidity, he pulled himself (reluctantly) from her, still breathing shallow and fast. he felt empty, drained of life, but it was different than before. now the warm glow of satisfaction rippled over his skin. he. . .was lost for words, and moved to place his chin on marie's shoulder, closing his eyes.

tum bahut khoobsurat ho, govinda crooned in a whisper, almost sing-song, each syllable elegant and deliberate. tum bahut khoobsurat ho. tum suraj ki rani--nahin raat ho. his heart was slowing, finally, from its breakneck pace of before. he could take her again, in a few minutes. he wondered if she'd stay.

he wanted to hold her. he wanted her to stay. main tumse pyaar karte hoon, he mumbled brokenly, barely knowing what he said, pressing his nose into the thick, soft fur of her neck.

---

"you are very beautiful,
you are very beautiful,
you are the queen of the sun--
not the night."

she was unused to staying, and knew not what he said. but erzulie knew the tones of him, his gentle touch; the melancholy silversong of his ebbing ardor called to the woman in a low way. she could not stay for many hours; she must bathe, find her way back to rosalyn. and the concept of affection between herself and a strange man was unheard of; all the same she reached to vishal, feathering a kiss along his cheek.
"je resterai jusqu'à ce que vous puissiez vous reposer," the harlot purled in her own tongue. it was one of romance, one more suited than common for their interlude, and erzulie was silent, allowing herself to be held despite the confusion wreathing through her psyche.

wanna fade this out?

she spoke to him in a language he vaguely understood, but sorrel marie was so far removed from his current state of mind that even if he had grasped the words, he would have never connected them to her. no, instead he drowned in marie's voice, lost himself in the scent of her pelt.

govinda--yes, govinda now, for vishal had faded with climax--stayed with her for a long while, and when the two departed eventually, he did not look back. or maybe just one glance, one brief peek over his shoulder. . .but it was so fleeting that by the time he fell asleep that night, he had forgotten the image entirely.

only the sensations remained.

fading <3

he would remain a dream to her; when she could, she carried her half-roused self off toward the salt pools by which she had discovered vishal, and bathed his scent numbly from her body. erzulie knew somehow she must see him again, this man who inspired in her what men had never done — but too afraid to linger, her strides lengthened and she disappeared into a stride that carried her through a trance.