Fairspell Meadow saffron's curse [m]

they reveled in the touch of one another, exchanging the gentle lashes of tongue and press of lips, the softest touch of teeth. luke spoke, and lasher smiled. "and you are lovely, blue petals against fresh snow." the poetry cam easily to him; he was one whose creativity waxed and waned with muse, and suddenly an overabundance of it had cascaded into his heart. it thrummed quickly within his chest, and desire burned hotly within him. unsure whether or not luke wished to delve deeper into their interlude, he preened the pale fur of the other's throat, his own breath aquiver with the sensation gliding across his form, excitement mingled with the barest hint of trepidation.

he recalled very well that peregrine had enjoyed a certain favour lasher was quite happy to provide; arranged as they were, it was not possible to proffer this thing. gathering his courage, the earthen male grinned playfully at his pallid companion. "if you so wish, i have something to show you." his tone was wry; surely luke would garner the suggestive nature therein.