Northstar Vale & prayer-pale stars that pass the drowsing-incensed hymns (mtr.)

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can you blame me? look at you.

vanity had once ruled him; gripped him tight. the scars that mar his face, his throat have loosened it and fought against it. it has made him more aware of his own mortality and thus made him a bit more humble. ❝disorted reflections of ponds and lakes aren't the best mirrors.❞ he says playfully, scrambling for a lack of anything else to say. perhaps vanity hasn't entirely left him for he does not humbly counter her words but he does not capitalize upon them as he once would've either.

melkor holds still for her as he realizes that she means to leap over him ( wouldn't going around be easier, he ponders? ) and only partially succeeds. a heady moment flares to life like a fire fed oxygen, licking towards the heavens; licking through his body with a mighty rage intent on conquering. he shifts beneath her but even the cool kiss of their stonebed against his belly is not near enough to quell the feverish heat he feels coursing through him.

for a second, he thinks of telling her to move, to let him up so that he could give her what she begs of him to. love; the endearment doesn't go unheard but he chooses not to draw upon it just yet, saving it for later. instead, he shimmies beneath her and when he is close enough nuzzles his muzzle against the inside of her thigh, tongue drifting sensually across the fur there, tasting her.