[Concord stands with a hand on the open door, processing her appearance with outwardly calm regard. Beneath his level headed expression is a rapid consideration of his next action. First impulse, something like charm, "you're beautiful." It goes unsaid. He's never been that type of man. He'd probably fail at saying it without some odd emphasis, making it sound hollow or conceding- because of course she looks beautiful.
Second impulse, just reach out and pull her into his arms. Romantic, but hasty. Much too hasty. Concord's skin crawls at the desire to show good restraint warred with passionate boldness.
Final decision, he nods to her, respectfully stepping aside so she can enter the room. His bulk fills the entry hall leading this bathroom and then bedroom space, unless he moves his back against the wall to give her space.
They had spoken only with text, so his voice might surprise her. Concord speaks very quietly, low and gruff, but with a western type of twang. It is a soothing type of voice, one that is difficult to imagine being raised in anger,]
[There is a moment where they both are simply looking, sizing each other up. Though it would be of little matter, perhaps, for Kiritsubo to "cheat" and「look」in an entirely different and far deeper way... It can be far more interesting at times to remain「blind」and almost pretend-mortal. To rely on senses and words and experiences of the body to know a person, not the vague symbols and abstract images of their bonds and fates. With normal eyes... she observes his expression and his frame, his choice in clothing and his posture. With a keen nose, the detects his scent, with keen ears, the delightful timber of his voice.
And she smiles.]
Thank you, sir.
[At his invitation, she does just that. Stepping into the room, she reaches up to lightly lay a hand upon his arm in greeting, the touch lingering just a moment too long to be platonic, perfectly painted nails scraping softly as if she is reluctant to part from him already as moving inside necessitates a parting. Having chosen vocal cords for the day that matched the feminine appearance she had picked to suit the night, her own voice is soft and lilting, well suited to poetry and whispers and, perhaps, the calling of names... ?
He says she may get comfortable, and so she makes her way without pause or apparent thought for his bed, gracefully moving to sit upon the edge and beginning to slip petite feet from the slippers she apparently plans to abandon upon the floor.]
I heard you like to blow off steam... Has something happened recently, that Charlie felt you might benefit from my recommendation?
[Though she could be a very demanding and impatient woman when acting in pursuit of her own pleasures... talk was sometimes just as important as a skilled hand or a welcoming body. Emerald eyes stare up at him from the mattress, open and interested.]
[Concord has plenty about him to observe with normal senses. Largely pleasant features, at that. His size and build are impressive, muscular while still having the rugged look of a well worked man. A simple, old fashion way of dressing himself; suit slacks, suspenders, half open button down rolled up to the elbows. No shoes or socks on in his own space. A space that smells... very out of place for the hotel. Too natural for it. A unicorn will always smell like their home and so that's what Concord's room is scented like from his presence in it. Praire and mountains and woodlands. Pine and juniper and wet, rich soil.
He closes the door behind her. It locks automatically. He turns and follows along as she sits herself upon his bed. Concord stands in front of her.
As he answers, he catches a suspender with the underside of a thumb and nudges it off his shoulder. Repeating the motion with military ease and rigor on both sides,]
My kind, we are naturally aggressive. It is so we can protect our land and what lives there... Can only keep that bottled up so long, but I'm good at restraint. A promise. [as if restraint seems like anything she wants from him, but it is promised none-the-less, as a show of respect. Really, he is too good at it, too well composed, which is what makes a place like this so difficult for him.
He shrugs his shirt off. More for her to admire of him, and wonder about, given the entirely too nasty scar on one side of his front. The rest of him sure seems pristinely kept, compared to that one marred and collapse in line.]
Still. I always need one way or another... to blow off steam. [it is usually drinking and fighting, which might explain to her why Charlie finds interest in a man who seems so otherwise pure hearted]
[Though it was surprising, the warm scent of rain-damp pine and soil in the monument to artificial wealth that was the Golden Peacock casino… Kiritsubo enjoys being surprised. After hundreds of years of living, she came upon them less and less, and in turn… they became more valuable. And… it is not far from reminiscent of her own home, that she can still recall no matter the centuries and the miles apart. The sharp scent of northern fur and spruce… the warm rot of layer and layer of leaves upon the ground, crunching under her paws.
She likes it.
At first, she just watches him. Where he will choose to stand, how he will move. He sends the suspenders tumbling off of broad, muscular shoulders, and she admires them openly, shamelessly. Listens, just as intently as she watches, as she idly lifts a pale leg to brush her foot along the side seam of his trousers, tracing the shape of a sturdy leg beneath with painted toes as she leans back on the mattress, supporting her slight weight with one hand, the other toying at the belt of her robe.]
You are free to restrain yourself as little or as much as you like… I may look dainty, but… it’s no trouble for me to make myself sturdier where need be.
[She’s had some gentlemen here express concern for hurting her, because of their own strength or the shape she wore that day, and sure, she preferred pleasure to pain herself. That’s why she assures him it isn’t a matter of masochism or sacrifice, that she’d be willing to suffer for a stranger if he needed it… but instead, that she could make it so that she did not suffer, no matter how tight his grip, how sharp the bites, or how forceful his thrusts became if he wished to give in to aggression. (Well… a little suffering could be fun play, but. Tonight, she was in the mood for satisfaction.]
Besides, I’m the same way… I just can’t stand the pressure. Building, and building, just waiting for an excuse to be let out…
[Her foot traces up and down his leg along with her words, her gaze heavy as she carves out the shape of just chest and arms, watching him begin to strip down. And if he was…]
Do you like tattoos, Concord… ? The unicorns I am acquainted with saw it as a soiling of the flesh, but…
[Just because they were all the same species did not mean there were not surely differences across worlds and cultures. A tug of the belt around her waist as she asks undoes the knot of her robe. Another tug, slower, sets the fabric to gaping at the chest, revealing hints of generous cleavage on (as of yet?) unspoiled, milk-white skin.]
[He listens and watches her intently, right back. Kiritsubo's chosen form is indeed very pleasing, to the eyes and Concord imagines all the other senses. That pressure is definitely building in him, desire and impatience. He can restrain both, even taking some satisfaction in doing so, in taking their time though they've rushed to this point rather quickly. At least, for Concord. He'd have never imagined himself this kind of man. One happy to take someone to his bed so soon after making their acquaintance.
This place is doing something to him. He will think on if that is natural adaptation or sinful corruption later on. For now, he is focused only on her and her words.]
These are tattoos. [He notes to her, reaching a hand over his up to his own face, thumbing over the marks there. As he presses into each, they briefly glimmer with silver. That makes them read less as oddly arranged scars and more like he said. A tattoo in the shape of a constellation from back home...]
They have grown faded with time. Still, there is nothing soiled about such marks. They become a part of someone. [they are a magically practical thing to himself and to Ali, extra measures for locking away his horn and the dragons' wings when taking such forms. Concord would understand someone who simply wishes to adorn themself in artwork, though seeing no reason for judgement of that.]
[Though she had expected, the glitter of silver (and the glitter of something「else」) made her less sure if it was an intentional tattoo in a desired shape or the unintended consequence of a spell or seal. How clever... and how interesting. She'll be good, and put off the curious desire to examine it as a professional until later, but for now...
Kiritsubo smiles, the expression sharp and amused in the corners with excitement to reveal, to share something "secret". Concord's marks were upon his face, and though she often bared hers with fashion choices, tonight... She had come wrapped in cloth, seemingly modest. Until, that is,]
I'm very glad to hear you say that.
[Clever fingers finish tugging the belt of her robe free and curl over the lapel, gently pulling it aside to reveal her own tattoos. Full breasts are covered in fine, colorful inkwork, depicting comb dripping with honey, a wasp upon the left and a three of spades, a mockery of her own design courtesy the casino, upon her right. And not just there. Down the taut line of her belly, just below naval pierced with a small jewel, is a blooming crimson peony. And below that, just above her sex barely hidden by how her legs remained crossed in her sit, a Sanskrit character is inked onto the soft skin above her pubis. "The Earth Womb". A blessing. And her own private little joke.]
I'm very fond of them.
[Perhaps an understatement, considering her next question, but... The silver ring pierced through her blossom pink nipple glints in the light much like Concord's tattoos as she adjusts her seat and begins to hint at pulling one side of the robe fully free, just beginning to slip from a pale shoulder.]
Would you like to see the rest... ?
[Or would it be far more delightful to discover them with his own hands... ?]
[Kiritsubo peels away the upper segment of her robe, revealing the beauty of much of her bare body. The stoic expression on Concord's face fully cracks, not with a bluster, but with a smile. A warm and appreciative grin, so very honest in how it peels across his features. Arousal makes his face and ear redden against the pale color his silver hair, but there's no shame to his expression.
The raw earnestness of his slow spoken and quiet twang of a voice should hold it's own charms,]
Fond... as you should be. How very beautiful.
[Concord moves himself closer, in a very particular way. At such a sight, he's sure many a man simply buckle and fall to their knees before her. As would be her right, he believes. He'll have a bit more dignity than that. Concord kneels himself down before her, moving with all the poise of a royal knight. He had been one once and while a soldier's rigor never left him, the manners of such chivalry weren't often required of him.
It felt right, about now, to bend down before her. He settles himself to his knees, so to admire her close enough to touch- though he resists until he is given such permission. Likes being called sir... sure, but not as much as he likes being told yes, please.]
Would much rather feel and taste, than just see. [Given any affirmation, those large hands of his will reach out. Despite their roughness, he would use them to smooth beneath her robe, seeking to peel the fabric away from her with attentive, unrushed motion]
[There exist very few compliments on visual appearance than can genuinely flatter a shapeshifter. After all… At any given time, they may be wearing a shape that is not their “natural” one, but instead one they had chosen or crafted, detail by meticulous detail. What vain pleasure might be gained from being told that the body or the face that you had constructed to be beautiful… was? A compliment of skill, yes, it could be taken that way, but to feel it in the heart, that warm little flutter of being sincerely called “beautiful”…
In self-aware shifters, such feelings died.
But Kiritsubo’s ink, which outside of genuine need for infiltration or disguise she never changed no matter how she shifted her outside form from male to female, short to tall, petite to large, young to old… That was how that feeling of being flattered came to be. Her smile warms, softens slightly, fingertips dragging gently over some of the expanse of honeycomb along her breast, dipping down to brush the peony blooming on her lower belly as she teases them both, watching though heavy lashes as he takes an elegant knee. (It suited him- Funny, that the last unicorn she knew had also been a knight. That must suit them.)]
Thank you.
[That comes first, simple and pleased. But with his offer just there, the two of them poised to meet at the foot of his bed… Kiritsubo releases the robe she had been primed to remove herself in order to reach forward and cup the large man’s cheek in her soft hand, admiring how the flush of desire stood out so blatantly on his pale features. He’d like to feel and taste rather than simply look?]
I’d like that very… very much.
[There is no need to rush. Following the pace and the guiding touch of his strong hands she slowly arches and dips, pulling first one arm and then the other from the captivity of cloth, revealing in the process a crane and turtle, symbols of long life and a love both tender and doomed, on her upper arms. And when she shifts to help facilitate peeling the garment fully away, turning her hips and resting her weight on an opposite hand upon the mattress so that it might be tugged free from beneath her…
A blade glistens down her spine, pierced through another crimson peony. As opposed to the simpler, more abstract one upon her belly, this one overflows with life, each petal lovingly curled and painstakingly shaded. The shape of it, curving in at the top… it’s almost like a heart.
And her own is thrumming heavy, her pulse a steady presence beneath Concord’s palms as she looks over her now bare shoulder at him, desire and invitation in her eyes. That, and a slightly playful,]
[Having been a royal knight in the first kingdom that held his name, Concord knows how to reach for a blade. Instinctively, his broad palm falls over the portion of her back where the hilt is depicted. Concord has massive hands, well suited to his frame, but they are skillful, not the least bit brutish. Aside from the callouses that is, but rough is a different quality than merely careless. He caresses down her spine, the blade, imaging the exact steel and sharpness she then jokes about.]
Would it be for another-? [he asks rather seriously, almost reverent. He can fathom as much, through magic, it isn't an unreasonable thing to consider possible. After all, he's actually a massive horse wearing the shape of a man. Is it so wild to image that a tattooed blade could hold true sharpness on her skin? Could cut a man she wished not touch her? No, that seems very reasonable to the unicorn.
Any man who dared touch what he was not welcome to should be cut,]
I should mention... avoid touching my hair. A unicorn's mane needs special invitation. By accident is no trouble, but I only allow an intimate few to handle it at duration. [Once that list had been very limited. His own mother, the man who saved his life, and his lover Ali... though the list had been growing with a few he came to care for. Concord imagines she could join that list, but won't say as much. That is a step beyond sex, intimacy wise. He has to very genuinely trust someone for that.]
[His question is serious, and though Kiritsubo smiles to hear it, her movements still tinged with the sensual flirtations that seemed to come so naturally... her answer is just as weighted.]
... Mmm, it can be.
[He's the first one to ask, here. Perhaps she should have expected that a unicorn would be more versed in the potentials of magic, but it is still a bit of a pleasant surprise after so many lovers who simply took her tattoos for colorful works of art. Which they were, of course, but atop of that... there was much, much more to every stroke of ink that had left its mark upon her skin. She had been plying the trade of a tattooist for centuries, like her mother before her, fulfilling the desires and needs of the inhabitants of the spirit world for power, for healing, for comfort, for sealing... and for herself, in the process. Each one could do, would do, or was already doing something.
But though there might be the fleeting sensation of worn leather and cold steel, so faint that he might think it just his imagination... the only thing real is the eager shiver that travels down her spine to the trace of his thick fingers. Rather than leaving his skin cut... her thighs part slightly in unconscious desire for him to keep going, to pass the point of the blade and over the sign of the navagraha at the cleft of her ass, and then turn inwards to caress over the soft folds of her cunt, but first-
Her carefully chosen emerald eyes flit over the charming pale of his hair, and though her hand rises... she only vaguely mimes the gesture of a soft stroke through the silky strands, her fingertips far enough away that only the slight displacement of air occurs, not the taboo of handling.]
Now that's a shame, when it's so lovely... but I understand.
[Her fingers land upon his cheek instead, tracing the silver lines of his own ink until she can find his jaw and tempt him closer with a curl of her fingers that lands her touch just under the tip of his chin, urging him just slightly this way, just a bit up... so that she could lean in, so close now that their lips would brush together with each slow, husky syllable.]
Do a unicorn's kisses need special invitation... ?
[His hand does pull further and further down her body, transfixed on the arch and curve of her spine. Following down to the swoop of her rear, but holding himself back. Thumbing curiously at the end of her tailbone, a spot he's often known to be pleasingly sensitive for immortals in human shapes. His touch dipping ever so lightly between her ass cheeks to toy with the spot,
He's easy to reach for and tilts his head into her guiding hands. An eager nuzzle, animalistic, so basic as to be pleased by simple chin scratches. He hums, offering a compromise she never really negotiated for,]
Touch the beard all you like. [he enjoys it being toyed with, his hair overall very sensitive, but only the mane itself being a limit for him. With his free hand, he reaches up to cup her hand with his massive palm and tilt himself to pepper kisses at the soft of her wrist,]
I invite you. Take those as you like. [Concord has plenty of kisses to give! Genuinely, a very tender guy in contrast to his more aggressive, territorial instincts...]
[He isn't the only one here who had animalistic instincts beneath an all too human looking skin. In her true shape, that tailbone didn't end there, extending into a pale, fluffy tail that was considered one of the most beautiful amongst her entire race. He'll find it just as sensitive as he hopes, eliciting an arch of spine and a wriggle of hips, a splay of thigh that rumples the sheets beneath them. She is a creature that knows how to respond to a nuzzle, nails scratching slow and encouragingly beneath his jaw and into his beard, expressing a bit of gratitude for the "gift".]
I hope you like women who are just as indulgent as they are bold...
[Her expression had been desirous since the moment he opened the door to let her in, but its become more naked as she has, a low rumbling growing in her throat and a want in her eyes as she watches his lips press to the delicate skin of her pale wrist. Charming... but as delightful as they were there...]
Because if you say I can take as many as I like...
[She tips his head back up so she can have his lips for herself, a kiss that begins gently, intent on exploring the shape and the taste of him... but there is a depth of passion smoldering beneath, threatening soon to erupt into far more obvious flames.]
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no subject
Second impulse, just reach out and pull her into his arms. Romantic, but hasty. Much too hasty. Concord's skin crawls at the desire to show good restraint warred with passionate boldness.
Final decision, he nods to her, respectfully stepping aside so she can enter the room. His bulk fills the entry hall leading this bathroom and then bedroom space, unless he moves his back against the wall to give her space.
They had spoken only with text, so his voice might surprise her. Concord speaks very quietly, low and gruff, but with a western type of twang. It is a soothing type of voice, one that is difficult to imagine being raised in anger,]
Yes. Welcome... make yourself comfortable.
no subject
And she smiles.]
Thank you, sir.
[At his invitation, she does just that. Stepping into the room, she reaches up to lightly lay a hand upon his arm in greeting, the touch lingering just a moment too long to be platonic, perfectly painted nails scraping softly as if she is reluctant to part from him already as moving inside necessitates a parting. Having chosen vocal cords for the day that matched the feminine appearance she had picked to suit the night, her own voice is soft and lilting, well suited to poetry and whispers and, perhaps, the calling of names... ?
He says she may get comfortable, and so she makes her way without pause or apparent thought for his bed, gracefully moving to sit upon the edge and beginning to slip petite feet from the slippers she apparently plans to abandon upon the floor.]
I heard you like to blow off steam... Has something happened recently, that Charlie felt you might benefit from my recommendation?
[Though she could be a very demanding and impatient woman when acting in pursuit of her own pleasures... talk was sometimes just as important as a skilled hand or a welcoming body. Emerald eyes stare up at him from the mattress, open and interested.]
no subject
He closes the door behind her. It locks automatically. He turns and follows along as she sits herself upon his bed. Concord stands in front of her.
As he answers, he catches a suspender with the underside of a thumb and nudges it off his shoulder. Repeating the motion with military ease and rigor on both sides,]
My kind, we are naturally aggressive. It is so we can protect our land and what lives there... Can only keep that bottled up so long, but I'm good at restraint. A promise. [as if restraint seems like anything she wants from him, but it is promised none-the-less, as a show of respect. Really, he is too good at it, too well composed, which is what makes a place like this so difficult for him.
He shrugs his shirt off. More for her to admire of him, and wonder about, given the entirely too nasty scar on one side of his front. The rest of him sure seems pristinely kept, compared to that one marred and collapse in line.]
Still. I always need one way or another... to blow off steam. [it is usually drinking and fighting, which might explain to her why Charlie finds interest in a man who seems so otherwise pure hearted]
no subject
She likes it.
At first, she just watches him. Where he will choose to stand, how he will move. He sends the suspenders tumbling off of broad, muscular shoulders, and she admires them openly, shamelessly. Listens, just as intently as she watches, as she idly lifts a pale leg to brush her foot along the side seam of his trousers, tracing the shape of a sturdy leg beneath with painted toes as she leans back on the mattress, supporting her slight weight with one hand, the other toying at the belt of her robe.]
You are free to restrain yourself as little or as much as you like… I may look dainty, but… it’s no trouble for me to make myself sturdier where need be.
[She’s had some gentlemen here express concern for hurting her, because of their own strength or the shape she wore that day, and sure, she preferred pleasure to pain herself. That’s why she assures him it isn’t a matter of masochism or sacrifice, that she’d be willing to suffer for a stranger if he needed it… but instead, that she could make it so that she did not suffer, no matter how tight his grip, how sharp the bites, or how forceful his thrusts became if he wished to give in to aggression. (Well… a little suffering could be fun play, but. Tonight, she was in the mood for satisfaction.]
Besides, I’m the same way… I just can’t stand the pressure. Building, and building, just waiting for an excuse to be let out…
[Her foot traces up and down his leg along with her words, her gaze heavy as she carves out the shape of just chest and arms, watching him begin to strip down. And if he was…]
Do you like tattoos, Concord… ? The unicorns I am acquainted with saw it as a soiling of the flesh, but…
[Just because they were all the same species did not mean there were not surely differences across worlds and cultures. A tug of the belt around her waist as she asks undoes the knot of her robe. Another tug, slower, sets the fabric to gaping at the chest, revealing hints of generous cleavage on (as of yet?) unspoiled, milk-white skin.]
no subject
This place is doing something to him. He will think on if that is natural adaptation or sinful corruption later on. For now, he is focused only on her and her words.]
These are tattoos. [He notes to her, reaching a hand over his up to his own face, thumbing over the marks there. As he presses into each, they briefly glimmer with silver. That makes them read less as oddly arranged scars and more like he said. A tattoo in the shape of a constellation from back home...]
They have grown faded with time. Still, there is nothing soiled about such marks. They become a part of someone. [they are a magically practical thing to himself and to Ali, extra measures for locking away his horn and the dragons' wings when taking such forms. Concord would understand someone who simply wishes to adorn themself in artwork, though seeing no reason for judgement of that.]
no subject
Kiritsubo smiles, the expression sharp and amused in the corners with excitement to reveal, to share something "secret". Concord's marks were upon his face, and though she often bared hers with fashion choices, tonight... She had come wrapped in cloth, seemingly modest. Until, that is,]
I'm very glad to hear you say that.
[Clever fingers finish tugging the belt of her robe free and curl over the lapel, gently pulling it aside to reveal her own tattoos. Full breasts are covered in fine, colorful inkwork, depicting comb dripping with honey, a wasp upon the left and a three of spades, a mockery of her own design courtesy the casino, upon her right. And not just there. Down the taut line of her belly, just below naval pierced with a small jewel, is a blooming crimson peony. And below that, just above her sex barely hidden by how her legs remained crossed in her sit, a Sanskrit character is inked onto the soft skin above her pubis. "The Earth Womb". A blessing. And her own private little joke.]
I'm very fond of them.
[Perhaps an understatement, considering her next question, but... The silver ring pierced through her blossom pink nipple glints in the light much like Concord's tattoos as she adjusts her seat and begins to hint at pulling one side of the robe fully free, just beginning to slip from a pale shoulder.]
Would you like to see the rest... ?
[Or would it be far more delightful to discover them with his own hands... ?]
no subject
The raw earnestness of his slow spoken and quiet twang of a voice should hold it's own charms,]
Fond... as you should be. How very beautiful.
[Concord moves himself closer, in a very particular way. At such a sight, he's sure many a man simply buckle and fall to their knees before her. As would be her right, he believes. He'll have a bit more dignity than that. Concord kneels himself down before her, moving with all the poise of a royal knight. He had been one once and while a soldier's rigor never left him, the manners of such chivalry weren't often required of him.
It felt right, about now, to bend down before her. He settles himself to his knees, so to admire her close enough to touch- though he resists until he is given such permission. Likes being called sir... sure, but not as much as he likes being told yes, please.]
Would much rather feel and taste, than just see. [Given any affirmation, those large hands of his will reach out. Despite their roughness, he would use them to smooth beneath her robe, seeking to peel the fabric away from her with attentive, unrushed motion]
no subject
In self-aware shifters, such feelings died.
But Kiritsubo’s ink, which outside of genuine need for infiltration or disguise she never changed no matter how she shifted her outside form from male to female, short to tall, petite to large, young to old… That was how that feeling of being flattered came to be. Her smile warms, softens slightly, fingertips dragging gently over some of the expanse of honeycomb along her breast, dipping down to brush the peony blooming on her lower belly as she teases them both, watching though heavy lashes as he takes an elegant knee. (It suited him- Funny, that the last unicorn she knew had also been a knight. That must suit them.)]
Thank you.
[That comes first, simple and pleased. But with his offer just there, the two of them poised to meet at the foot of his bed… Kiritsubo releases the robe she had been primed to remove herself in order to reach forward and cup the large man’s cheek in her soft hand, admiring how the flush of desire stood out so blatantly on his pale features. He’d like to feel and taste rather than simply look?]
I’d like that very… very much.
[There is no need to rush. Following the pace and the guiding touch of his strong hands she slowly arches and dips, pulling first one arm and then the other from the captivity of cloth, revealing in the process a crane and turtle, symbols of long life and a love both tender and doomed, on her upper arms. And when she shifts to help facilitate peeling the garment fully away, turning her hips and resting her weight on an opposite hand upon the mattress so that it might be tugged free from beneath her…
A blade glistens down her spine, pierced through another crimson peony. As opposed to the simpler, more abstract one upon her belly, this one overflows with life, each petal lovingly curled and painstakingly shaded. The shape of it, curving in at the top… it’s almost like a heart.
And her own is thrumming heavy, her pulse a steady presence beneath Concord’s palms as she looks over her now bare shoulder at him, desire and invitation in her eyes. That, and a slightly playful,]
Don’t worry. It’s not sharp for someone like you.
no subject
Would it be for another-? [he asks rather seriously, almost reverent. He can fathom as much, through magic, it isn't an unreasonable thing to consider possible. After all, he's actually a massive horse wearing the shape of a man. Is it so wild to image that a tattooed blade could hold true sharpness on her skin? Could cut a man she wished not touch her? No, that seems very reasonable to the unicorn.
Any man who dared touch what he was not welcome to should be cut,]
I should mention... avoid touching my hair. A unicorn's mane needs special invitation. By accident is no trouble, but I only allow an intimate few to handle it at duration. [Once that list had been very limited. His own mother, the man who saved his life, and his lover Ali... though the list had been growing with a few he came to care for. Concord imagines she could join that list, but won't say as much. That is a step beyond sex, intimacy wise. He has to very genuinely trust someone for that.]
no subject
... Mmm, it can be.
[He's the first one to ask, here. Perhaps she should have expected that a unicorn would be more versed in the potentials of magic, but it is still a bit of a pleasant surprise after so many lovers who simply took her tattoos for colorful works of art. Which they were, of course, but atop of that... there was much, much more to every stroke of ink that had left its mark upon her skin. She had been plying the trade of a tattooist for centuries, like her mother before her, fulfilling the desires and needs of the inhabitants of the spirit world for power, for healing, for comfort, for sealing... and for herself, in the process. Each one could do, would do, or was already doing something.
But though there might be the fleeting sensation of worn leather and cold steel, so faint that he might think it just his imagination... the only thing real is the eager shiver that travels down her spine to the trace of his thick fingers. Rather than leaving his skin cut... her thighs part slightly in unconscious desire for him to keep going, to pass the point of the blade and over the sign of the navagraha at the cleft of her ass, and then turn inwards to caress over the soft folds of her cunt, but first-
Her carefully chosen emerald eyes flit over the charming pale of his hair, and though her hand rises... she only vaguely mimes the gesture of a soft stroke through the silky strands, her fingertips far enough away that only the slight displacement of air occurs, not the taboo of handling.]
Now that's a shame, when it's so lovely... but I understand.
[Her fingers land upon his cheek instead, tracing the silver lines of his own ink until she can find his jaw and tempt him closer with a curl of her fingers that lands her touch just under the tip of his chin, urging him just slightly this way, just a bit up... so that she could lean in, so close now that their lips would brush together with each slow, husky syllable.]
Do a unicorn's kisses need special invitation... ?
no subject
He's easy to reach for and tilts his head into her guiding hands. An eager nuzzle, animalistic, so basic as to be pleased by simple chin scratches. He hums, offering a compromise she never really negotiated for,]
Touch the beard all you like. [he enjoys it being toyed with, his hair overall very sensitive, but only the mane itself being a limit for him. With his free hand, he reaches up to cup her hand with his massive palm and tilt himself to pepper kisses at the soft of her wrist,]
I invite you. Take those as you like. [Concord has plenty of kisses to give! Genuinely, a very tender guy in contrast to his more aggressive, territorial instincts...]
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I hope you like women who are just as indulgent as they are bold...
[Her expression had been desirous since the moment he opened the door to let her in, but its become more naked as she has, a low rumbling growing in her throat and a want in her eyes as she watches his lips press to the delicate skin of her pale wrist. Charming... but as delightful as they were there...]
Because if you say I can take as many as I like...
[She tips his head back up so she can have his lips for herself, a kiss that begins gently, intent on exploring the shape and the taste of him... but there is a depth of passion smoldering beneath, threatening soon to erupt into far more obvious flames.]