Topic: Scented

Clayton Sheridan

Date: 2009-08-09 10:08 EST
Ghost Town.

He had heard the name, twice from a lovely pair of lips, then dropped in other conversation as he had been listening in.

There were ghost towns where he was from, of course. If one knew where to spot them, where to look, they could find an old, abandoned mining town much like the one he is stalking into now.

he had followed her as best he could, as quietly as only a feline form can, flitting in and out of shadows, careful to stay upwind so she wouldn't scent him following. He's not sure how she would react if she knew she had an escort home, and he's quite as sure her senses are as sharp as his, the two of them being so similar in other ways.

After all, she had left the other two - the guardian and the one he assumes is likely her mate - at the Inn, and had asked them not to follow.

His golden eyes had watched her every move as she walked along, the way she walks, the way she looks around at the night as she makes her way home.

But here, at the borders of this hallowed Ghost Town, he lost the trail. She had somehow eluded him, or else had been consumed by the town itself. He can't even find the trail of her delicate scent.

He steps across the borders of the town, a red-brown mountain lion, long, muscular and sleek, his long tail moving slowly back and forth as he finally steps into the open. Anyone who didn't know him personally wouldn't be able to identify him as being anything more than what he appears, if perhaps a bit larger than the standard.

The big cat stalks along the shadows, prowling the abandoned streets of this ancient place, golden eyes searching, ears perked up and alert, sniffing for a scent quietly.

He'd followed her this far, only to lose her? How had she done that?

Bashara

Date: 2009-08-09 10:28 EST
Pain licked her soul, ate away at her heart. There were tears in her eyes that had become a trail down her cheeks. She would not reveal to them her weakness, the way her heart felt it was shattered with the exchange between Guardian and Gunslinger.

Her emotions erratic made her senses not as keen as they should have been. A fool's guidance she walked now. Unbeknown that she was followed home to assure her own safety.

Come to Ghost Town and awareness settled thick at her soul as her eyes rested on the Penny Moon. Desert dry of mouth. She turned away.

Back turned.

Twisting around alleys as the reality of life came crashing down around her. She knew then that she was followed as the panther sensed and prowled forth.

Urged her to change.

The silk and cords fell in a forgotten puddle.

Black velvet fur worked muscles, rolling back. Tense and corded as she watched from one dimly lit alley.

Playing the hunting game now for the one that hunted her. Delicate lashing of tail behind her.

Clayton Sheridan

Date: 2009-08-09 19:50 EST
He knows she is here.

He can't see where, but he knows.

The beast within tells him so.

He lopes along, feet of padded cushion, claws kept in velvet sheaths. He's not here to hunt, but to guard, to protect. He had sighted her one night in the Inn, a cat calling to a cat, and had - very deliberately, quite shamelessly - made a display of assuming his feline form.

A cat offering himself to another cat, so to speak.

Since then, he had looked out for her, in little ways as often as he could spare himself. But tonight, he actually had a chance to see her home.

As he stalks along the streets, some instinct - some inner part of himself, apart from the human that rules his mind - warns him of the tail he's picked up.

Someone is watching him.

He doesn't look around, doesn't let on, simply keeps up as if he's peacefully oblivious, and goes walking down an alley, slipping around a corner from where his instincts tell him the watcher is.

He turns swiftly around in the alleyway, nestling up against the wall, muscles coiled, settling down to the ground, ears back. The knifelike tips of his claws just start to peek out from their velvet-lined sleeves, as he readies himself to pounce the follower.

Behind him, his tail lashes once, then is still.

Bashara

Date: 2009-08-09 20:42 EST
A game this hunt was. Hardly a hunt. Shadows were not shadows but the presence of the panther. Watchful.

He had followed her here. The panther knew well that she should be burdened by one invading her territory and yet how could she be?

A flick of ears, inaudible rumbled growl as muscles rolled beneath the black velvet.

Gathered and corded. The panther knew of that not so distant memory of curling up by the hearth with the mountain lion.

A moments comfort.

Molten gold eyes narrowed, muzzle licked and oblivious or not the panther lunged for the 'kill'

Claws sheathed and a tumble roll with the mountain lion. Teeth finding the scruff of fur between shoulders, tugging.

The panther would make the woman forget the pain. Life was simple, far less complex when the woman gave into the beast.

Paws flattened and pinned down the mountain lion, who knew for how long.

Tail lashing as those smoldering eyes met the mountain lion's in question.

Clayton Sheridan

Date: 2009-08-12 00:30 EST
He had expected whoever it was following him to come around that corner any moment and have themselves a faceful of mountain lion.

Apparently, it is not to be so, as he is taken from behind, bowled over and pinned by a very skillful...

...black panther?

Golden eyes widen in sudden comprehension as he sees - and scents - who it is that has followed him.

What had started out as a rumbling growl softens, smooths to a purr, and there is a sudden look of mischief on the big cat's face as he lashes his tail once, meeting hers in a strangely intimate contact as he begins to relax tensed muscles, giving the impression of submission.

She should be so lucky.

From her position pinning him, on top, as he lies on his back, relaxing muscles suddenly move with all the speed of a whiplash.

He is fortunate that he retains the ability to think as a human in this form, even if he can't communicate as such. It gives him fantastic fighting ability in this form. As he moves, his rear legs come up and flatten on her exposed belly, pushing up and over, sending her up to flip over him.

In the same movement, a large, padded paw, claws completely sheathed now, reaches up and bats her lightly across the muzzle, a playful little tap as he rolls over to his feet. Gaining them, he pounces right at where she lands, placing one paw on her side, the other on her neck and being careful to keep the rest of him to the side so she can't pull the same trick on him as he pins her.

Those golden-brown eyes bore into hers as he stares down at her, half in challenge, half playful.

Bashara

Date: 2009-08-12 06:18 EST
A touch of tails. Allowed before flicked away as black ears moved. Answered response of a quiet exhale of murring breath.

Had he relented already? Given up to submission. The panther all but looked to him with such scoffing disdain as he relaxed beneath her.

Moment's miscalculation as he gained the upper hand it seemed as she was suddenly crashing down on the dusty land of a Ghost Town road.

A huff of surprise, muzzle curling for a moment. That paw at her muzzle seemed to bring mirth in those molten depths.

Meeting those eyes she saw the game. The challenge. Head nudged against his own as tail lashed.

Side to side, hitting the ground hard in that nature of agitation and lack of thrill for being currently pinned.

Tail became the whip then to swat against his side, Black velvet to leave a sting to the mountain lion's side as the panther just purred.

Muscles rippled. Corded and she was twisting away from that pin as the mountain lion's body naturally reacted to that slap of tail against his side.

Crouched then across from him, ears flicked in question now for him. Challenge of play.

Clayton Sheridan

Date: 2009-08-13 18:16 EST
He moves to the side, coming into the classic crouch position well known to felines of all types, tail twitching back and forth as he begins moving sideways in a slow, circling motion. His golden-brown eyes sparkle with the same challenge and mirth as hers, ears not back in the flattened position to indicate the readiness to fight but rather perked up and pointed forward, eyes focused on hers.

Muscles bunch and ripple under the cat's reddish-brown coat as his limbs move, smoothly cirlcing him around her in a ritual dance as old as time itself, as old as the feline species, that has been known to them since the animals first walked the earth.

He hasn't ever played this game with another like this, excepting his brother, but that was...different. That was brothers playing, wrestling around, and that aside his brother's wolf form has its own differences. Granted, he could fight, but with cats it's different - canines have more strength than they do grace.

Felines are more...fluid, graceful.

Subtle.

He demonstrates that as, in mid-step, he suddenly springs at the panther opposite him. There would be for her only the slightest warning, the most subtle shift of muscles before he springs, as he launches himself, trying to make his shoulder connect with hers.

Bashara

Date: 2009-08-13 20:50 EST
This feral dance. Known to all beasts but ever it would seem the felines would know it better.

A grace and skill to it. Her movements were dark shadow. Muscles rolling beneath flesh as she twisted around.

Waiting, she had eternity in her patience.

Tail swished again, bright glisten in eyes to prove this if anything was something to be enjoyed.

A low sound, embered and grew a murring intensity of purr and growl combined.

There was no violence.

Watchful her eyes caught that bit of muscle jerking that gave him away.

He was close enough to swat her but as he went to connect shoulder with shoulder her body twisted aside and a paw swatted the side of his muzzle.

She watched his surprise as he pawed at his muzzle in shock before she was growling out a sound of surprise when she was tackled to that dirt road once more

Clayton Sheridan

Date: 2009-08-14 00:59 EST
The look of comic surprise on his face as her paw meets his muzzle was probably a Kodak moment, but even better would be the look and sound of shock as he springs after her.

Shoulder this time would firmly meet shoulder as his weight, combined with the sheer speed with which he moves, bowls her over. Claws are still kept in their velvet sheaths as he rolls in the dirt with her, his body hitting hers with just enough force to stun her without really hurting her.

This is cat playing with cat. No violence.

But with the challenge.

As they roll, his muzzle somehow finds her. Strong forelegs wrap around the panther, pulling the two of them in a close feline embrace, as the come to a stop with him on top, pinning her to the ground. For a moment, he looks down at the panther beneath him, a triumphant look on his face, before he leans his head down and nuzzles hers gently, accompanied by a gentle lick of a sandpaper tongue on the side of her cheek.

And just like that, his weight is gone from her as he back up, letting her gain her feet. He takes a few steps away, then sits, head tilted slightly to the side, ears back up and tail lashing back and forth.

Bashara

Date: 2009-08-14 06:31 EST
Dust born and dirt coated that dry road had strip of barren land had become a hunting ground, a circle of sparring.

Tail lashed as he pinned her. The panther as ever would have a fierce will. The growl echoed in her throat, ears flicking.

That sandpaper tongue along her cheek, the nosing of muzzles had her sighing out a murr.

Then there to be gone.

Not so far away though she saw him. Across from her.

Crouched she watched his eyes fasten on her. Rolling shoulders.

Black velvet sliding against slick sinew and the cord of muscles.

A lush, magnificent creature she was.

Her moment then.

Laughter in those molten golds as she went in for the 'kill'.

The mountain lion was tackled to the ground. Held down as she gained the status of king of the mountain.

Desert Queen.

Teeth held his throat gently in that mockery of dominance.

Till there away. Muzzle to his own, sandpaper tongue lashing at his throat.

Smoothing red-gold fur in languid tongue bath.

Huff of breath and a collapse of black velvet beside him, head rolling against his own as tail swished with calm.

Clayton Sheridan

Date: 2009-08-15 17:32 EST
He had not expected to be immediately pounced upon and pinned to the ground, and had let her up to see if a truce could be worked.

As he is knocked over onto his back, though, he thinks to himself he may have been a fool to think it would be that easy - after all, someone has to dominate.

And as she pins him, positioned above, her teeth gently grasping his throat, he relaxes.

Ordinarily, he would fight back. He is not one to be dominated - he is a free spirit, an indomitable force.

But, then, he's learned from his brother that some battles should be chosen, and as she releases him, that rough tongue smoothing his fur in a languid bath, he finds that this is a battle he might be glad to let her win.

For now.

As she curls up next to him, her head rolling into his, he shifts slightly, nuzzling back at her with his own, lapping at her night-black fur along her neck and in between her ears. His tail curls around hers, intertwining.

The recent memory of her as a lioness surfaces in his human mind, even as the animal in him becomes more dominant. Thinking on it, he decides he likes her better as a panther - this form suits her better. Sleeker, more graceful.

In his eyes, beautiful.

A rumbling, purring sound, just lower than a growl, vibrates from him as the animal part of him takes a stronger hold on his senses.

Bashara

Date: 2009-08-15 19:09 EST
The Panther part of herself was freedom. Was bliss and contentment and calm.

To cherish that wild part of herself was to feel finally released. Life was far more simple. Practical.

Her head rolled against his, murring and rumbling a purr of tranquility as she watched the intertwine of tails. Black-gold.

The sacred reality of it did not elude her.

A moment could mean everything.

The panther felt she could stay like this forever.

Perhaps she would.

It was freedom and escape.

Tongue rolled along his fur, sand paper and velvet tongue causing rivulets of mussed red-gold.

Muzzle nudged his own once more.

This she found. Could be peace.

Clayton Sheridan

Date: 2009-08-19 17:47 EST
It's strange that he had never thought of the feline state of being to be particularly sensual, or romantic, really. But here, in this state, wrapped up with a panther that is every bit as attractive to him as her human form...

Oddly, he hasn't felt the want or need to shift to his human form in order to more fully enjoy this...in fact, he has the sneaking suspicion that the fact that both of them are in this form is what makes it as comfortable as it is. Somehow, this way, they seem to fit perfectly together.

Of course, that could just be the animal talking...he's more prone to primal urges in this shape...but at the same time, he also feels more freedom, less bound to the strictures and morals of man. Of course, he also finds it harder to communicate intentions.

Except in this case. A loud, rumbling purr emanates from his throat as he is licked by a sandpaper tongue of a sleek panther, and he returns the favor, rough rasp of a tongue licking over shiny black fur before he nuzzles her head back, eyes slitted, a quite contented look on his feline features.

Bashara

Date: 2009-08-20 13:20 EST
Would it be so difficult? Would it be so hard?

The tempation was there. To lose herself to the beast. To let go of the Egyptian and know the panther again. Like the years passed in the harem where the Pharoah found it amusing to have her as a pet rather then a lover.

Could it be so wrong? Could the cost be worth it all?

Letting go.

To give in to that darkness, to that wild.

It was tempting.

So tempting.

The panther knew nothing of a heart's pain, knew nothing of despair or anguish. The panther would not understand anything about worry in the way a woman could worry.

The panther cared nothing for the past of the mountain lion beside her, just as much as the panther did not care about the mystery behind a gunslinger and the secrets kept.

Did not carry concern in her spirit for the past that was cloaked and kept from her due to the collar ensnaring her throat.

She would not care about three little words and if they were spoken to break a curse.

None of it mattered.

Rumbling out a purr, her mind turned over the thought of staying this way always.

Brief glimmer of her past. The first arrival in Rhy'din. Companion to the Archer that she as the panther had kept at his side all through the night. Sometimes she missed the Archer and the way he shared her mind...

Those times were long gone...

A sigh exhaled she rolled closer to the lion. Would it be giving up if you just... let it all go... and gave in to the beast entirely?

Groomed and near worshipped she could find the thought... quite tempting.

Clayton Sheridan

Date: 2009-08-27 00:57 EST
He could lie here, forever, it seemed, at her side.

Grooming, being groomed. curled up, side by side, listening to the rumbling, rythmic purr of each other's breathing as they lay, contented.

Letting the animal reign, for as long as possible.

And where might that lead?

To many things, perhaps. He is well acquianted with the fact that, the longer he retains this shape, the more the animal takes over, the less he wants the human to be in control. Instinct is so much easier to obey, living as the animals live, with the world rather than off of it or for against it.

He can see - with startling ease - what that would be like. Were he human, there would be a little smile on his face, his eyes distant at the contemplation that flickers in his mind's eye.

Mating with the pather, red-gold curling with and mounting the black, entwined.

A shift in that imagining, and there are cubs - some black, some red-gold, some a peculiar sort of mix, perhaps. Her nursing, he hunting for both, and eventually all of them.

The tow of them teaching the younglings to hunt, to survive, and finally to survive on their own.

Images that are pleasing to the human in the great cat's mind.

A part of that human mind remarks, with a mix of sarcasm and dry humor, as well as a pleased tone, that it might have been a scene out of a Disney movie.

Still, as they lay there, he nuzzles her head again, a lick of that sandpaper tongue running over her cheek, that rumbling, rythmic purr never ceasing.

Bashara

Date: 2009-08-27 20:37 EST
Losing herself. Losing that bit of herself that was the woman and giving into the beast.

Forever. She could lose this moment and give in to the beast for eternity.

It was simple really. The Hunt. The nature of the wild. Mating and Survival.

Red-gold. Black-gold. Red hints in light within slick black fur.

The Egyptian was uncertain of love, untrusting of its affections and the longevity. The truth in it.

She wondered if love would suffocate her and strangle her as the collar at her throat seemed to.

Family. Home. Pride.

Her Pride.

Ears flicked as her thoughts catered to the notion. Tail swishing.

Rex

She knew the word. King of lion pride amongst the shapeshifters.

A turn of head into that caress of tongue. Indulged. Losing herself.

The woman slowly disappearing, the panther inch by inch taking over.

Clayton Sheridan

Date: 2009-08-29 19:12 EST
He can feel it, there inside her.

Through the crude sort of telepathy/empathy that all animals share, that he can feel in this form, he can sense her letting slip the human, wanting - needing - the animal to take over.

He had long since learned, from his father - and from James in a very different way - the need to find the balance between animal and human. Being both is difficult if you don't find that, and one can easily, if you let it, claim dominance over the other.

Why does she want the animal to win?

The question spurs him on. His human side, the precious part of the balance within, strengthens the unique mix of telepathy and empathy innate in all animals.

He can feel the animal - the panther - and it is strong now, almost completely submerging the human girl now. But it is there, deep down, a glimmer that is just reachable. He dives into it.

Pain.

Heartache.

Suffering.

No wonder she wishes to be the animal.

He can see pictures that the human part of her thinks of, and is startled to find them remarkable in synch with the desires of the human/animal that is his own mixture.

What happens next is so instinctive, so ingrained in his own personality that he is unable to stop it. Even if he were able, he is unwilling.

The sudden upsurge in his heart of warmth, of love, of affection for her - both human and animal - is huge, unstoppable.

It is as if a spark had jumped between contact points, the result of so much pure emotion surging in his own mind and heart overriding and connecting his mind to hers, flowing from him and into her.

Bashara

Date: 2009-08-29 20:54 EST
It was like an invasion. She felt the spill and pour of the beast through her. His beast, that which was Clayton finding his way through her spirit and to the part of her so well hidden away that was Egyptian rather then panther.

There was heart ache. Loss. Suffering. So much grief and pain buried within her. These were her secrets.

The panther snarled when she realized what was happening, making such vain suffering attempts to keep him out but it was far too late.

His emotion, that sensation of love, warmth, kindness, protection, and adoration left her shaken to the core.

Never had she felt such.

The sensation had the Egyptian emerging from the darkness of the panther.

Reaction had other results as it enforced the shift as well. The change as the naked Egyptian was there huddled and curled up on the ground, the desert paint of her hands pounding into fists into the ground.

Ba'shara was sobbing.

"Why? How could you. I wanted to stay! It was easier that way. Took the pain away..."

Her hands buried in her hair, body racked with sobs. She knew the sight she must have been.

Too weak and exhausted she had no ability to turn back into the panther. She was just quiet then when the sobs stilled and that emotion restrained for so long was released.

Her hands brushed down her neck, felt that collar there still. Did it seem loose?

Perhaps just illusion. Wishful thinking.

Molten golds, those twin suns seemed a bit dim. Resigned as she looked over to the mountain lion.

"Th-thank you. For bringing me back."

Clayton Sheridan

Date: 2009-09-01 20:19 EST
He is booted back out of her mind so fast that, had it been a physical blow, he would have landed on his rear. As it is, he might have anyway, though mentally moreso than physically. He is dazed for a long moment as she shifts back to her human form, a reaction he had certainly not expected, as he watches, bemused for a moment.

Outwardly, he would appear impassive to her pain. Inwardly, he is in turmoil - he had not meant to make her shift back, had not meant to see her in any more pain. Indeed, he would take it on himself, if he were able - no one deserves to suffer that way.

At first, he in unsure what to do as she sobs in her misery, but the animal in his takes over a moment later and he moves closer, a large, red-gold mountain lion curling around her, both seeking to keep her warm and sheltered, as well as to comfort her as much as he is able.

And at last, as she gets herself under control again, she thanks him. Golden eyes look at her sadly for a moment before the form softens, running like wax, shrinking slightly, shifting him back into a man, dark of hair and eyes, dressed in buckskin breeches and a shirt of the same material, which he unbuttons and pulls off before he drapes it over her shoulders.

"I didn't bring you back, Ba'Shara...you did." His voice is soft, melodious, deeper than his brother's baritone. "I know I'm the one that made it happen...and I'm sorry." His eyes close again, seeing things as they had been - both through her eyes, and his. Pleasant visions. Something pleasing to both halves, animal and human. He opens his own dark eyes, so dark they almost appear to be black in this light, like obsidian. "I was...startled...by what I saw in your mind...the way we saw the same thing, a similar path to take. I almost wish I hadn't looked...I...rather liked the thought, the vision, of that future with you."

Bashara

Date: 2009-09-01 20:56 EST
Warmth. A sensation of fur against her naked skin left her shivering,trembling as fingers curled into the red-gold.

Worn, exhausted and heart shattered. Beautiful images, sweet feelings had been so much a part of her as panther. Now it all seemed torment, bittersweet mirages.

Ever would Ba'shara yearn for that which she could not possess.

She watched as he shifted, bright-eyed and shaken with that change. Never before had she watched another change before her such as this.

A murmur of thanks barely a whisper as the buckskin was draped over her shoulders and she pulled the material around her.

Fingers of desert paint hue pushed the black river of hair from her face, somber eyes to him.

His words spilled through her. Striking cords before she bowed her head and looked away.

"I have always wished for the peace between woman and beast. Wanted for family since that which I had before was taken from me. Yearned for lo...it does not matter. I cannot have this."

Sadness of molten golds to meet that drowning obsidian of his eyes. "This is not meant for me..."

No matter how much she wished it was not the case. Cursed heart. Broken soul. Forsaken spirit.

Clayton Sheridan

Date: 2009-09-02 01:02 EST
He sighs, shaking his head, just looking at her as he pulls himself from the half-reclined position he had been in, crossing his legs before him Indian-style as he looks at her. No frustration is there on that face - only a peaceful sort of patience, mixed with a weariness. Connecting to another that way is difficult enough. Combine that with the tussle they had just had, and shifting forms, the long, patient stalking he had done to get here...

No doubt, he's tired.

But he smiles.

tha warmth, that affection, love he had felt for her...it has not dimmed.

They thought too much alike, in that one, unforgettable moment.

It's one he'll never let go.

As she speaks in her despair...her anguish...his expression turns fierce.

Not angry, not dark or dangerous.

Just fierce.

Determined to make her see.

It would not be difficult at all to see the wild, free spirit of the mountain lion in his features at that moment.

"How can you say that? I know you felt it...what we just went through there. You weren't happy about it, when I lookind into you, but I know you felt what I felt."

He sighs, reaching forward and taking her hands in his. "Despair will blind you, keep you from what you want. You must open your eyes, Ba'Shara. See what is before you, and if you want it, take it for your own."

He sighs, looking down at their joined hands. "I don't know if you missed it or not, Ba'Shara...but in that moment when I looked into your heart and saw there exactly what I was seeing myself...for us...I fell in love with you."

Bashara

Date: 2009-09-02 06:35 EST
She watched him as he moved, every single motion regarded with that enigmatic quality of the molten golds. Ba'shara felt it then, that exhaustion as it sank into bones and weighed heavy in her spirit.

So much went through her head as she considered the entire passing of events.

Her hands had betrayed her, touching to abdomen that life giving womb. When she closed her eyes she saw it all. The time in the harem, her mother's funeral, her aunt's numerous conversations in a will to break the Egyptian's spirit. The Guardian, the Hunter, the Raven, the Rain Dancer, the Gun Slinger, the Hypnotist and the Nameless One.

Admist it all now was him. Rex.

Shaky sigh as the buckskin was drawn closer to her flesh.

She saw it then as she opened her eyes. His love, his affection, that fierce intensity.

So much she saw as her mind filled with gold dancers, scarabs, pyramids, and sarcophagus.

"I saw it all Clayton. There is no denial in those words. I do wish for what I saw but I am uncertain if it is my future."

The desert paint of fingers moved,intertwined with his own in a grip of desparation. Such complex emotions. Uncertain of the emotions awakened within her but despairing over the notion of losing him.

His words then again, hit to the core of her. As he confessed that affection, his love for her she stared at him with that feline perplexion.

How was it that he could get so deep into her soul, touch her heart, and awaken all so long disregarded and denied.

"Rex..." . King of Lions.

Soul felt filled to the brim with emotions yet to be understood. He was right she needed to open her eyes.

Needed to see all that was there and take it as her own.

Love though...

It remained unspoken even if the molten golds were filled with it near as liquid sunshine.

She drew him to his feet then, a look over shoulder as the old broken down hotel had come to be her home, a place the Rain Dancer had made for her.

"Come. Let us rest and recover. It will give me time to think on this all."

A tender smile on lips to prove his words had not gone ignored.

All the same as she lead him back to her home, offering him back his buckskin when she had returned to the comfort of her sleeping silks.

Sitting on the edge of the bed with molten golds warm. He had given the Sphinx a riddle she was not sure she could decipher.

Soft sigh and she looked to him with a smile. Memories of a bed from such a long time ago it seemed antiquity. When she had been faithful companion to the Archer. Ever as panther.

Fingers touched to the collar, brows knotting as it felt different again. A dismissive shake of head, hand held out to Clayton.

"Will you come then, Rex? I feel we both could use a bit of recovery. Some rest."

Clayton Sheridan

Date: 2009-09-12 23:14 EST
Rest.

A promise of recovery.

He'd never admit it aloud, but he can feel that fatigue throughout his body, as well as his mind. Touching another mind, particularly through an animal's, takes a lot out of him in the way of energy. He does a good job of hiding it, though - there is not a single faltering in his step as he allows himself to be led to the hotel.

And how long has it been, anyway, since he rested in a bed? The human in him says it has been too long - most nights he has slept in the mountain lion's form, curled up in a tree. And as comfortable as the animal in him finds it, the human thinks he might be able to rest better tonight than he has in many days.

The images keep recurring in his mind, though.

Black cubs with a hint of reddish gold in their coats. Sleek forms laid together, watching little ones at play.

The shape he takes is of a solitary animal, not prone to staying once children are born.

But he is not just the animal.

And the human in him delights in those images, holding them close to his heart.

So distracted is he that when she gives him back the jacket, he barely registers that she had taken it off. Vaguely, he remembers the path they had taken to get to this room, and when she holds her hand out to him, he takes it in his own.

She hadn't said anything of what he'd confessed. He noted that, but he knew also she had heard. What would she do with it?

A question to be answered later. he is patient.

He can wait - he had learned that lesson very well.

Smiling, he steps towards her, then stops. "And how would you have me, then, Ba'Shara? As man, or as beast?" He closes his eyes slightly, looking down. "Which would make you the more comfortable?"

Bashara

Date: 2009-09-13 07:22 EST
There ever would be silence when she could not find the words, or when the emotion was overwhelming.

Clayton had become a gold rush in her soul and Ba'shara said nothing. He had invaded her soul, brought her back to the fraction of her soul that was woman rather then beast.

Thank you seemed small. Barely enough to cover the measure of her mind, coveting that sensation that seemed to prowl and roll, writhe and remain within the spirit.

Ba'shara could not get the images out of her head. She could try to lock them away but they tumbled free. Wild.

Unleashed. Clayton had taken something of her and broken it, set it free.

The harmony of beast and woman had left that vision of cubs in her mind like a constant want.

Family.

Love.

Within the sheets her hand fell to lifegiving womb. Covered it with her touch.

Black-gold dusted with red. She closed her eyes and all she saw was that image.

She fell back upon the pillows of her bed with a deep sigh, molten golds wide with his words. Double entendre's they seemed and her flesh was wrought with heat.

"Come to me as you are now, Clayton. It is rare I see you as this form."

Desert paint of fingertips moved from the comfort of blankets and pillows and out to him.

She was becoming undone.

Clayton Sheridan

Date: 2009-09-16 00:43 EST
He had done nothing, in his own eyes. In fact, he felt, he might have done more harm than good - he cannot help but think that, had he not given over to his curiousity and more human feelings, they might have prowled off together, away from the world of 'humanity,' to have gone on to whatever might be next.

She had wanted to stay the animal, might have given herself over completely to it. And he could have let her. If the pain of her experince - that had so torn into his own heart - was any indication, she might have been happier that way.

But that is not for him to decide, is it?

not at all. What he can do - what he wants to do, more than anything else - is show her happiness.

That there is more to life than pain and loss and abandonment.

And as those images again flit through her mind, so do they in his.

Only now, he sees children, rather than kittens.

With golden eyes, dark hair, reddish-brown skin.

And the occasional shift into small panthers with a hint of that reddish-gold color to thier fur.

Not to be had now, of course. But is it a possible future?

Maybe. Whether it will come to pass or not, truly, is anyone's guess...but he can hope.

He had been ready for her to ask him to come in his feline form, that such a thing might be - for the time being - better.

So when she reaches out to him and tells him otherwise, he is surprised.

But no more hesitant for that.

He takes her hand and allows himself to be pulled down onto the bed beside her, a shy sort of smile on his lips as he regards her. He reaches out to her as he settles next to her, one hand reaching out to touch the smoothness of her cheek, pushing a strand of jet-black hair away from those golden eyes.

Words some to him aagin, trembling behind his lips. He wants - needs - to say them, but is she ready to hear them?

Would she consider it too soon, too forward?

The confession must come soon, he nkows - he had told her he had fallen in love with her, but had yet to profess those feelings in a more direct way.

He will.

But when will the right time come?

Bashara

Date: 2009-09-16 05:46 EST
He seemed a part of her soul. She watched his struggle like she knew her own within spirit.

The woman had been so many things in the harem. Lover and yet unloved.

This was something that took getting used to. The molten heat in eyes spoke of it.

Volumes bright.

She watched the contemplation in the man before her.

Surely sharing her bed with him would do nothing but only fortify that bond even without invoking a sensual touch.

It did not matter. A risk in the moment.

She would take it, better then sending him off.

Dark haired children, golden eyes. Savage painted skin.

Looking in his eyes she saw the moment again.

"Clayton."

Her eyes softened with this touch, pulling him into an embrace.

The tremble in his mouth taken and soothed with a kiss.

Sometimes there never was a right time... time just happened, moments would come as they willed.

Clayton Sheridan

Date: 2009-09-18 00:51 EST
Pulled into that embrace, her eyes softened, he falls that much farther.

Her lips on his, though, comes a surprise, and he finds himself reacting purely by instinct, his lips lingering on hers, folding them into his own in a prolonged embrace as he curls up next to her, arms wrapping around her tenderly and pulling her close. His eyes slip lazily closed, down to mere slits, savoring the sensation.

Curling up with her this way reminds him with a sudden, almost electric sensation that courses through him, of the way - was it only moments ago? - they had, as feline, been intertwined, curled up together, side by side.

And, as then, it feels undeniably right, completely comfortable, as though he belongs here.

It is a long moment before he can take his lips from hers, his eyes opening again at last, dark, chocolate brown orbs seeking out and finding the molten gold of hers.

Comfort. Like being home again, he feels as though he is truly wanted again, warm in embrace, more a person than object or animal.

He is intimately aware of her femininity in such close proximity to him, the soft, almost fragile feeling of her form in his embrace, and yet he feels no need to carry it any further than that simple, heady kiss.

He won't go that one step further until he is invited, until she wants him to. That is one thing he feels no need to ruch.

But those words - those three simple, little, tremendous words. If she had any perception at all, she would see it in his eyes, know that he is very nearly unable to hold them back.

That kiss - so simple, so sweet - had nearly undone him.

Like gravity, reaching out to snag something teetering on the very edge of a precipice, all it would take is the smallest of nudges to bring them out of him.

Bashara

Date: 2009-09-18 11:58 EST
Comfort rather then passion. Something that was not expected or claimed.

Undone and losing herself perhaps the moment was not unfortunate to have.

The kiss lingered longer then intended but there were no protests. No disputes from the Egyptian.

Instead her fingertips lifted and brushed along his jaw before sliding to his neck,his shoulders.

She embraced him, curled her body against his own. Much as the panther and the mountain lion had been curled together, now would be the same between the pair.

The black rain of her hair fell around him, touched his chest in a feather caress.

Her cheek pressed to his chest. Over his heart. Listening to the reassuring, steady beat of heart.

Desert paint of touch brushed his side. Closing her eyes. Perhaps it would still or stop that sensation. Those feelings.

Yet closing her eyes brought the images. Family. Home.

Unspoken words. Depth of feeling. She was on the edge of it all. Ready to fall.

Clayton Sheridan

Date: 2009-09-19 20:23 EST
The press of her ear to his chest, right over his heart, the feathery caress of black, silken strands of hair as they curl up together, is that final nudge.

So close to his heart, she couldn't have failed to hear it thud harder, begin speeding up., even as a deep sigh of contentment, of happiness, escapes him.

Strong arms wrap around her tenderly, one hand resting against her back, another slipping up, over the collar, under her hair, slowly running the soft, fine strands through his fingers.

It was too late to stop it - gravity had him now, its sweet, irresistable grip pulling him down into that final plunge.

The soft admission might have been unheard, might have been said in no place louder than his own thoughts. It can't be helped...he has to say it, or it'll burst out of him in an explosion.

"I love you, Bashara."

A voice so soft it may not have been heard. Soft because, perhaps, he feared the response he might get.

Bashara

Date: 2009-09-20 07:06 EST
Heartbeat was lulling, hypnotic. Molten golds became drowsy with the sound, lids heavy with it.

Desert paint of touch stroked along his side, brushing a caress to his ribs. A touch would dance in time with the sudden race of his heart.

The moment was languid and endearing to her, deep with comfort. Weakness unraveled around her. Even the panther would have need of a recovery time if some sudden burst of violence entered the room. Far too comfortable.

Eyes had closed, breathing in and out. Soft exhale in a pause. His words spilled around her.

In a phantom whisper, lost perhaps in the tandem of his heart beat, words were there as her lips moved in a caress against his skin. Just above his heart.

"And I you..."

It was enough. The words could not be recovered. Eyes closed as slumber coaxed her body to relax to his own.

Obsidian and gold... didn't seem so restrictive any more.

Undone.