Luna's Haven~closed save for invitees.

"Need?"

The word echoes in the deep recesses of my brain. My sweet tree girl, almost more tree than girl, so long has it been since she's been out and about in the company of more...human...folk.

I pull her closer, hands roaming lush flesh while I try to figure out what it is that she needs.


"What do you need, sweet one? Can you show me?"

Hand twists in her hair, tugging her face away from the curve of my neck so that i can see her wide eyes.

"I will give it, if you can just show me what you require..."
 
She has been slumbering too long in her tree. Too long away from the sensations of hunger in her belly, thirst in her mouth. Luna's touch has awakened her skin in a rush that is too much to bear.

But there is a thirst that predates her time in the tree; in fact, it was the reason for her entering her long slumber. She can not remember that thirst, not really ... except for a vague need to FEEL.

Luna's belt catches on Linden's belly as she moves, digs in, and a vague realization of that need floods her. Trying to speak, she is unable to do so.

Wildly, she looks around and realizes there is no way to mime what she needs to communicate. Finally, she bites her lip ... bites it so violently that it bleeds and her eyes meet Luna's.

Pointing to the blood that trickles down her lips, she tries to communicate. Pinching her arm, pinching it hard, she beckons to that act, trying to tell Luna what she now knows has awakened her from her tree.

Finally, she takes Luna's hand and guides it violently to her cheek, slapping it resoundingly. The red marks of Luna's hand stand out on her pale cheek, and she looks to her, hoping that Luna understands.
 
Pain.

She needs...something violent and heart wrenching.

PAIN.

I can give that...as long as she needs.

Rising, I cradle her tightly in my arms and move to the steps, taking us off the porch and into the gloom that surrounds my home. Eventually, we end up behind the Haven, above the stairs that lead to the basement.


one

two

I place Linden upon her feet and then point to the ground with one small hand.

"I will open this door and you will crawl down the stairs. You will kneel up by the spanking bench and wait for me. Understood?"
 
At the end of the trail leading toward my woods and my home...a sign appears.

A special Healing in progress.
STAY OUT!
 
As Luna rises, holding Linden tightly, the girl's thoughts race. Did Luna understand? Where are they going? What will Luna think of her?

She closes her eyes, willing Luna not to take her inside before the comfortable fire to lie on the couch, or the rug, or even the bare floor. She wants no comfort, not even slight discomfort.

As she is set down, she opens her eyes and sees the door she has never seen the other side of, a door that she knows others have entered.

Luna's words are heard and she calms. Luna has understood. The no-nonsense tone of her voice, the command to crawl. The door opens abruptly, and a rush of cold air is sucked from the depths behind it.

She should never have doubted; the wolfling is too wise and too experienced not to understand.

She gathers her long skirt up so that it won't drag as she descends the steps, tucking it carefully so that her backside is still covered by its diaphonous folds. The angle of the steps, though, mitigates that effort, and the material slips forward as she descends. The steps are gritty, even gravelly in spots, and the abrasions on her knees and hands are sweet harbingers of feeling, of feeling so long absent.

As she reaches the bottom, she remains on her knees, looking around. There is furniture and fixtures whose purposes and use are unknown to her, even puzzling, but she quickly spies something that resembles a bench. Crawling to the bench, she kneels beside it, wondering what position she should take. Finally, she tucks her bottom down and leans forward, her forehead touching the floor beside the bench, breasts free and swaying beneath her loose dress, her bottom tucked underneath her, her arms at her sides supporting her.

As a tree, she felt neither cold nor heat, but the cold of the basement is beginning to enter her consciousness. Her cheeks are burning, but her fingers, her nose are cold and her nipples stand out beneath the silky top of her dress.

She waits silently. A tree knows patience.
 
I watch her kneel and descend before I move toward my back door and enter the kitchen. I will need a sharp blade, at least one, and my straight razors are in use elsewhere.

Quick steps lead me to the living room and I stoke up the fireplace, knowing that the fireplaces located in basement and in my bedroom will also alight.

The cold is numbing. Linden NEEDS heat. The feelings that heat arouses will be better for her than any cold, any where. I can heat her skin, break the ice that holds her...deep inside.

Take her pain and place it into something she understands.

I can do that, because she needs it.

Finally, I retreat from my Haven, return to the stairs and move...down them, holding sharp blade in my right hand. At the bottom of the stairs, my eyes move immediately to the picture Linden presents. Full out, kneeling', pretty tree girl who needs to feel...

something.


"Very nice. You will rise. Hands on the back of your neck. Legs shoulder width apart. Eyes on me."

I move to stand just before her so that when she rises, her eyes will see the blade. I want to strip her bare...my way.
 
She hears the door open, feels a slight movement of the air as it opens, then closes again. Senses heightened now, she hears the slight crunch of dust and gravel on the steps as Luna descends.

Trembling slightly, she keeps her head down, does her best not to move. She senses Luna before her just before she hears her voice.

With Luna's presence also comes a slight warming of the air, and there is a slight crackling of a fire. She bristles for a second, the unthinking aversion to all fire held by her kind, and then remembers that she had spoken to Luna long ago, received her assurance that all wood here was not taken from her live friends but the forest floor or standing trees long dead.

She gathers herself to rise, looks up and her eyes are caught ... and held ... by the knife in Luna's hand. Firelight dances on its blade, and her breath catches. Closing her eyes, she takes a deep breath and forces herself to think ... to remember how she trusts Luna, how she has come to her today in total trust, total confidence in her ability to heal.

She stands fully erect now, and her hands rise to lock behind her head. She shifts her right foot slightly to the side, looking down to make sure that her shoulders and feet are in line, and finally looks up, into the depths of Luna's eyes. She takes a deep breath. Another.

Her chin dips slightly but her eyes remain locked within Luna's. Her chin rises.

It is the only acknowledgment she can make.

The only acknowledgment she need make.
 
The blade scares her, just a bit, but she pushes away that fear. I can see her do so. She rises with a graceful motion, falling into the position I always ask for first, when I play, with an ease that belies the fact that we have NEVER played together before.

Not here, not anywhere.

I know that she worries about the fire but I told her long and long ago that I use only discards. No cutting into the trees that still draw in sunlight and produce oxygen. Not just for her but for myself.

Finally, when she has settled herself, I see the slightest movement of her head. She understands, I understand...and now we begin.


"I will strip you. No movement. No words. No noises."

Kneeling before her, I suit actions to words, catching the hem of her skirt with one hand while the other places the knife under, so that I am cutting toward myself. I do not want to cut her. I just want the clothing, as pretty as it is, gone.

There is a long rip of sound in the silence as the skirt parts beneath the steady lifting of sharp steel. I follow the sound, the motion, rising to my feet, following the blade, until the silken material is cut...and her skin is bared to my gaze.


"Drop it...and then place your knees on the lower step, bend over the top one...hands on the rail on the other side...we must...warm your skin, pretty."

web%20spanking%20bench%20stained%201.jpg
 
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Linden sinks deeper into Luna's eyes, her soul. The deeper she feels, the more confidence she feels. Her peripheral vision notices the knife blade moving, but her focus on Luna's eyes is constant.

"I will strip you."

The words shake her focus for a brief instant, and she trembles, but complies with the words that follow. She does not move a muscle. No sound. No speech, could she utter a word.

The knife dips, and again her peripheral vision notices the movement but her eyes remain still, still focused within Luna's. She feels the pull of the material as Luna grasps it, hears the rip and knows now how Luna plans to carry out the stripping.

The back of the knife is cold as it touches her belly, slipping beneath the tighter material there, parting the wisps of hair at the top of her mound, and she tenses. She tenses, but makes no move.

The knife continues upward, its back sliding across her belly then between her breasts until she sees its tip just below her chin.

Her breath catches as the silky material slips down her body and pools at her heels.

The words, so confident, subtly demanding and unable to be resisted compels her to instantly drop to her knees and turn to the bench. She kneels on the leather, cool to the touch and leans forward. Her breasts flatten on the upper level, nipples extending at the leather's frosty touch, as her arms stretch to find purchase at its edge. She lays her left cheek onto the leather and looks to her right, up to Luna and her chin dips slightly once more.

The coolness of the leather, the emotions roiling within her, and the stripping away of all that lay between her and Luna -- her clothes, her very will -- causes her to begin to tremble. Her mouth closes, and her teeth chatter nonetheless, but the look she gives Luna is not one of fear.
 
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Her instant obedience to my will pulls a smile from deep inside of me. It has been TOO long since I have felt this~drive, urge, control. I don't allow myself to play that way very often, not because I don't want to but because a certain amount of connection is needed for me to feel comfortable with whomever my prospective bottom is.

I have that surge with Kitty, on either side. I feel it to a lesser extent with JW. But Linden is something wholly new, for me. A way to reach out and grasp that submissive heart and mold it for my own, right now. Her needs coincide so easily to mine that I realize, right then, just how much I miss this.

Blinking, I drop the knife and move to my toy chest. It opens with a little squeak of sound and I gaze into it's depths. She wants to feel something...and I want to give her something...to feel.

But which first?

My eyes settle upon coordinating suede floggers and, before I can hesitate or over think it, small hands have grabbed them both up.

Using two at a time requires a certain level of dexterity, especially if one is NOT ambidextrous. Luckily, for the pair of us, I am...or ambi enough to use both without causing damage. What I want?

To redden her pale skin.
Bring a flush to the surface.
Drag words to her lips.

I will settle for the first two, for now.

I am still dressed, another oddity for me. Usually, I strip down to underclothing, so that I have more freedom of movement. BUT for a change, this is not wholly about me. I need the bit of distance clothes provide. That distance will keep her safe.

Back to her now, my wide eyes capturing her gaze. Words, when they come are low. Measured.


"Linden? I will start from your shoulders and work my way down to rise in your ass. I want your skin to flush. I want to hear the thud and slap. I do NOT want you to cry out or whimper. Instead, focus on the pain. On the slight sting, the heavy thud. Let it become you. NO noise."

And then I begin to slowly rotate my wrists, getting used to the movement of the falls as they fly through the air, the sound of swish and hiss. When I am confident in my ability to control the hits? I let fly.

Left.
Right.
Nape.

Left, right, left, right.
Shoulders.

And on...

and on.
 
Displayed on the bench, displayed to her, displayed FOR her, Linden remains unmoving, only her eyes following Luna's movements, even following her thoughts. It is as if there is a connection, tenuous at best, but present, between Luna and Linden that is akin somehow to the connection between Linden and her heart tree.

Linden's eyes are caught briefly by the dancing flames in the fireplace, cedar mostly, she thinks, with maybe wild cherry or plum but the creaking of the chest draws her gaze quickly back to Luna. She watches as Luna draws out twin implements that look to be made of some sort of leather. Strips of wide leather dangle from handles in a fashion very much like holding a handful of willow withes. The strips move sinuously, in concert with each other as Luna swings them tentatively.

Linden's breath catches at the sight of Luna's body, small yet compact, muscles moving under her skin as she strips her pants down, then her shirt over her head. She is beauty and strength, this wolfling; she is fur and tooth.

"Linden? I will start from your shoulders and work my way down to rise in your ass. I want your skin to flush. I want to hear the thud and slap. I do NOT want you to cry out or whimper. Instead, focus on the pain. On the slight sting, the heavy thud. Let it become you. NO noise."


The words are not heard, not really. Linden sees Luna's mouth move, but the words are taken deep within her soul in a way that bypasses her ears, that transcends the movement of sound waves through air. The repeated words "want" become her need, become her focus. What Luna wants, she wants and will give to Luna. Luna's commands to focus, to become one with the pain she has yet to experience become unalterable truths.

She tenses as the implements swish through the air, then realizes that in tensing, her focus subtly shifts to herself, not Luna. Not the pain that she has asked for, the pain that Luna will generously bestow. She focuses once more on Luna, on the swinging implements, and the words "Focus on the pain" are repeated silently with each swish.

Luna moves closer, and Linden's head moves ever so slightly, so that she can watch the wolfling at the edge of her vision. Sinking into the padding of the bench, relaxing, repeating "Focus on the pain" she watches the twirling grow closer and closer.

At the first slap, she tenses once more, then the mantra relaxes her and she focuses as bidden. The first few slaps are kisses on her skin, kisses that run from neck and shoulders down her back and onto her bottom. The next series are no longer kisses and while her voluntary muscles are relaxed as she repeats the mantra, her body involuntarily begins to react to the touch of the leather.

Her breathing quickens, her skin warms. The progression from neck to bottom, harder each time, neck to bottom, harder and harder becomes a mantra in itself. Each muscle, each inch of skin begins to act in preparation for the next swing as well as react to it.

"Focus on the pain." While her body reacts involuntarily, her consciousness is now wholly on those words. As the lashes move downward over her body in increasing intensity, the pain moves in a wave to follow the leather, yet the strips leave behind a residual, building level of constant pain that is added to on the next cycle. Sharp pain at the moment of impact, building and duller pain in its wake until a second later another sharp pain, slightly to the side or down, followed by a higher level of duller, residual pain.

Her skin is now on fire, her muscles becoming like water beneath the lash, but the sensations are welcome. She is feeling, at least on a physical level, and the feeling of feeling, the realization of that fact, floods her body with something akin to, but not yet truly, joy.

Over her shoulder, her eyes barely register the stripes arising on her flank. They see the swinging fronds but the details do not register. There is only Luna and pain. Luna, giving Luna, giving the gift of pain and Linden's focus, now thankful, for that pain.

Her body is still reacting involuntarily, and her focus is now so strong on the giver and the gift that her flowing tears, the sweat glistening on her brow, her legs, her arms, her belly and chest, places untouched by the lash go unnoticed. Her legs part slightly to accommodate another moist swelling of tender, yet untouched tissues.

The lashes continue and there is no distinction between stinging and thudding any longer. There is only pain. Only the gift.

And in focus on Luna's gift, she loses herself within it. She loses herself within the giver.
 
I watch her, as she valiantly does what I demand of her. She takes the pain and infuses it with something more.

I can see it~in the rise of color upon her flesh. I can sense it~in the way her body jerks as if it is being struck by lightening, even though she never once leaves her place. I know it~it's in the way her body tenses and relaxes~an all over body bliss out that leads her ever upward, ever onward, ever inward.

I love that. The knowledge that the one I play with is focused upon me, even to the detriment to their own skin. NOT that I would ever mar the perfection that houses her soul. Okay, I wouldn't mar it...much. Let's be real. There is no point in saying~as a Top, as a dominant, as a sadist~ that I wouldn't mar perfection. I would. But the marring will fade in time.

My thoughts range further and further afield as I watch her respond to the kiss of suede against her skin. My wrists maintain their motion, almost mindlessly, the steady twist flick of a hand that is used to this particular set of impulses and can go forever if I do not watch out.

Sadist haze.

I get that way. Where watching the flush, the blood, the jerking, the attempt to be oh so very quiet, oh so very still makes pulse jump. Make thighs spread slightly. Makes low mewling noises that no one is aware of, including me. It's like blissing out on pain/pleasure.

Only much, much better.

Finally hands, wrists, stop their infernal twirling and allow my eyes to take in her form. She is bright red from just beneath her neck to the bend in her knees. Scatter shot lines placed in odd patterns stripe her skin, making her look vaguely tigerish. I like that. I like it a lot.

One small hand reaches down, fondles wetness that I can see glistening between slightly spread, luscious thighs. Another smile~bigger, dimpled. Happy. Now, we are getting somewhere. I kneel down, so that I can look into her eyes. My voice, when I speak, is low and husky.


"I would like it if you would stand up...and walk to the cross."

My finger points to the cross. Once I see her begin to move, I turn and head back to the chest. I need new toys.
 
Luna's touch, so gentle and intimate, register only as one more sensation within the focus of her pain. Her brain recognizes all sensation only as pain, and the sole differentiation between the touch and the flogging is the break in the rhythm, the location which was not in the rhythm of neck, shoulders, back, bottom, legs. It puzzles her in the way that a break in a scent trail puzzles an ant following its fellows to a grasshopper, on a much less than conscious level.

"I would like it if you would stand up...and walk to the cross."

Linden's gaze, locked on Luna's eyes follows its way down as Luna kneels. Her ears hear the words, but it takes 20 ... 30 seconds for the hearing to be assimilated, processed, and become understood. Her entire being had focused solely on the pain from shoulders to knees, and the eyes of her tormentor, her gift giver. Only as the focus is broken can auditory signals become translated to conscious thought and recognition.

Linden opens her mouth to speak, but again finds it impossible to articulate a word, so nods.

The barely imperceptible nod stretches the muscles in her neck and shoulders, causing a fresh fire of pain. The focus is gone, and the muscles and skin shout their abuse.

"I would like it ..." Luna's words, understood now, become her focus, overriding but not eliminating the pain racking her body.

"Stand up" Coming up to another level of consciousness, that level where Luna's desire was her sole, overriding need, she rises slowly, yet steadily. Her shaking arms lever her up, her quivering legs raise her above the bench. She sways but catches herself.

"Walk to the cross"
Her feet shuffle to turn her 45 degrees to the large X on the wall. Her right foot moves forward. Left. Repeat. Reach the cross. Stop.

She stops, staring at the grain of the wood before her. Oak. Pin oak. Scarred. Scarred when growing? After? Closer observation reveals that scars occurred both before and after the cross's construction. Stripes and lines and punctures over the lines of the woodgrain.

She waits.
 
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Linden moves.

Like an old woman, beat down, abused, hurting. I want to watch her, to make sure her legs carry her the whole way to the cross BUT we all have needs. Her need is to feel something, anything, everything.

MY need is to help her in the best way I know. Most people might see our by play and think that I am just being abusive, hurting her, for no good reason. To them I would say "Fuck you." I am a healer first and foremost. It is part and parcel of my make up. I am giving her, exactly what she needs.

So, the toy chest is opened, floggers are cleaned and put away. I know that I will be tying her to my cross which means rope is needed. I pull out four pieces~ soft, silken, white shibari rope. I have to bind her so that her body does not ache from something other than what I want to do.

My other hand grabs both a riding crop and a flat leather strap.

Turning, I make my way to her side and stare at her with wide, honey brown eyes. She looks almost empty, like a fembot put on pause. She needs more input, further programming. I can give that.

Small, strong hands reach out to touch her, push her, align her with the X frame. Linden moves~slowly, a mermaid taken from the water, with legs for the first time. I position her hands, her feet~so that her body follows the beams of my cross and then~I begin to loop the lengths of rope through the eye bolts. Left side first and then the right one.

And during all of this, I never speak a word.

Once the rope is attached, I tie her. Wrists. Ankles. I leave her there, lewdly splayed~supple body lashed to the wooden frame like a sacrifice to the gods of sex. Her form glistens. Sweat. Tears. Other bits of moisture. My eyes cover each and every delectable inch, slowly and thoroughly, measuring her with my gaze.

She is beautiful to me.

Finally. Words.


"Crop first. Breasts. Nipples. Ribs. Cunt. I want NO whimpers but I do want words. I want you to count."

Footsteps until I am close enough to reach out and tilt her eyes toward mine.

"Do you understand me? I NEED you to count."

Right hand picks up the crop from where I dropped it and gives a few experimental swings. The whistle of sound makes me smile. Then, I step to her left and let fly.

*CRACK*

The flat lands upon her breast, just to the side of pale, perfect nipple. The dance has begun, again.
 
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Linden stands, staring at the grain of the cross, unaware of any sound in the room, barely aware of the presence of Luna behind her until she is turned, her back now to the cross, her hips barely grazing the bottom of the X. She complies woodenly with the arranging of her limbs, not looking even at her hands, her feet as they are secured to the eye-bolts.

"Crop first. Breasts. Nipples. Ribs. Cunt. I want NO whimpers but I do want words. I want you to count."

No words register with Linden until "I want ... Again, her focus is riveted once again on Luna's words, and her brain slowly assimilates the meaning of the words that follow those two.

"...count..."

Numbers? What is the first number? The effort to just remember how to count shows on her face, her body. She sweats more freely, trying to physically drive her brain to work on a level beyond driving physical movement. "Want ... count" ... those two words kick her brain into gear just as the first crack of the crop strikes her breast.

Linden's mouth moves. Her lips quiver. They pucker, trying to form the "W" sound. Once more, they pucker and "WWW---uhhhhh----nnnn" is heard, the intensity of the volume rising from a barely inaudible "w" to an "n" that is more of a drawn out groan.

She shakes, as if coming out of a trance, and her head lifts, seeking Luna's eyes. She tests her bonds, hands and ankles, and straightens her back, her breasts lifting..

She finds Luna's eyes and once more tears flow freely, but her chin lifts resolutely and with one more tug on the ropes at her hands, presents herself for the next gift from Luna.
 
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Linden is a light switch. Off while the pain deadens, on when the pain returns. For the Lady of the trees, there is NO in between state. I understand it. Sometimes, the in between state is a killer.

However, THAT is the reason for the words.

Linden allows herself to drift into the pain, to live in it, dwell in it. Counting means that she has to focus on numbers. Words. The present. I need her to be present for me in much the same way she needs the release that pain provides.

The first crack of crop upon skin drags out a rusty alto. Hesitant. Unsure. The word is turned into a breakdown of sounds, forced from a throat that hasn't had to speak for an eternity.

I nod.

Just once.

And continue onward, choosing each placement of the crop with especial care. It is a bit of a trick to NOT allow the flat portion to ever land in the same place more than once. EACH bit of flesh receives a kiss from the leather, every portion carries it's own red rectangle left behind as a memorandum.

Each strike brings on that cry of a dusty voice, forcing sounds past the barrier in Linden's brain.

I want that.


"Good girl. Very good. Let me hear you."

Eventually, my riding crop hones in on the juicy mound located at the juncture of her thighs. The first strike is light, so very light. I want her focused upon that...anticipating each progressive hit. I want her with me.

So I speak again.


"You see me? Good. You watching? Good. You counting? Very good. Watch this..."

Arm swings and the tip of the crop lands just that much heavier on the rise of pale flesh between splayed thighs.

A number.

There is not much more to tell. The sweet tree had gotten what she needed. I had gotten what I required. The scene, my basement, this counseling session...fades to black.
 
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The sign at the edge of my woods disappears. The main entrance is thrown open, dust and debris are disposed of. I have words due.

Soon enough the sounds of typing fill the air...

typing and singing.
 
With a happy smile, I read over the piece I have concocted for a patient male. I like it. It moves the story beyond out meal and allows him to lead for the next bit.

Who next?

My eyes scan owed posts and settle upon Sweet Pea. A few others have given their words and the good doctor has broken the sisters apart for the dance. I can react to both posts~sirs and hers before getting SP dressed for the evening.
 
*The tinny call of the clockwork bird signals his entrance into this part of the wonderful, wild woods.*

Quiet, you don't want to make the wolf upset. Wolves eat birds, metal or not.

*The bird squawks once quietly then stills its beak as his steps take him to the front porch of the cabin. Though the door is ajar, he knocks anyway*

Hello Mz. Luna. I thought I'd drop by to say hello. I know you're writing, so I'll be quiet and let you work. I hope you don't mind if I watch.

*He smiles as he crosses the threshold and moves into the room*
 
A distinctive scent captures my attention, scant moments before PGoD enters my domain. Honey brown eyes alight upon him and I find myself pushing away the lap top with a gleeful giggle.

Hello you!

I hurry over, grabbing his arm with one small hand and proceed to tug him into my living room

I am done with my first two pieces. All that's left is Lorna.

A bright grin before I flop down onto the couch and give his hand a brisk tug.

Why oh why do you have a clockwork bird??
 
*Her eager tugging has him seated on the couch beside her before he can think. A tilt of his head cues the bird to flit from his shoulder and land on the couch arm*

He's a friend, from my shop. I haven't given him a name quite yet, but I'm sure one will come to me.

*A single strong arm drapes over her shoulder and around to rub at her bicep*

I hope my post was enough to work with for Lorna.
 
A happy grin, eyes twinkling in the low light.

More than enough. I have already responded. I hope that it meets with your approval.

Head rests backward, leaning against strong arm. A low sigh.

You should not have a mechanical birdie with no name, PGoD. Especially since you've had your shop for so very long.

Honey brown eyes focus upon the bird.

SO what brings you through my woods today, Sir Fr33kness?
 
I shall read it momentarily. I'm sure it will be wonderful, as all your posts have been and continue to be.

*The bird squawks again, determined not to be forgotten, though it is the topic of conversation*

I had thought of calling him Icarus, but I'm not sure I can sell him on that one...

*The bird tilts its head, going from one side to the other and back again, he laughs softly at the bird's actions*

I...well, I just felt like visiting and saw you were in.
 
A blushing smile.

It would be far harder if you were not such awesome crafter of words, PGoD.
You make it easy for me to respond. (Usually)

Watching the bird, it's head bobbing to and fro, it's body jerking left then right.

Icarus? No way. Doesn't fit. HIS wings won't melt, no matter how close he gets to the sun. no wonder he doesn't like it.

Small hand rests upon a muscular upper thigh.

Well I am glad you stopped through. Now if only I could get you...

husky laughter, face turning bright red.

never mind.
 
Only usually?

*His grin shows his playful nature, though he is curious as to when he is incapable of allowing the easy flow of words from her*

You are quite the wordsmith as well, Mz. Luna. Yes, you're quite right about that name...if he were an owl, I'd simply call him Bubo. Alas, I'll have to wait until the right name hits me.

*He catches the blush, his grin widening, though his cheeks take on a bit of a ruddy glow as well*

Well with an inquisitive mind like mine, I can't never mind now...

*The hand on her upper arm squeezes her closer, their faces very near to each other now*

So what is it you wish you could get me to do?
 
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