<center><table width=350 bgcolor="#000000" cellpadding=5 cellspacing=0 style="border:1px solid #408bc4;"><tr><td background="http://i28.photobucket.com/albums/c249/miseryx/attop.png" height=198></td></tr><tr><td><div align=justify><font color=white style="font-family:verdana; font-size:10px; line-height:10.5px;"><font color=#244e6f> <div align=center></div> Dyo 46th, 81380- Att's 20th birthday. For the beloved Muerrin. It sort of… died at the end. :/ PG-13 for possible lewd indennou (sp?), sensuality, language, and implied drug/alchohal use. Nothing beyond that, kiddies. We don't want our brains to get fried, do we? Well- maybe we do. But not right now. <div align=center></div> Something echoed faintly, subtly amplifying a low, gently rustling behind him. For three days now, Attrius had been taking a well-deserved break from life with his lover, Pyemme Djaam, in the Vivuli. It was coming out well. Turning his head, the obsidian half-Yki saw the jut on which they stood sloped steeply down to a broad ledge adjoining a sheer cliff face. The ledge narrowed and curved around the cliff on both sides; it led downwards. Down the escarpment’s face from above streamed a curtain of water, the stone’s featureless black visible behind the swiftly moving glaze. Reaching the spacious ledge, the transparent fall fanned out, rippling and murmuring, before spilling into wafts of pale spray to the small white clouds below. The sheet of frothy, churning water that lapped at the ledge, originated from the waterfall, was less than a foot deep. Att stood before the roiling sheet of liquid glass, side by side with his goddess, staring at the colorless flow of water washing the cliff and spilling into the shallow basin below. He slipped into the flat darkness behind the small waterfall, the ends of his khaki cargo pants soaked as he waded through the shoal tarn. The dark arden turned to Pyemme, and with a slight cupped gesture of his hand, motioned for her to follow him. It was a cave. The path beyond was unlit; worn with age. Attrius lost all sense of time. The inner walls were veined with tailflame: silver, gold, iron-black; uncut jewels, crystals of fire and ice, midnight-blue, smoky yellow cracking through their husks of stone. Arched trails, high passageways wandered through webs of shadow. Rocks thrust upwards from ceilings vaulted and lost in blackness, formed by the slow sculpture of forgotten ages. The arden stood in a silence that had its own voice. He followed like a breath of dark wind the slow, imperceptible movements of dark streams, thin as glass, that deepened and then hewed through hidden chasms and spilled into vast, measureless, heated lakes, where tiny nameless things lived in a colorless world. He came to a flat face of stone, polished green torn with black and webbed with the light from his flickering tailflame. Before him stood a door carved into the rockface. Thousands of years old, unweathered, orginless, the door yielded no answer to his silence. Finally, he laid one paw flat on the smooth stone. The door swung at his gentle touch to a crack of darkness. Att eased forward, firelight flaring off walls of milky white stone shot through and veined with deep blue. It was a chamber, vast and high-vaulted, and yet intimate and shut off from the rest of the world; the soft plash of moving water met his pricked velveteen ears. What laid ahead startled Atti: a basin of steaming, bubbling water hissing with spume- natural hot springs of freshwater, rising up to his chest. Two shallow ledges rose up from the bottom of the simmering pool- one waist-high, the other about a foot deep. <font color= "#abcce4"> “Pyemme,"</font> he purred. <font color= "#abcce4">“C’mon in."</font> Slipping off his pants, the arden slid in the tepid water with a contented sigh. As the liquid warmth enveloped him, the arden felt the cords of taut of taut musculature that lined his body go lank, and he sat on the ledge with his bandaged arms draped over the dry ground, his head on his paws, tanzanite optics hooded shut in languid pleasure. Pale, milky steam trailed through the chamber in a steady, tendriled trail of vapor; the thick miasma hung on the surface of the spring. Some called it happiness. </div></td></tr></table><center>
<table width="350"><tr><td style="border: 1px solid #FFFFFF; background: transparent; padding: 5px;"><span style='font-size:8pt;line-height:100%'><span style='color:#CCCCFF'><div align="right"><span style='color:#9966CC'>out of character many a luminous jewel lone</span></div><div align="justify"> I don't feel like ghost-posting too much, and besides, I don't think I quite understand the description of the waterfall and all that, so this post'll pick up in the middle-ish of yours. xD </div><div align="right"><span style='color:#9966CC'>in character make lures with the lights of streaming stone</span></div><div align="justify"> As the two descended into the numinous darkness of the caverns, Pyemme couldn't help feeling as if the planet had suddenly shifted, accelerating its frantic twirl towards night. She followed her lover faithfully through the grotto, walking a few steps behind and pursuing the dancing azure tail flame that wavered behind his back. They trod silently, reverently, through the expansive caves until daylight twinkled into nothingness behind them, disappearing behind jagged stalagmites as their path twisted away through the grotto. Soon, all she could see clearly was Attrius's illuminated back, which was, though handsome enough in itself, not particularly entertaining. Her attention turned elsewhere, icy eyes straining into the darkness as she spied the shadowy space around her. Here was a perfect replica of nighttime. Blackness stretched high overhead and in all directions, and points of light danced across the obscurity. Faint red, blue and golden crystals, like the stars themselves, glittered and winked from their constellations set into stone of slate-black hue. Here and there, traces of metal ore were smudged across the rock, like distant nebulas. The lukuo momentarily considered reaching out and touching a cavern wall, but found herself too afraid that her fingers would reach out into the black and strike nothing, as if she were groping for a handful of empty sky. Slowly, she came to the realization that she had stopped walking, and her guiding arden had disappeared. She looked about, turning her head side to side and causing her numerous earrings to jingle eerily in the dark. Its was almost pitch black now without his tail flame, and she couldn't begin to guess where he'd gone. A quiet burbling sound caught her perked auds suddenly, and she looked to where there was a sliver of azure light drawn onto the sheer rock face. She approached it curiously, to find that it was in fact a door slightly ajar. She slid through, her small golden body easily sidestepping through the opening without further disturbing the door. The warm scent of sulphur struck her nares suddenly, unpleasant in itself but signaling something far more enjoyable. To her great relief, she spied Attrius... "Pyemme, c'mon in." She quickly raised a hand to her maw, daintily suppressing a giggle. The arden was stripping without a second thought, casting his pants aside and stepping into what, to her amazement and delight, appeared to be a clear, steaming pool, fed by hot springs. The corners of her dark, thin lips turned upwards in a smile. <span style='color:#9966CC'>"How did you know about this place?"</span> she asked curiously, beginning to undress. She slid her small day pack from her shoulders and lowered it to the stone floor carefully, cautious about jostling its contents. Then, all too thankful for the staggering darkness, she tugged her t-shirt over her head and dropped it next to her pack. Casually sliding out of her cropped jeans, she moseyed towards the pool's edge, sitting on the dry ground and lowering one leg into the water, experimentally. She hummed softly in pleasure as the hot liquid closed over her toes and warm steam curled gently around her leg. </div></span></span></td></tr></table>
<center><table width=350 bgcolor="#000000" cellpadding=5 cellspacing=0 style="border:1px solid #408bc4;"><tr><td background="http://i28.photobucket.com/albums/c249/miseryx/attop.png" height=198></td></tr><tr><td><div align=justify><font color=white style="font-family:verdana; font-size:10px; line-height:10.5px;"><font color=#244e6f> <div align=center></div> I mmmiiiisseeeddd you, love. I lurve this post. And I love your new siggy and PR's profile. 'Tis yummy. <div align=center></div> Thinking was out of the question. Moving was beyond his current capabilities. And so the vanquished half-Yki lay where he had fallen, the siren's song of Pyemme's whisper still torturing his consciousness. Or lack thereof. Was he conscious? He couldn't nearly tell...and at the moment, it did not seem to matter overly much. A low growl threaded from his throat, an undulating whine smoothing the gruff rumble, rendering it groan rather than growl. For lifetimes, eternities, he lay without moving, the thudding cadence of chocolate-dipped paws drumming dully through his ragdoll-limp form. I surrender. Anything. Everything. A pair of sultry, seductive paws traced their way across the earth, moved towards him, and his ears flickered in recognition of the step. The male slowly pushed himself to his stomach, shaking his head a bit at the strange, heady sensation that was clouding his senses. He lay sphinx-like, his muzzle still pressed to his paws on the ground, back arched, lower half submerged; his eyes watching her every movement with a strange and silent intensity. And then all was forgotten as the voice of his goddess rang with hot, sweet nuances upon his ear. <font color= "#abcce4"> "Oh, my sweet lady..."</font> he murmured, his words barely more than a whisper. <font color= "#abcce4"> "Oh, Pyemme... how you bewitch me..."</font> Had he spoken aloud? He certainly hadn't meant to. But the echo of his baritone caress was upon his own ears, fading into silence. Retrospect had never been sweeter. He would never forget the intoxicating, breathless intimacy of that prolonged series of moments. Never forget the exquisite way she'd breathed in his scent, drinking him in, her beautiful eyes searing their feral, untamed signature upon his heart. And he knew himself changed, transformed, from the ‘dragon he had been into something infinitely more and, somehow, something infinitely less. Nostrils flaring, he drew in the heady, spiced scent of her and sighed deeply, his muscles quivering with the release of the breath he hadn't realized he was holding. Atti watched, transfixed, as Pyemme easily passed him by and turned, the powerful grace of her body manifest as she moved to slip into the churning waters. Quietude fell over the two. <font color= "#abcce4"> “I’m… not sure how I came upon it. I just- stumbled over it, I guess."</font> He paused. <font color= "#abcce4"> "Pyemme."</font> Not a mockery. A plea. A prayer. He tasted the syllables as they filled his mouth, spilled them unto the zephyrs, reverently. Fervently. His muzzle curved up at the corner in a roguish half-grin, tongue flickering out and swiping at his muzzle. Swallowing almost painfully, heart thudding in his chest, he deliberately closed the remaining distance between, fur meshing with fur- golden wheat on a charred black field. He found his neck arching gently, his muzzle slipping forward, parting faintly. He kissed the hollow of her neck, tongue swiping forward, brushing the shining fur. She was the only one for him. He offered a low groan, his baritone growl undulating, wavering, lingering along her throat. And the need to speak disappeared, replaced immediately with the need to touch her. He pressed nearer, his chest lightly flushed against hers, heartbeat racing in response to her nearness. And he wondered. Is this allowed? Should I be doing this? Am I doing it right? But the heat, the growing fire, answered for him. Yes and yes and yes. </div></td></tr></table><center>
