Penwright blinked, caught off-guard by the sudden change of subject. “Oh, er…” He glanced around, trying to formulate an answer. “A-actually, the book that comes immediately to mind isn’t even one of my friends’, but one that I bought about a year ago.“ He spied Ickle gently tucking a strand of her lemongrass hair behind her shoulder, and felt his sanity running thin as her neck beckoned him to elicit feminine, beastial sounds from those lips he had, only moments ago, been offered to kiss.

"It’s a rather…” he wrenched his eyes back to hers but felt them begin to shine as he recalled the pages of the tome he had prized for years “…exhaustive…bestiary, covering creatures both real and mythical, as well as those whose existence is debatable.” The blush on his cheeks began to fade as his eyes started to shine with enthusiasm. “As you can imagine, it’s a very useful resource for my stories, and it even lists some creatures that I haven’t heard of before.” That, as he had expected, brought a brightness to his companion’s visage at the idea of such a mysterious book. Craving to satisfy that intellectual curiosity–and his own viewing of her excitement thereafter–he proposed, “I actually have it upstairs, if you want to take a look.” Before remembering a slight hitch in either of their satisfactions: his ever-excitable, ever-quick-to-jump-to-conclusions roommate, Petina.

His brow furrowed and his lips drew inward, as if he had briefly tasted something sour. Whatever mood he had, by Luna’s mane, been lucky enough to create with this enigmatic mare, he didn’t want it dampened by the prying questions their previous position might’ve inspired.

“It’s not as warm upstairs as it is here, though,” he posed, his eyes falling to the carpet, “and there is that marauding Petina lurking outside. I’m not about to leave you alone in here where she could corner you and subject you to her brand of inquisition.” He glanced at her, his eyes still warm and bright. “But if you want to, well…” He smiled, that scholarly enthusiasm returning. “It’s also fully illustrated. You wouldn’t believe what some of these creatures look like.” At that, he spied Ickle’s eyes grow wide with stunningly enticing anticipation, and he knew she couldn’t resist.

Merely a few minutes later, they escaped questioning–since Petina was, at the moment, busy in the powder room–and were seated in down-stuffed stools, pouring over books. Quite a bit of time had passed this way. They both, in the cozy bedroom, studying the pages of their selected materials. A large grandfather clock chimed gently downstairs. The sound was muffled by the thick, wooden door which was, of course, shut tight, but still it chimed:

Ting-ting-ting-tinngg (this note was held) ting-ting-ting-ting.

Silence followed. A page turned.

Ickle’s eyes flashed up to spy Penwright, who was studying her face. They blushed. Both turned their eyes back to the books. Silence.

Booooong… the clock boomed,

Boooong...

booooong…

boooong… and Ickle’s eyes once again drifted up.

This time his eyes were fixated on a particular article in his tome, and Ickle smiled at the chance to watch him read. He had chosen a book on dream interpretations and, while Ickle could see the appeal, she didn’t pry for why he chose it; especially after he handed her the Bestiary. While its thick, leathery cover, its warm, dusty smell, and the beautifully illustrated articles had once held her entire attention, she now watched Penwright’s eyes quickly scanning the page. He didn’t seem to be skipping details: he was simply a fast reader. His eyes tightened and stopped at a line, and he grimaced, ever so slightly. He seemed to mentally push himself to continue, and Ickle slowly started to smile as he continued.

What strange thing it is, she thought to herself, that I should find a stallion reading as curious as a butterfly’s flight. She, unknowingly, leaned towards him as she continued her thoughts. She felt the influence of Shakespeare speaking in her ponderings as she felt her eyes drift down his face. Its unique, flittering movements with purpose and meaning, yet subconscious and raw as visions of grass, trees, and words influence it so. Before she could stop to think, her hoof slowly reached out to his face, slowly, as if it really were a butterfly she didn’t wish to frighten. How might I bottle this butterfly, save it for later? As if I could revisit the site forever of such sporadic, understated grace. Still his eyes were fastened to the page. But I cannot bottle this butterfly, nor can I revisit the flitterings. But perhaps, every time this Metalmark–nay, this Monarch, takes flight… at this thought her lips betrayed her thoughts and she whispered, inches from Penwright’s face, "I might see its dance..?"

Immediately Penwright’s eyes were up. His eyes caught hers, so close to his, and the orbs darted their course to her lips, once again slightly parted, with her cheeks beginning to burn red.

"I…” she gasped, realizing she had spoken her last stanza aloud “I didn’t…I was just thinking.” She couldn’t help but cut herself off as Penwright dropped his book on the floor and reached his hooves around her shoulders, closed his eyes, and leaned in— (( V V V CLICK “READ MORE” TO SEE WHAT HAPPENS NEXT!! V V V ))

And she pulled her face to her left, landing Penwright’s feverish kiss on her cheek once more. Her eyes widened in fear of hurting him, but rather than erecting a stone wall between them, her actions only broke the dam that had held his passion at bay. Her face burned and she felt a lump grow thick in her throat as Penwright’s ardor spread, his kisses burning into her jawline, into her neck, and her shoulder. Words of inquisition, of confusion simply couldn’t come out, and she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted them to, if they would halt his lips. For a moment, just a moment, she let her head roll back and her eyes slowly close, drinking in his pleading affections like the sweetest honey that had ever graced her lips. He reacted in kind, practically moaning in eagerness as his lips began to open against her neck, releasing his tongue to press into her warm hide. A bestially pleasured shiver, like a mighty wave, knocked Ickle’s balance off her stool and she fell, out of Penwright’s arms, tumbling to the floor. Her hooves caught herself before she hit her head, but when she had landed, legs splayed, hair messy, and cheeks bright red, she displayed herself, unintentionally, as a more enticing treat to Penwright than a glass of ancient wine to an alcoholic.

However at that moment, forcibly separated by Ickle’s body’s reaction, the two finally caught their breath in deep gulps, as if they had submerged from a deep dive into dangerous waters and escaped alive. Their eyes never left each others with each heaving breath they mustered. The pull had returned, stronger than ever. A realization struck both of them in a flash: each of their bodies desperately, pleadingly, wanted the other. Penwright’s expression softened, yet with half-lidded eyes those ever-blue orbs melted Ickle’s bones as he alighted his stool. He pulled her upright gently, careful of any existing pains. Ickle felt none.

“Are you–” Penwright began, but as his voice was thick, he nearly choked on the words with a flash of surprise on his face. He tried to clear his throat surreptitiously, but Ickle already felt a bubble of loud, nervous, excited, mirthful laughter bubble up before she clamped her lips shut. Had she really made Penwright as nervous as she felt? His cheeks, if they could possibly, grew redder as he smiled sheepishly and chuckled, “Well I was going to ask if you were hurt but judging from that laugh I’d wager you’re fine.” He closed his eyes and Ickle grew anxious, but he touched his temple to her forehead gently, careful to avoid jabbing her with his horn. It was a soft gesture; a calming gesture.

Ickle’s eyes followed suit, closing gently. She whispered to the space between their lips “Penwright…we almost kissed.."

At this Penwright brought a forehoof up the length of her arm, sending shivers up and down. He whispered just as quietly, like they were schoolfoals sharing a great secret, "do you want us to..?” And he pulled his head away from hers and looked into her face, studying it for an answer. She brought the frogs of her hooves up to cup his face and, as always, surprised him with what she had to say.