AN: What even is this ._. not the weather forecast! but probably the closest thing to smut you'll ever get from me (I totally blame the heatwave for this! u.u)
She's a thunderstorm. He knows now when he sees dark heavy clouds beyond the mountains that she was born with lightning in her veins. Her fingertips on his skin send small electric charges down his spine and the quiet fury simmering behind her eyes is the distant rumble of the thunder up above.
Her mane curling with the weather, weavering in the wind, as she closes her eyes and meets his lips.
It's the touch of rain on the ground and the wet shock of electricity filling his lungs, that first taste of thunderstorms he only ever saw from afar.
He smells like the earth, like the tree he tended in his youth. It's in his hair, in the hollow of his collarbone, on her tongue, and it sinks deep in the pit of her core that he's certainty.
He's solid and unmoving and salty like tears, but there's fire underneath she can feel. It's stirring, melting, bubbling, ready to sweep her off her feet when she's already up high, whirling with the storm, and his arms are grounding her, scorching her flesh where they touch.
He calls her name and she falls in that sinful prayer again and again.