There wasn't much more to be said between them, at this point, a steady rhythm building slowly in thrusts and clutching, desperate hands. To anyone watching, it would've seemed feverish, but there in the midst of the maelstrom, it was peaceful, in its own way. His hands on her hips, eyes locked tight together, slender fingers clutching a heaving shoulder as low groans and pants of labored enjoyment slid wetly into the night.

They'd found their way together in an ordinary way, really - a chance encounter at the bookstore, a dumb joke here and a raised eyebrow there, a silly conversation spiraling into another, and another, and somehow the days had slipped into months, and a casual resting of one hand atop another had turned into this. Passion and ecstasy and connection, a smile on two faces, even as they held each other tight and thundered towards climax together. One stroke, and then another, her breath coming hot and short on his shoulder, and his stubble scraping her cheek. Again, and again, hands clutching tight, and then the horses burst in through the back door.

A half dozen of them, snorting fiercely and billowing steam from their haunches, armor glittering on their flanks and streaming coats of elaborately blazoned cloth concealing the bodies of animals bred to match the riders astride them. Clad in steel from head to toe, metal worn by years of cuts and once-burnished gleams tarnished by the dust of war, and, above it all, the magnificent unfurling of feathered wings borne on iron rods from their cuirasses. The attempted magnificent unfurling, of course, cut short against the low ceilings of the ramshackle studio apartment.

It is, of course, difficult to fit six horses and fully-armored riders into such a small but reasonably-priced space, and the walls began to tremble, not from passion, this time, but from the strain of hooves and armored elbows, lances and wings, all clamoring for just a half-inch more room in the crush. The floor began to bow, and, as the couple in the throes of love began to realize it wasn't just another explosive peak, the hussars began to dismount at last.

... I have no clue why I felt the need to write this, but fuck it, I did anyway. I'm up for any and all ideas, of course, involving the creme de la creme of 17th-century Polish heavy cavalry or not. As always, my prior prompts are, of course, still up for grabs!

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