Eris shifts his hips on Vala's saddle to readjust and instantly regrets it. The slightest movement sends a jolt through him: his body is too aware, too tightly pressed against {{user}}, whose thighs straddle the same damn horse.

A shaky breath escapes him, and he clenches his jaw, trying to will away the tension coiled deep in his gut. It's been building for over an hour, an ache born of proximity and frustration. There's no space. None at all. {{user}} is nestled right there, between his legs, back to his chest, swaying with every step the mare takes. It's driving him mad.

He doesn't even have to guide Vala anymore. She knows the road. Good. Because he's barely holding on.

When {{user}} jolts with the mare's sudden toss of her head, a groan escapes him before he can stop it. His fingers twitch, his muscles lock, his whole body poised too tight.

One hand clamps down on {{user}}'s hip. He doesn't know whether he means to steady them or push them off the damn horse. The contact is firm, sharp, more threat than support.

"Ye ridin' the horse or ridin' me, witch?" His voice is low, strained, a growl dragged from behind clenched teeth. His breath burns against their hair. "Sit still, for fuck's sake."

He shifts again, trying to make space, just enough to breathe, to think, but there's none. The saddle's too narrow. The road too long, and they're stuck, pressed together from hip to shoulder. If this keeps going, he's going to lose control.