Hideaway Strath Oh, I just want to take him home

The feeling burning her up had one gotten more intense despite the night she had spent curled into Lotte. Selfishly she had clung to the greyscale woman, needing her comforts and her knowledge and her assurances but when dawn broke over the Strath she knew if she didn't call to the gangster she would most likely die before night came again. It was a lie, of course, an exaggeration of the highest order but she had never been taken by such a sensation and Lotte had only chuckled darkly at the rumblings Hemlock offered. 

Surely @Arturo knew the state of his women, given how their mutual song had carried through and no doubt Hemlock's scent had permiated as well. It was less a secret now, but, how they might make it to the other side of this was the true question. Hearing Lotte say she wanted her made her heart stammer - but still, the bonds of Lotte and Arturo were ones Hemlock never imagined she could touch. There was not jealousy there. There was respect. 

With a soft kiss to the cusp of @Lotte's bear like ear Hemlock waited for the male, still near grinding herself against the other female - craving her scent and her contact as a means to calm her nerves. 

As the scent of Lotte and Hemlock entwined tickles his nostrils Arturo is struck with a strange sense of jealousy. Strange if only because under normal circumstances he is far from bothered by Lotte and Hemlock’s affections for one another. Why would he be? He, himself, harbors a growing affection for the flame kissed woman and has even considered inviting her into their wedlock. Lotturo becoming Hemlotturo — but has yet to do so lest he give Lotte an coronary from dropping too many bombs on her right after the other. Ceannsach knows where this smarting jealousy comes from. Hemlock has been in heat for some time and he is agitated that she has not come to him first; and while this is hardly the first time he’s been near a woman in heat and usually he can apply a sense of rationality and logic to it (control his primal urges) it is different as it was with Lotte. Because he has no reason to temper primal urges; and sometimes the gangster grows tired of being a stoic all of the time.

Especially when Hemlock’s hormones call to every carnal desire the gangster harbors, hotly and much like a siren’s song.

“Hemlock.” Is her name a demand or a plea as it falls from his lips like a strangled, rasp of inhaled smoke as he fixates upon her? He does not know and casts a fleeting glance at Lotte for a moment before twin sun irises burn towards Hemlock. If he were not burning as if he were caught in a inferno he might have considered that he has never seen a sight so lovely as the two women he loves together but Ceannasach is in no mood for such poetic thoughts. He moves towards her with purpose, much more go a mobster than the guise of gentleman he wears.

 

In her waiting she stews, equal parts terrified and ready - there is this feeling in her she can't quite describe and though she knows the mechanics this is utterly different. There is so much more feeling to it, to everything, and it is palpable like a charge in the air. Everything has taken note it feels, and Hemlock cannot why away from what they have decided upon. The moment that Arturo is in her line of sight she let's out a soft crooning sound, hoping to draw him closer. 

Maybe it is the game. Maybe she weaves her head beneath Lotte's as a sign of affection or deference, maybe she does so to further entice the gangster. Her tail sways slowly, her green eyes fixed on the fire of his gaze and she offers a coy smile. He approaches and she considers for a moment the way she might move; if it were to sink down, to offer herself or make him work for her she isn't quite sure. "I had assumed you would have come sooner," She teases fondly, finally unwinding herself from her place against Lotte to lick his chin. 

She takes a slow path around him, careful not to touch too much - to stay just beyond his grasp. Just to tease, perhaps equally for Lotte's benefit. 

You can powerplay Lotte however you guys like! I won’t be posting in every round probably. ♥

Lotte was a maelstrom of mixed emotions, but she tucked the negative ones beneath a polished veneer she’d been working hard to cultivate. She responded to Hemlock’s ministrations in kind, taking particular care to keep the female’s appetite for the game as whetted as she could with practiced nips, licks, and nibbles — but there was a huge part of her that was stone cold sober, and worried about her future in Teaghlaigh. Keeping the secret about Sirius and Ran didn’t seem nearly as exhilarating when Arturo arrived on the scene and murmured not “Lotte” but “Hemlock,” and although the soturi herself had sanctioned their union she now feared they would both find greater fulfillment with each other than they had with her. She watched the glorious fire of her husband’s eyes turn from her visage to another woman’s — a woman as bright and shining as the twin mirrors that were transfixed upon her lissome framework — and she was again filled with jealousy and desire. Hemlock wanted her there, and there was part of her that wanted to watch — but she was ready to vacate the scene should her presence prove detrimental to the process.

The noise that spills from betwixt Arturo’s lips, riding up his throat where it threatens to catch as the gangster watches Hemlock rub her head against Lotte’s, is part frustration and part pant. Her croon made moments previous entice him to draw nearer and he obeys, drawing nearer to the pair. If she means to tease him: it works. It hardly seems fair that Lotte has gotten to enjoy her first — but Arturo is biased by his sex and the fact that he plays a crucial role in procreation, regardless of how short it may be. “I wanted you to come to me,” He tells her honestly, despite that he knows she is teasing. It remains true, though. It would have been easy to pursue her but that wasn’t what Arturo wanted. He wanted her to be ready, was trying to ignore the primal call in favor of being respectful. Lotte had been scared their first time (though she had not been in heat the very first time) and that was not so long ago that Ceannasach forgets.

Hemlock licks his chin and Arturo lets out a low, heady rumble of desire. In the end, he thinks, it is he that came to her, after all. So maybe his self control is not as strong as it had once been. Or perhaps he wanted this for her. He wanted Hemlock to have the chance to have children of her own womb. Not Lotte’s and not Olive’s. To have to settle for orphans, cast-offs, and godchildren was hardly fair. Arturo couldn’t bring Palisander back and certainly could never be the man but he could do this. He could promise that in Lotte and his arms that she would be loved. He could promise to love the Hemturos as throughly and unconditionally as he loves the Lotturos (and his eldest children).

She stays just out of his grasp, careful to avoid further contact but his skin crawls and the gangster shudders with the anticipation; but he is a gentleman again (for the moment anyway), letting her decide the pace of the intimate game they play.

 

Being apart from Lotte feels harder, somehow, and standing on her own causes her to be more aware of every movement the three of them make. She can feel their eyes on her, captive audience they make up and it is an exhilarating power. She isn't used to it, but, she revels in it. "I was a bit... Preoccupied." Hemlock admits with a breathy laugh, eyes fluttering as she reaches out to nip his hip. 

When she steps before him again she presses a soft kiss to Lotte's snout, appreciating her presence and this gift that she gives. She does not imagine how hard this must be, not for her closest friend, her dearest companion. Thoughts are far away from anything but them - not the children, not her deceased husband, there is nothing in her mind but the two of them. She turns to face Arturo again, this time pressing into his embrace with a breathy whine as she nuzzles against him. To be coated in both their scents, claimed and safe, it entices her further. 

"Please," She whispered softly, mouth mostly in the dark of his fur - it might have just been a rumble rather than words. This will be new for her, and she intends to give herself fully in whatever capacity they want of her. 

“I see,” The quiet rumble of accented, smoky timbre bears amusement and Arturo is glad that it does not betray the inferno that burns him alive from the inside. Ceannasach is far from a green boy when it comes to the estrus cycles. He bears a will strong enough to turn a blind nose to it — has done it when he chased a woman in heat from Teaghlaigh’s borders shortly after the pack’s conception. Yet, at the end of the day Arturo Fearghal is a man still and he has known that when Hemlock went into her’s that they would have one another and that makes a difference, he thinks. Make the siren call so strong that he would sooner drown then fight it. He feels the nip of her teeth against his hip and a shiver slithers it’s way down his spine. His flesh is heated beneath the melanistic fur that covers his svelte body, each wiry muscle pulling taunt as she circles him.

Arturo watches as Hemlock pulls from him to place a kiss upon Lotte’s muzzle and he manages to think through the haze that has consumed him that he should be sure to pay Lotte plenty of attention after Hemlock’s cycle has concluded, to assure his gangster queen that his desire and love for her is still just as strong as it’s always been. Both of the women before him have became so important to him, so crucial in keeping him sane. Without them he would be devastated. Without them he would surely be broken. To lose one of them would be to lose something vital in himself: a heart, a lung. Something he cannot live without. It had never been his intention because it had been no secret that he thought himself incapable of love. Yet, it came to be.

Hemlock comes into his embrace, and the tension in his muscles melt away as the gangster re-animates, drinking in her scent greedily. She smells of herself, of her cycle but of Lotte also. Her breath stirs his fur as she pleas …or rumbles to him — regardless he understands. He draws a line of kisses along her nape, teeth raking through the longer tendrils of fur there and detaches himself from her embrace to snake his body along the length of her’s, leaving small nips and kisses in his wake. When he reaches Hemlock’s hip he traces the supple curve with his muzzle, offering a nip of his own as she had done to him, letting out quiet rumbles of desire and softened purls of building pleasure. He is close to the source of her decadent scent now and it threatens to entirely bewitch him. The fire has begun to focus pointedly in his loins and he rounds so that his chest is almost against her derriére. He nips lightly at the junction of her tail and curve of her spine, smoothing his tongue over the fur he has ruffled there from his nip.

Hemlock is in charge of this. Arturo demands nothing of her. Hemlock is not a lover to take from: she is a woman that deserves to be worshipped, to be treated right: as Arturo does with Lotte.

 

Hemlock can only respond, body begging even as the words fail her. It feels good, it feels right, being in both of their embrace and the safety that they provide. It is a feeling she hadn't known before, something that wraps her and keeps her grounded. The moment contact is made between them Hemlock shivers at the flurry of kisses, Lotte had prepared her but not for this! It is being swept out to sea, lost in a current that Arturo creates and no amount of preparation would have given her this insight. She had not expected passion, and perhaps that was a foolish notion, knowing how driven Arturo could be. 

His touches travel her body at near leisure, and Hemlock can only blame herself for the frenzy she feels now. If she had not been stubborn, if she had only given in - but she had sought Lotte and the familiar comforts of the woman's touches. Arturo she had known longer, but, she had perhaps kept herself more guarded to the mobster thanks to his gender, or some other obligation she can't properly think of now. Hemlock let out a soft crooning sound, the shudder at his nips only shaking loose more of the damning scent - she had not been present when Lotte had faced her heat, she wondered if it bewitched the entire pack then, too! 

She can not help the teasing twitch of her tail as it moves aside for him, nor can she truly stop the slow shift of her legs as she presents herself. Lotte knows this would be her first time, that even Palisander had never pulled her into this embrace. Perhaps it is better this way, that she is unaware and unfamiliar and that the gift the pair gives her is something wholly knew. Hemlock lets her eyes close, almost bashful, she hasn't thought to tell Arturo the truth; she gives herself fully, entirely to them, and this time when she beckons him it will be with a new purpose entirely. Braced she waits with baited breath for him to settle above her, every moment threatening to only consume her more. 

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He draws in a few deep breaths, though he is already fully intoxicated by the saccharine scent that Hemlock’s body puts off, stronger as she shudders under his ministrations. Arturo has always prided himself on being a patient, thoughtful lover but it is harder to keep that up in the frenzied demand that a female’s estrus cycle entices. Arturo feels the teasing twitch of her tail as he presses his chest flush with her, intertwining their scents in a delicious way that lets a small rumble linger in his throat. He feels Hemlock shift her weight in preparation to accommodate his — though if there was any time that Arturo was glad for his coywolf genetics it is that he is not overbearingly large or heavy and he does not feel worry about accidentally crushing her beneath his weight. Still, as he hooks a front leg over the supple curve of her hip he will remain mindful and support most of his own weight upon his back legs. He draws up along her, aligning himself and grasping her scruff betwixt his teeth. His legs tighten, pulling her back or him forward — Arturo is hardly focused upon specifics — and with a roll of his hips as he shifts his weight upon his back paws they are joined. Though every muscles within him screams to see it done he gives her a moment to adjust.

 

The anticipation of his touch makes her even more aware, the delicate sensations only intensifying everything. Overall, it is overwhelming, and if she could find the words she might beg Lotte closer to nuzzle into her and bury her face in the woman's plush. She can't find words, however, nor proper thoughts, the moment that Arturo grips her close. In this she stammers out a breath, her heart surely in her throat, as his weight is added to her own. Ultimately she is glad for Lotte's presence, a comfort to her even as Arturo binds them - and that, that is some divine feeling she had not anticipated even in its newness! Lotte is the experienced one of the two females, younger but more worldly. Hemlock often forgets she is older, it has never mattered between the pair, and she draws her comfort in the support she feels from them both. 

Arturo could be ruthless, a means to an end, but his tenderness and patience makes her appreciate him all the more. After a few long breaths she gives a slow roll of her hips, testing, enticing (or so she hopes!) because while this has a purpose, she also wants to please him. Her green eyes blink as she focuses on the ground - still bashful, not wanting to seem like she revels in borrowing Lotte's husband though even that knowledge consumes her too, it is a new fire, something burning and sweeping through her. What was a mere spark is now a wildfire, and she let's herself be consumed willingly. 

Jealousy!

Lotte could not have predicted the welter of joy and fury she now feels, and she paces restless circles around the mating wolves with moonbright eyes glittering feverishly. She is an inherently confident female and knows the depth of her husband’s love as well as she knows the wealth of Hemlock’s affection. She licks her lips as she watches Ceannasach grip the firebright nape between his teeth and hook his svelte legs before those supple, virginal hips — and finds herself dissatisfied with Hemlock’s guarded response.

Lotte is not shy about taking matters into her own hands; her mood changes with a swift snap! of a nonchalantly held whip. “Let go,” she urges in a silky, sinister tone, knowing Arturo to be nearly past the point of coherent speech. “You are ours and we are yours — you should sing for us, liekkikukka.” She nips teasingly at one cream-and-cinnamon feathered ear, bathing the woman’s face in kisses, preening at the fur along her too-silent throat. “Cry your pleasure — let me know it,” she whispers, tantalizingly drawing her tongue along the bulb of Hemlock’s ear. “Does it feel good? Or is there more you need?”

She leaves Hemlock abruptly to think about these matters, circling around their joined hindquarters — and although Arturo is a little preoccupied, Lotte seeks in her own way to add to his pleasure. She has never seen her husband from this particular angle, and although the jealousy lingers, she finds that the long, lean lines of his body are entrancing even when they are not used to her direct benefit. She nibbles at the base of his tail, licking up along his hip and what she can reach of his spine, being careful not to dislodge him — and then backs off a bit, allowing them some breathing space. She has every intention of leaving them alone for the duration of Hemlock’s heat unless she is directly called for — but this first time, she plans on being as active a participant as they will allow.

Hemlock gives a roll of her own hips and Arturo rumbles his pleasure, his approval as he — sure that he has a good grip upon her now as he sets a rhythm, enticed by Hemlock’s participation in their copulation — nibbles lightly at her free ear. Arturo is a vocal lover, rumbling approval and pleasure in low purls of what could be husky growls but absent of malice. He lets out a heavy pant as he draws his hips forward again and again, a puppet of instinct; a willing slave to the desire that Hemlock entices within him. The sensations running through the coywolf’s body are heightened and the gangster lets out a low croon into the fur of Hemlock’s nape as he grasps it once more betwixt his teeth as he feels Lotte’s ministrations at the base of his tail and hip. It is dangerous, he could have just as easily snapped at her but he tries to manifest that urge for Hemlock. Lotte had her time uninterrupted and so too, should Hemlock, but Arturo is beyond many rational thoughts and seeks only to see Hemlock and himself to their zenith.

 

She knew - and Hemlock could not have been surprised by that, Lotte had inexplicably learned her moods and her preferences. She let out a startled gasp as Lotte came to comfort her, tending sweetly to her. Hemlock pressed her shaky kisses, far less coordinated than Lotte had been, against the darker beauty. "I will always be yours," Hemlock vowed - what more could she wanted than the two of them? 

The promise of Lotte's words enticed her, that her voice and her happiness were wanted in that moment. There was no shame in how she felt and there was no room for her to shy away from these feelings. Being commanded and encouraged so made her let out a soft crooning sound as Lotte even kissed her throat to coax more sounds from her. 

She gasped and let out soft sounds of pleasure, Arturo's motions finally satisfying that near itch deep in her. She was more breathy, attempting to move with his motions without dislodging him. 

Hemlock croons beneath him but he has dismissed it as the ministrations of Lotte and not his doing. Given the current circumstances and the time afterwords that Hemlock and him could not physically part from one another he is unable to aid in such endeavors. He does what he can do to make it pleasurable for her. Arturo nearly loses it, nearly brings the rocks of their hips to an end at Lotte’s teasing ministrations; she certainly helps the process along (despite that he doesn’t truly need assistance). His pace slows as the tension within him builds, like the tightening of a coil and with a last roll of his hips his seed spills within her. After a few moments, Arturo releases her scruff and slides off of her as to not further burden her with his weight by accidentally collapsing upon her, spent as he is. He is careful not to tear them apart when he moves and takes in a deep breath and releases it in a slow exhale. “We haven’t discussed names yet.” The gangster murmurs with a soft chuckle, though he leaves the choice up to pillow talk up to Hemlock.

The inevitable climax that Lotte had unnecessarily urged along brought about a feeling in the soturi that she didn’t really know what to do with. She felt empty, and it wasn’t the pleasurable void of physical energy that left an afterglow to soothe the spirit; it wasn’t the same as what she’d felt after giving herself to Arturo or giving birth to their children. She felt vulnerable in a way she didn’t like, and for Lotte, the only way to alleviate this situation was to get out and do something. Leaving Arturo and Hemlock twined together, “I will be your guardian,” she avowed, meandering close with small, bearlike ears skimmed back to pay smiling homage to each coveted mouth, and disappeared into the shadows of the strath.