Moonspear fade left, fade right, fade out completely

There was a small part of Olive that feared Dakarai would be too chivalrous to take advantage of her receptive state and mindset; that he might know her too well and know that she would live to regret the act, after it was completed. The dark knight had always done that for her; kept her safe when she wanted to take risks, brought her back down to earth when she teetered on the edge of floating away. But Dakarai had changed, just as she had changed; he had hardened and returned to fighting, something that dismayed her when flanked by her devotion to the stars and her aspirations for peace — but right there and then, Olive’s heart thrummed deep in her breast and craved the beast before her; all of his darkness and unfulfilled wishes, she wanted to give them to him…. to be the only one to ever give those sorts of things to him. It felt so good to touch him, to not hold back, to let the fullness of her emotions and her sensuality take hold and bring her deeper into his fold.

 The fire in his eyes, the honeyed voice that dripped from his maw; it all served to drive shivered down her spine and the thin fur along her back raised to meet the tickled sensation. It was just them. No judgement, no prying eyes. At that moment, he was her and not even the gods could strip them of that. Such freedom deserved to be celebrated.

The fae took his bait and surpassed him, leading the way to the alcove shelved beneath the den. It was steep, albeit short descent and Olive’s lithesome frame made quick work of it. However, the vibrations that rang up and down her legs made for some difficulty in focusing on the task at hand — having just made the decision to give herself to him, being apart for even a few short moments was excruciating. Her mouth was dry, but when she turned to see if the hulking form of her star-crossed lover was following — she found herself salivating and growing supple. As she walked, her narrow hips sashayed side to side and her low, rasping whine could not be stifled; instead the soft sound expressed everything she wanted from him at that very moment. The druid wanted to feel good in her body that hurt so often; to surrender her mind to his and let the man be her puppeteer in the most perfect way. 

Most of all, she wanted to be loved.

Soon, the mouth of the enclave yawned before them. With a final glance behind her, and feeling the flush climb up her cheeks at the shadowed form behind her, she entered.  She circled and spun on her heels to face the man as he entered, meeting him with the push of her visage. Olive strummed her muzzle against his as a violinist would caress the strings of the instrument with her bow. “Come,” she whispered to him, straining with sudden vocal fry. 

“Let’s anger the gods.”

Oh, and they did!