Dawnlark Plains don't call [m]e grimgram
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This thread has been marked as mature. By reading and/or participating in this thread, you acknowledge that you are of age or have permission from your parents to do so.

The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: sex.  (That escalated quickly.)

Grimalkin wasn't a tenderfoot by any stretch of the imagination.  His gait was still clean, easy, and efficient, and his nose and ears were still good enough to get by.  Maybe his teeth were cracked and yellowed, and maybe he couldn't run as fast for as long as he used to, but these things didn't trouble him.  He'd been a middle-ranking wolf all his life and he didn't harbor any illusions of grandeur about leaving a legacy behind.  He was here to have a good time -- one that didn't involve baggage of any kind.  Leaving the pack had been his first step, and though they'd protested, something about, "oh, Aries, you shouldn't be alone," or, "oh, Ramskull, what're we gonna do without you," he'd gently let them go.

Only, it was kind of lonely out here.

The day was pleasantly hot.  Grim had shed his winter coat and was lean and svelte, a modest layer of fat overlaid across his rangy muscles.  His lips drew back as he began to pant, tongue lolling as he ambled through the plains, blithely scattering wildlife as he went.  As he walked he sang a song, sidestepping jauntily and walking backwards and forwards as he pleased.

"Eyes that look like heaven,
lips like cherry wine,
that girl can sure 'nough make my little light shine.
I get a funny feelin'
up and down my spine
'cause I know that my Elvira's mine."
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Sunspot had been ranging further and further from the territory, lately. Although this was partly because her brother had asked her to keep an eye out for someplace to overwinter, it was mostly because of Khoe. For reasons she could not name, Sunspot just didn't like the woman, and it irked her to no end to see Grayday dote on her so wholly. Of course, she knew the tiny shewolves caused her brother no small amount of grief with her moods, it was clear that he cared for her anyway - and deeply.

Most days, she could stand it pretty well. She was a patient girl, and she didn't begrudge her long-lost brother the family he'd cobbled together. Most days, she could even convince herself that she found it rather sweet. But sometimes she had to get out - urged by the same (though, in her, latent) gene that'd torn Grayday away from their natal pack. As she was older and steadier than Day had been at the time, Sunspot always returned to the Morningsiders before long, but on days like this, she found herself revelling in the feeling of being alone.

At least, until she heard the sound of a song. Tall, elegant ears quirked toward the cheerful, masculine voice, and quite suddenly, Sunspot realized that she didn't want to be alone at all. She trotted until she caught sight of the other wolf, and only then did she pause to think about her mood, her actions. She'd been through enough heats to know she wasn't in season, but she was still slightly suspicious of her own behavior.

Maybe it's just been a little too long, she thought wistfully, remembering lazy summers past, spent in the company of passing rovers and visiting friends.

Not sure what she wanted, now, Sunspot slunk closer to the other, bit by bit, staying in the cover of grasses and shrubs as much as she could, but not doing her best job at hiding herself from the male. After all, there was a part of her that desired discovery.
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Grimalkin continued on his merry way, singing his song:

"So I'm singin'
'Elvira, Elvira,
my heart's on fire, El — '"


He didn't know whether it was sight, sound, or a tickle at his sixth sense that had him stopping and looking around.  He kept the song going, humming low in his throat, but his ears pricked and his nose twitched as he took stock of his surroundings.  Something was different.

He saw the female, had seen her out of the corner of his eye during his jaunty rollicking, and it wasn't like she was working hard to stay out of sight.  At first, he'd automatically dismissed her as a trick of the light, but he could smell her now and there was no mistake that she was real.

The hide and seek portion of their meeting was a game, and the Ramskull didn't need a whole lot of encouragement to play along.  He continued to wander and to sing as if he hadn't noticed her at all, taking up the second verse, only this time he wandered a whole lot slower:

"Tonight I'm gonna meet her
at the Hungry House Cafe.
I'm gonna give her all the love I can,
yes, I am.
She's gonna jump and holler
'cause I've saved up my last two dollars.
We're gonna search and find that preacher man."
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The nearer the huntress came to the stranger, the older he seemed to become. If that fact would've dampened her interested, his voice more than made up for it. The song itself reminded the yougner wolf of happier, simpler times. Of her father, perhaps, who'd been known to sing himself, a bit, and who'd always been willing to entertain his daughters with a song.

Sensing that she'd been seen, Sunspot gave up her game once she'd circled around behind the male, and came up beside him without fear or stealth.

"Elvira your girl?" she asked, keeping a respectful distance from the male as she drew alongside him, but craning her neck toward him to take in his scent. "Seems she's a long way behind you," she decided, having detected no sign of company on his pelt. Perhaps it was a bit rude to mention, but Sunspot had never been known to pussyfoot around when there was something she wanted to know.
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"What, that's not your name?" Grimalkin quipped in a lazy baritone, slewing his own muzzle around to take stock of the female.  She was younger than him, not that that was a particularly hard thing to achieve, and had a blunt tongue he found much to his liking.  "Guess I'll have to pick another song, then."  He'd never had a girl named Elvira before, but he wouldn't have turned one down.  His eyes twinkled, for once appearing their true fiery bourbon color instead of how they looked in any light except near-direct sun: kind of brownish.

"I'm Grimalkin," he said, cutting straight to the point, "but I go by many names."  He waggled his eyebrows, or tried to.
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"It's not," she agreed, taking his friendly return as permission to invade his personal space. The huntress quickly closed the distance between them, intent on settling them into friendly terms, even as she denied him the name she thought he might've been fishing for. Instead, she sniffed more insistently at the ruff of fur at his nape, and then fell back enough to do the same to his rump as well as get an eyeful of his undercarriage.

She drew level with him once more after reluctantly deeming all his parts 'acceptable'. Although at this point, I reckon I'd settle for just plain 'working', she thought to herself, a rueful grin flickering across her face, and then widening into a smile as he mentioned his many names. "Very mysterious," she commented, torn between friskiness and curiosity. One or the other, she told herself, feeling that she just didn't have the patience for both, today. "Tell me one more," she requested, picking her legs up into a prance, and her pace just enough to draw ahead of him, where she could bat his nose with her tail. Let him choose.
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Amused and flattered by her interest, Grimalkin responded in kind, keeping a watchful eye on her as he sifted through the thick, insulated fur betwixt her shoulder blades.  He wasn't quite daring enough to check under the hood, but he sniffed curiously at her flank.  In truth, he didn't need to do a whole lot of investigating to know that she was female, and...really, that's all that he needed to start thinking up ways to get her in his arms.

"Ramskull," he said simply, giving her what she wanted, wrinkling his nose as she bopped him in the nose with her tail.  "Do you think it's fair that you've got two of my names and I've got none of yours?"  He nipped harmlessly at the offending tail, picking up his pace to match hers with a saucy gleam in his eyes.  "Lemme guess — Stormy?"

"They call it Stormy Monday," he sang, "but Tuesday's just as bad."
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The huntress merely hummed at his accusation, and sped up as he did, enjoying her game too much to give ground so easily. Ramskull, she mused, finding herself quite taken with the name. She might've missed his next words entirely, except that the name he spoke was quite familiar to her.

"Stormy!" she exclaimed, spinning around and planting herself in the man's path, delight dancing like a fire in her eyes. The short tune only added to her enjoyment, and despite meaning to be, Sunspot felt a bit put out that she'd been so quickly enraptured by the man. "How'd you do that?" she demanded. And then, realizing it could only have been chance, she added: "Stormy's my sister's name, but mine is like it."
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Grimalkin stepped on the gas, but in the next moment he was forced to slam on the brakes.  She sped up, lithe little huntress that she was, and then whipped around until they were practically nose-to-nose.  Daring, he darted a lick toward that delicious-looking mouth, and if she deigned to take off part of his tongue for his audacity it'd still be worth trying.

"Your name's like that, huh?" he mused.  "Sweetheart, I'm no good at guessing games."  He shook his head ruefully.  His grin was mischievous and oddly boyish despite his advanced age.  "I'll try guessing, but if I get it wrong, I'm picking my own."  He paused to think, appraising her with a hard look of concentration.

"I can't figure if you mean you're named after a weather system or your name sounds like Stormy," he complained.  "Let's see.  Cloudburst?"
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Giving a little gasp and pretending to be affronted, Sunspot drew away from any further attempts at familiarity, even as she began to circle around the older male, her actions hinting at her hunger for his company. And he had a pleasant voice, and a pleasant way about him - the huntress couldn't feign disinterest anymore than she could bear to be called by a name other than her own. She was a proud creature, proud of who she was.

"Sunspot," she said succinctly, though she was partial to the way sweetheart had sounded in his rough voice. Suddenly, she decided that she could hardly care about his age, or that his testicles were slightly more wrinkled that she was used to. She was finding herself in a surprisingly agreeable mood, which boded well for the both of them. "But sweetheart'll do ya, in a pinch."

The shewolf paused to examine him once more, her gaze discerning as she stood to his 8 o'clock and then moved slowly to his 10, where she dipped her body in a languid bow. Let's see how limber we are, she mused, deciding that, if he passed this test, she would have no more for him.
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He couldn't help it.  He grinned at the prim little gasp and the feigned expression of displeasure that painted her pretty features.  Kicking up his paws, he followed with bold insistence, nipping at the curve of her rump as she circled him.  "Well, Sunspot," he drawled, never mind that he was twice her age and possibly old enough to be her father's father, "could be that I prefer sweetheart."

He accepted her appraisal with a lifted brow (apparently he has very agile eyebrows) and a slow grin as she dipped into a bow.  Before giving himself over to whatever she had planned, he made a little circle of his own.  The slope of her spine was infinitely pleasing, as was the upturned curve of her toned hindquarters.  He took a moment to savor the look of her before warily dropping into a bow of his own, slapping the ground with his rangy forelimbs.
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"Could be I prefer it, too," she replied, not too fussed about it, at this point. The part that cared at all thought it better served them than Sunspot, today, but words didn't interest her nearly as much as actions.

The huntress preened under his appraisal as he performed his own inspection, exaggerating the curve of her spine and wiggling her hindquarters when he disappeared from her view. But her posing ended as soon as he'd bowed back, and in an instant, she'd reared back onto her hind legs only to plunge forward with a playful snap of her jaws. Her movements were designed to urge him into retaliation as she darted forward and back again. In truth, she was impatient, and had no desire to play, but neither did she feel it worth the effort of being covered by him if he couldn't keep up with a few simple bouts.

"If you catch me," she offered, her voice friendly and sincere, "I'll letchya keep me awhile."
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Grimalkin moved automatically, throwing his weight onto his hindquarters as he slewed to the side.  "You bite, do you?" he teased her, watching as she darted toward him and then darted away.  He wasn't as quick as he had been at her age, but he could still give as well as he got.  No arthritis to speak of, and no hunting injuries.  Being a middle-of-the-road kind of guy got boring sometimes, but it also meant that you didn't really concern yourself with petty dominance spars.

Hoping to impress her without breaking a hip sweat (hell, he wasn't that old!) Ramskull recovered neatly from her lunge and made one of his own, feinting left before sweeping right to try to land a nip on the tasty looking curve of her thigh where the fur grew a bit longer.  He did feel like playing, and though this wasn't his game of choice (he wanted to play the kind of games you play with the lights off, if you know what I mean) he'd settle for it.  He didn't know he was in the process of a working interview, not that it would've changed his actions.

"Oh, I'll catch you, sweetheart," he growled at her, readying himself for her retaliation, his tone teasing instead of sinister.  "Don't worry about that."
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The shewolf let out a scolding snarl as the male nipped at her leg, though the heat in her eyes was not lent from anger. It pleased her, more than anything, that he could catch her at all. More than that, she'd learned all she needed to know about the male to deem him a suitable partner. She was done with the game, though she did put up a few half-hearted attempts at escape, as she enjoyed the sport of being caught as much as the male counterparts in these games seemed to enjoy doing the catching.

Finally, though, she simply 'tripped' into the grass, and arranged herself quickly into pleasing sprawl, one leg tucked under her as though readying herself to spring up once more. But she had no intention of continuing to evade the Ramskull, and this was probably conveyed in the sparkle of her eyes as she turned her head back to stare at him, tongue lolling gaily from her maw.
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Ramskull blew out a gusty sigh as he fairly sauntered over to the belle who'd "tripped" and fallen with theatrical grace.  Sunspot was right; he did like doing the catching.  He made the most of it, too.  "Looks like you could use some assistance," he teased her playfully.  The folded leg was a nice touch.  He didn't know if she was going to start running again, though, so he moved in and licked her fur against the grain.  He liked it when she was a little riled.  Plus, you couldn't trust those eyes.  She could look at him like that and tell him, "Grim, bears are herbivores," and there he'd be: "Yeah, yeah, course they are.  I've known it all along."

"C'mere," he rumbled at her.  It was a stupid thing to say, because he immediately swept forward to do the legwork himself.  He slung an arm over her hips and nipped at the object of his desire: the little divot at the base of her tail just before the slope of her hips began.  Hers was a huntress' frame, medium in stature with spry, slender muscles.  "Mm," he murmured thickly, standing over her to take her all in.  "Goddamn, what a woman."  He shook his head in mild disbelief.  His mouth teased at her nape.
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Past words, now, Sunspot merely blinked back at the man as he strutted toward her - Who, me? But there was no one else around, and feeling sure that he was coming to her assistence, Sunspot used her folded leg as leverage to arch into his inevitable touch, preening once more as she enjoyed the male's attentions.

His climb up her body was frightfully slow, though Sunspot tried her best to encourage him with wiggles and whines, and finally, a fearsome growl at his heady exclaimation. Damn right I am, she might've said, were she so inclined to waste energy on words when it could be put to better use. Presently, she put her energy into not rising to meet her companion, keeping her belly low to the ground. It was not the stance most conducive to being mounted, but she'd become rather partial to being wrestled into position, and made her view on the matter known with an insolent glance cast over her shoulder. What are you going to do about it?

Of course, if the answer happened to be nothing, she fancied she might not be above begging, today.
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Grimalkin couldn't deny the hold Sunspot had over him, but he wasn't some stripling kid and this wasn't his first rodeo.  He laughed, a leonine rumbling low in his throat, at her impatience.  Maybe that wasn't the best thing to do in this situation, but he was utterly unrepentant as he shifted his stance to cage her more tightly between the pillars of his forelegs.  The growl she made was a fascinating thing that spurred him on, but he was hell bent on taking his time.  He noticed the little watermark-like speckles and the collision of gray with buttery tawny, and he got a good look at those pretty eyes as she flung him an insolent stare.

"You really gonna make me do all the work?" asked his answering stare.

Well, Ramskull wasn't afraid of much, and he certainly wasn't afraid of a little hard work -- especially when the promised payload was so sweet.  "What've I gotta do to make you love me?  What've I gotta do to make you care?" he crooned to her, boldly closing his teeth over her scruff as he pointedly worked his hips against her with two brisk thrusts.  He wasn't in yet, of course.  Nor was he trying to be.  He was just trying to demonstrate why it'd be prudent for her to get up and dance with him, that's all.

"Don't you like dancin', sweetheart?" he asked, shimmying back down her body to press his forearms in the hollows of her flanks just cranial of her hips.  He growled, lightly tugging at her scruff, and gave her another meaningful twitch of his hips.
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His laugh didn't offend her - the Huntress was rather amused herself - but for propriety's sake, she turned her head to worry sharp teeth at his face, a growl more teasing than warning ripping past her black lips. But the growl soon turned to soft, keening sighs, and her attack quickly dissolved into insistent licks and mouthing at Grimalkin's chin. Her own hips strained to meet his advances, even as she kept her chest pressed resolutely to the ground.

A desperate whine escaped her when his teeth found purchase at the nape of her neck, and she pressed back into the touch until her body was contorted into an uncomfortable parabola, nosetip and hinquarters reaching skyward while her chest stayed pressed to the ground, forelegs held akimbo to steady herself.

By now, Sunspot had forgotten her coquettish act. The male's teasing, insistent thrusts had pushed all rational thought from her mind. She pressed back against him with urgent, wanton sincerity, wordlessly answering his question.
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Not that he was vain — okay, he was a little vain — but Grimalkin didn't really want Sunspot to take off his face.  He was rather proud of his face, after all.  He angled his chin out of reach, his own lips curling instinctively in a grimace, but when he discovered she was just nibbling and not actively trying to do a face extraction he settled down.  If face-chewing was her thing, he'd let it ride.  It was the least he could do, being that she was letting him ride.  If you know what I'm saying.

The grimace turned into a satisfied, easy grin as her voice and mannerisms smoothed out for him, lean, muscular hips arching up to afford him easy access.  "I know, Sunheart," he said through a mouthful of scruff, mixing up her name with the endearment and coming up with something that was neither and both.  "I've got you.  C'mere."  He'd meant to speak reassuringly, but the last little bit came out something like a command, the snap of a growl threading through.  She was in a weird position that he couldn't make heads or tails of, so he solved the problem for both of them by gathering her up and slinging his own hindquarters low.

He hooked his elbows into the hollows just in front of her hips and yanked backwards and upwards in tandem with the controlled grip of his teeth, being as gentle as possible with the latter.  Then he growled in earnest, putting his whole heart into it as he sheathed himself in her womanly warmth, his dark bourbon eyes going glassy and unfocused with lust and primal instinct.
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She whimpered at the sound of his voice, and the introduction of sweetheat 2.0 - somehow ridiculous and electrifying at the same time. "Pleaseplease,she replied when he spoke next, the words themselves virutally meaningless, but his tone laced with something like a promise.

And, although her body would not cooperate with her own desires, it was pliable enough toward Grimalkin's needs. She straightened her posture incrementally as he pulled at moved against her until, finally, a flutter of discomfort caused her to grimace and shift. A moment later, though, the pain had passed, and Sunspot was was fluid and writhing as the male thrust into her, doing her best to meet every motion with one of her own while "Uhh-uhh-uhhh-uhh-" droned inelegantly and incessantly from her mouth.

Later on, she would look back on this scene with some modicum of embarrassment - but many other things would feature more favorably. The unyeilding hold he had on her, the heady scent of their mixed arousals, the caged feeling of her scruff in his jaws, and the sharp, helpless pleasure of being rutted by a complete stranger.
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Maybe Sunspot thought she sounded inelegant, but Grimalkin knew there was nothing quite as pretty as a woman's cries of pleasure when she was in the throes.  It whipped him on, his hips moving expertly in low, sweeping arcs.  She was the mail slot on 4 Privet Drive and he was fifty thousand Hogwarts letters being shucked through by the handful.

"Mmm..." he fairly purred, honeyed growl turning the sound into a guttural murmur instead of a hum.  He wasn't shy about voicing his own excitement, and his little grunts of effort as he hiked himself up against her body grew in volume and frequency while they found their rhythm.  He was past the point of actual words (and it wasn't easy to talk with a mouthful of fur, anyway) so he had to satisfy himself with a long, undulating groan, cut into short, separate noises by the rhythm of their joined bodies and the uneven heave of his breath.
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Sunspot, being a very competitive sort, reached the finish line first. A warning growl rumbled in her throat as the stimulation swelled to levels that were overwhelming and almost painful, and then her vision went black. She growled again, the sound keening and somewhat hysterical, her body freezing beneath the male's as white-hot pleasure seared through her tightly-wound muscles.

It seemed to last an age, but eventually, Sunspot relaxed with a breathless,"Ahhh..." Her body was cramping and sore, but a wide, wolfy from had settled permanently into her features.
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Sunspot closed around him like a fist, and he bit his lip as, two or three bucks later, he joined in her ecstacy.  "Goddamn," he whimper-moaned, his breath hitching and gasping as he tried to breathe normally.  It was hard to remember how when he was this dizzy.  Sealed together as they were, he did his best to take most of the weight and remain accomodating, ever intuitive to the possibility that she'd try to take off with his however-many-inches of beechwood and dragon heartstring.  "You all right, sweetheart?" he asked in a weatherworn tone.
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"Mh-hmmm," Sunspot hummed, lowering herself someone stiltedly to the ground as she attempted to accomodate for Grimalkin's comfort as well. Those legs just couldn't carry her any longer; she felt as though she were trying to stand on pudding-filled balloons rather than muscle and bone. "So tired," she added, her voice distant and sleepy. Still, she craned her neck to try and attack the male's face with more kisses and nibbles, more defferential than flirtatious, now. There was something about a good romp that nearly always left Sunspot in this embarrassing, pliable state. She'd swear away her allegience, dignity, and younger sisters to a good lay.

"Pay attention to me," she demanded weakly, trying to regain some semlence of control. But her tail still beat the ground in senseless compliance - later on, she'd scold herself, but right then, it seemed like a fair trade.