Moonspear champagne

What he hadn't counted on was for her to wrap her legs around him and the realization set a moment too late. He found his tentative grip slide and soon he was pulled into deeper snows in what could best be described as a tangle of limbs. It left him to stretch his neck and head the length of what he thought was her nape; she had fallen so swiftly out of view in her masterful snare that a passing moment of uncertainty rendered him still. But this stillness was not to last as he loosened another rumbling growl and wriggled against her wolfish hug. In an instant he had forgotten that initial perception of her—all pit viper ever poised and coiled left laying in wait—and now paid dearly.

His attempts to escape however were all show. Dirge thought he could have broken her grasp if he tried, hind feet planted firmly in compressed snow and somewhere beneath them both, but there was fun in the struggle that erupted at the forefront of his actions. As though it were the last line of defense he fought to gently rise or perhaps smother her against the earth. He thought perhaps he would repay her the favor of her snippy fire-and-ice demeanor as his muzzle turned in the cold and offer a fervored nip where he could reach.

Ever the snake charmer it seemed, he spoke lowly—"Have me where you wanted then?"