Totoka River ready for love

♥ @Stockholm —

— to you, from me ♥

---

Coelacanth was happy.

The Hunter’s Moon was always a restorative time for the Corten family, but this Hunter’s Moon had been especially healing for the tiny Groenendael. Being reunited with Catori, more sister than cousin, and Amoxtli, the yang to her yin and the juniper to her gin, had buoyed her spirits significantly; and celebrating the night with her favorite aunts and second favorite uncle was the icing on an already delectable cake. Moreover, the stormborn seawolves were slowly returning to the shoreline — and the island itself had been blessed by a wishing star and a whale besides!

Stockholm and Seelie had always planned to return to their island, but the rippling current of good omens made it clear to the sheepdog that the most auspicious time to rebuild was now.

Oh, Stockholm!

There was a dizzying chemistry in the air that was unmistakable even to the selkie’s ingenuous daughter. Seelie knew it was the time for short tempers and steep tensions, but the ingénue believed herself immune. The severity of the previous winter had slapped a yearlong snooze button on her biological clock, and if her gamine physique was any indication, this year’s breeding season would also pass her by. Still, she found herself infected with a certain giddiness just before dawn and made to drag the poor Gampr out of bed to play with her. When he did not rouse immediately, she snuggled him aggressively, tucking the curve of her spine against his flank and then pushing with all four legs against the ground. Unsurprisingly, he didn’t budge — so she cranked back her finely-sculpted head with a whale-eyed expression and nibbled insistently at his chin and cheek.

— thread takes place february fourteenth, twenty-eighteen

Stockholm was happily dozing in that plane between not-quite-completely asleep yet not-quite-awake either. Where blissful daydreams crept in but remained vague and blurry around the edges, like viewing something seen underwater or through a haze of smoke.

Thus, he was aware of Seelie as she nosed his neck and nibbled at the longer strands of fur at the tips of his ragged ears. Still, he was really really comfortable and really really didn’t want to get up just yet. Stomach still full from the Hunter’s Moon feast, and his heart equally as full by the companionship that night had brought. He probably could have laid there most of the day, drifting in and out in and out.

But Seelie wasn’t having it. Her next tactic was wriggling her back against his side and attempting to gain leverage from the ground to give him a shove. He grunted softly but remained unmoved, though maybe a tad more awake – a ghost of a smile pulling at his lips as he became more aware of his surroundings and Seelie’s amplified efforts. When she throws her head back and lovingly rakes his cheek and muzzle with her teeth he cracks open one eye to look at her. This elicits a wave of excitement that courses through her body and the Gampr rolls to the side slightly, raising a massive paw and making to wrap his foreleg around her to keep her from bolting upright and taking off in a victory loop in response to successfully waking him.

“Mm, ‘s early,” he rumbles, burying his nose into the silken fur of her neck.

STOCKHOLM IS TOO PRECIOUS FOR THIS WORLD.

---

Well, in that case.

The moment Stockholm lifted his bearlike paw and drew her close, Coelacanth switched modes from “Aggressive Alarm Clock” to “Probably a Plush Toy” — she shivered with delight as his nose buried into the inkdark fur at the nape of her neck and began a soft, kittenish purring. Although she had been the one to spearhead the “wake up, soldier! time’s a-wastin’!” initiative, she now found herself too comfortable to follow through with it. Because she adored the sound of his voice — adored him — she mimicked him: “Serrry,” she agreed in a breathlike whisper, her cheeks heating. She shimmied her tiny body so that the delicate curve of her spine molded against the soft swell of his belly, basking in his warmth and his scent. He was so kind to her — and he smelled so nice!

After a prolonged moment, she turned in his embrace; still clasped to his body, she adopted a more sternal position, which regrettably removed his nose from the sensitized zone at the nape of her neck, but allowed her to preen through the thick fur of his chest. Bright, ocean-blue eyes reached eagerly for burnished gold, but her lashes dipped shyly when their gazes tangled and caught hold. “S-Stockholm,” she chirped to him. It was one of the few words she’d held on to after Komodo had stopped his lessons. Most names were still accessible in her muscle memory, but Stockholm had really difficult ones. She’d practiced until they were nearly perfect, probably driving her poor companion crazy. “Toba — ” That was a false start. “Tofarisssch Stockholm Folkodaff.”

I did say nearly perfect.

Her fangs combed delicately through the fur of his chest, followed by long, deliberate sweeps of her tongue, until at last she reached the hollow of his throat. There, she tucked her nose and breathed him in with a blissful sigh, being careful not to impale herself on the thorncollar he wore. She wanted to tell him so many things! She knew now that she possessed the physical capacity, but the actual execution of verbal communication was — well, it was truly an execution whenever Seelie attempted it. A mass murder, in fact. And while those she still chose to speak aloud to never commented on her butchering of the spoken language, she had a fine ear for music and languages and easy identified — and loathed — her own shortcomings. A soft, longing whine was lost in the thick fur of Stockholm’s throat. Why couldn’t she just be perfect at it from the get-go?

Recalling a word from his Hunter’s Moon story, “Ara? Arare — raress?” she attempted.

He exhales in a contented sigh as Seelie nibbles and grooms through his chest fur, stretching his body out but keeping his foreleg wrapped around her. While the inky Belgian can only see imperfection in her pronunciation, he sees the opposite. It doesn’t matter to him how much she butchers a word, her voice is music to his ears and he nods approvingly as she rehearses his name.

When her preening reaches the hollow of his throat he lets his eyes flutter closed, a satisfied rumble rising in his chest. Ah yes, now he really could lay here all day.

“Aralez,” he repeats for her, carefully enunciating the word to make it easier for her. “They say they are beautiful creatures, revered even by the humans – at Armavir was the first time they appeared to dogs, before they had been Gods only to Man. The way my father told the story, it was Rakesh’s love of his owner that allowed the Aralez to hear his call.”

CLICK FOR LULZ ♥

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She felt Stockholm’s contented rumble as it billowed up from the cavernous depths of his chest and was lost in her fur, and an answering effervescence coalesced in her heart and spread giddily outward. It revealed itself in a spine-shiver that erupted in a flutter of her feathered tail; in a taut stretch of her long, graceful limbs that caused each toe to flex and curl deliciously; in a quiver of her lips as her muzzle parted in a shy dog smile. Velveteen flews drew upward, revealing the tips of her upper canines as her Neptune eyes arched like rainbows, and she tried again to elicit the fascinating reaction as he began to talk to her. She buried her muzzle against his neck as he began to speak, savoring the feel of his voice against her lips as she preened the hollow of his throat.

With coy playfulness, she angled her muzzle and drew her tongue in a tender kiss along the underside of his jaw. The thorncollar pricked her throat, but did not press hard enough to abrade or draw blood — it merely claimed tufts of her rabbit-fine fur. “Ararez?” she whispered shyly.

EVERYTHING I KNOW I LEARNED FROM THE PIZZA MAN

His lips pull up slightly in a smile at the full body shiver that has Seelie burying her muzzle into his throat and he rolls his head back a little further to give her full access, flexing his forepaw against her back. But when she tilts her head up to kiss the underside of his jaw he inclines his gaze back down to her, something about the tone of her whisper feeling like she is wrapping her paws right around his heart.

He is silent a moment, golden gaze fixed on cerulean, and when he does speak his voice is low and thick with unabashed emotion, “My Aralez.” His hold on her tightens ever so slightly, the rise and fall of his chest against hers sending sparks that radiate through his body with the intensity of how much he feels suddenly. “You saved me that night, brought me back to life when everything had been taken from me. And I will always be yours.” He leans in, presses their foreheads together, breathes her in. “Always.”

---

The breath she drew was replete with him. She spent it on a wavering sigh, and she shaped his name: “Stockholm.” Her luminous eyes went heavy-lidded at the rhythmic flex of his forepaw mapping the serpentine curve of her spine, but she did not close them — sungold and seablue tangled together as their gazes brushed and held. The Gampr began to speak, his sonorous timbre taut with emotion and his grip on her tightening to match. There was so much she wished she could tell him in return — that he had done the same for her; that his love had filled the cracks in her wounded heart with starsilver; that for him, if he wished it, she would give up her island and brave the human world. Feebly, for she knew that now was the time for a significant, poignant rejoinder and that she was incapable of cobbling one together, “Stockholm, k-keep,” she begged him.

The words billowed up within her — ballooning without hope of release until her heart, lungs, and stomach ached fiercely! — but she could not fashion them with her dumb mouth, her hollow throat. Despite her characteristic effervescence, Coelacanth was a sorrowful sort of creature; she simply chose to project joy. Being a patronus herself, she didn’t get to have one of her own.

“Keep,” she whispered again, because her mother hadn’t — because her father wouldn’t — because the humans couldn’t. Nobody had been able to hold onto the little Groenendael for long; she was cunning and quick, with paws that were made for running. This was different. This was significant. The Volkodav had caught her, but so had many others, for better or for worse. The spirited sheepdog had fought hard for her freedom. Now, for the first time in her life, she was asking for ownership. One little paw pressed urgently against the great swell of Stockholm’s chest.

Her eyes shimmered and her lips trembled as she made her wish plain: “Keeping me?”

Keep.

The tone and emotion in that simple word speaks volumes to the Armenian. While Seelie may think that she can’t tell him what she is thinking, feeling, she is wrong. He knows. Innately and wholly. He can hear it all in that single appellation – the depth of her feelings for him, the ache for those who made the entirely foolish decision not to keep her. Her hopes, fears, and dreams seem as plain as day to the Gampr when he looks in her eyes. She doesn’t need words to speak to him.

At the press of her paw against his chest he tilts his head up, rubs his muzzle against hers before touching his nose just below her ear. “Keep. Mine. Always and forever.”

His eyes fall closed momentarily as he breathes her in, seers this moment into his memory before leaning back just enough to meet her gaze again.

---

Somewhat typically for her species, Coelacanth had a tendency to divide things of great importance into two vastly polarized categories: “this is the most wonderful thing in the whole world,” and, “this is the most terrible thing I have ever experienced.”

All things paled in comparison to this. All things.

Seelie’s hummingbird heart whirred to new heights and her sea sparkle eyes fluttered closed at the warm press of Stockholm’s mouth against hers. A trill of a tremor danced down her spine, fanning outward from the feathered bulb of her ear and the warm blush of her cheek. Overcome, she trembled against him, moisture brimming beneath the fine curtain of her long lashes; she did not open her eyes for fear that her tears might spill over. Only when she felt his gaze upon her did she respond in kind, blinking through the mist of emotion to look lovingly upon him.

“Mine,” she tested him with an impish little curl of her lips, pert pink tongue darting out to baptize the tip of his nose with a teasing kiss. She couldn’t conceivably be held any tighter by the Gampr, but she did her level best to achieve the impossible: she wriggled appealingly against him, laying her cheek against the hollow of his throat, and teased the tufted edge of one cropped ear with an affectionate lick. “My Stockholm,” she breathed, hoping devilishly to vex him.

horrible phone post is horrible I'm sorry  ♥

When Seelie lifts her gaze to meet his he smiles, leans in to kiss away the tears that threaten. And when she darts her tongue out against the tip of his nose he laughs, burying his face back into the feathery fur at her neck as she nibbles at his ear. She needn’t try to vex him, he is already wrapped tightly around her little finger, the veritable center of his universe.

Not that he minds the attention, of course.

Her attempts to wiggle closer, as if she could somehow melt into him, aren’t lost on the Gampr and he smiles slyly and chuffs against her neck, the sound lost in her fur, felt more than heard before suddenly rolling onto his back, pulling her with him with the foreleg he still has wrapped around her, so she is on top of him. “Yours, all yours,” he reaffirms with a grin.

Your writing is never, never horrible. Thank you for sharing it with me, even when life is hectic and muse is in short supply. I love you so much! ♥

The added pressure of his heavy forelimb across the small of her back is an odd comfort. Coelacanth has a veritable cyclone of tachyonic energy tucked into her tiny, featherlight framework and ofttimes she depends on the weight of others to keep from whirling away. “Well, I certainly like this view,” she seems to say, perched atop her mate with her feathered forepaws crossed daintily at the wrists, Neptune eyes alight with giddy, delirious fondness. The carriage of her finely-sculpted head and the cant of her tall, tufted ears manifest Anubis — and then she moves, muzzle stretching forward slowly, almost wickedly, a mischievous glimmer in her eyes. “Good dog, good boy,” she whispers silkily, the scalloped gradient of her ribs stuttering with a barely restrained giggle. “Stay.”

 
Thank YOU for sharing your beautiful writing and creativeness with me. You are and always will be my favorite person in the whole world. ♥

Coelacanth isn’t the only one enjoying the view. The Gampr rests his broad head back against the ground and gazes up at her – the most beautiful sight he has ever seen. And oh, the well-traveled canine has seen many a things. But they are nothing compared to the sleek inky black of her fur, the cerulean of her eyes, the foxish angles of her head and the lithe span of her body. He could not have possibly dreamed a more perfect creature into existence.

His ears perk forward at the familiar words, “Good dog, good boy,” and while they have always had significance, coming from her they are like the divination of angels. His tail thumps against the ground and he leans up to nip playfully at the underside of her jaw, mimicking her statement in a low growl. “Good dog, good girl. Stay.”