Firefly Glen caressed my every sense it would allow

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in a cruel twist of fate, her season had come upon her; she assumed it had begun the night of the pink moon but she had been too distraught to notice.  surely now it was too late — not only that but she was alone.  there was no hawthorne to bed her this year, her womb would remain barren.

but her want!  it was building, electric.  she isolated herself from @Phocion and @Cortland, once more stolen into the wilds alone.  

she intended on returning, but she had intended on returning to ironsea, too — still, she considered returning to the sands — though she thought she favored her new company more.

she strolled to the glen late in the evening as the lightning bugs began to emerge, and she breezed gracefully through them as they danced.

notes for me and others: dated for 4/30 at night
no babies will be conceived here!

There was a sweetness on the wind. Cortland had never smelled anything like it— the scent intrigued him, drew him closer to the source. He did not realize the source was his new friend, not yet. It didn't even cross his mind then that he hadn't seen her in some time. There was no room for anything in his head with that scent around; so he wandered towards it on light feet, ignoring the darkened world around him as he sought whatever was driving him so mad.
The implications struck him vaguely, but far too late, when he stumbled upon Ava and felt a fire light in his belly. For a moment, dread rose in him— some part of him knew it was wrong to approach her. The second of clarity faded like a fire extinguished as soon as he fixed his gaze on her. There was something right about this, too. He whined softly from a distance, daring a few steps forward with his tail waving anxiously. Let me near, he pleaded silently, unwilling even in this state to force his will on another. Instinct called to him, but he half-expected to be met with teeth— and knew he would not push her further, then.

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he was quiet as always, appearing like a ghost from behind.  her short tail flagged then fell, wagging softly against her tender flank.  she chuffed before lowering her front half into a play-bow, beckoning him to dance with her between the fireflies.  it did not come to her then that it was wrong to lead him on — at the moment, her hormones were the furthest thing from her mind.

His approach was not met with rejection, and Cortland's breath caught in his throat for a moment. She would let him close, then— if only to breathe in that scent just a little better, he thought. The Mayfair ghosted nearer to Ava, the last traces of rationality leaving him now. The smell was so much stronger— so much more intoxicating up close. He whined again and mimicked her movement, hopping up in the next instant to deliver a playful nip to her neck. If the contact was well-received, he would lean in to nip her again, this time soft and almost experimental.

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her eyes glinted with something both playful and something not so much, ears flicking back as her lips grazed the gentle cup of his ear as he came close.  

what do you want? she inquired, though she did not expect to be met with words or rationale.  she dipped in to nibble at his chin, waiting for a response.

The feather-light touches, Ava's question— they fueled some burn deep within him, an unidentifiable feeling that demanded to be addressed. He offered no verbal response, instead drawing his muzzle gently alongside hers and, if allowed, down her neck. The sunset boy preened at the fur there, taking his actions back up along her jawline so long as he was not stopped. Cortland didn't question his own actions, or the need that drove him on; in the back of his mind, something writhed in horror, but it was forgotten now. Instinct dominated him, blanketing thickly over his usual clarity— all he knew right now was that he desperately wanted... something. He wanted her, in ways he did not yet understand.

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maybe she should have thought she was taking advantage of him, or the strife it would cause in their merry band of ragtag misfits — the golden boy, the priest, and the herbalist.  but she was too busy drowning in her own hormones to realize what she could be doing to the boy, to their blossoming group.

she melted into the sunset boy's nibbles, a crooning purr escaping from her lips.  there was something scenic, poetic, about the scenery and the night itself; easily, ava let herself fall into her newfound friend's embrace.

Editing in a (crappy) conclusion with permission

The wrongness escaped him, then, but just barely; Ava's heat-scent overwhelmed his senses in more ways than he had realized possible. The boy soon grew more forward. He moved to press himself alongside her, brushing shoulder to shoulder first— then he was sliding along the length of her body. The Mayfair tracked his progress with nips and kisses along the girl's spine, moving slowly. Something deep and instinctual urged him forward, but not enough to quell entirely his inherent shyness and gentle demeanor.
Everything became a blur for a time; Cortland couldn't tell how long it was. At some point he became uncomfortable— he was stuck, why was he stuck? But, oh— now this felt wrong. The blur came back, but different this time. Now he couldn't breathe, couldn't think. He mumbled something to Ava— an apology, perhaps— and bolted as soon as he was able.