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.
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.
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.
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.