i swear everytime i look at the weather widget it's snowing in the teekons, lmao.
though salvatore was all for the aesthetic view of snowfall; the blanketing of fresh snow layering upon ground and tree limbs turning the world into a crisp winter wonderland there was a strong part of him that craved a nice, hot summer day. one of this hazy, lazy days; spent lounging around enjoying the song of the cicadas and the symphony of songbirds. he assumes, as he moves along the curve of the stream's banks that it's this conjured image of his ideal summer day — missed a lot in the wake of snow crunching under foot — that creates a tidal swell of
longing within him.
mind's eye mirage cracks and shatters as he is slammed back into reality. salvatore isn't sure what it was specifically. it could've been that his paw slipped upon loamy bank and the ice cold water of the stream jolted him awake; a definite possibility. it could be the fact that while he was daydream he'd been subconsciously and instinctively following kaori's scent trail; lured by her intoxicating scent that tells every fiber of his being ( too aware ) that she's in the throes of her season as helpless against it as a sailor to a siren's song.
stronger now that he sees her up ahead; there's an intrusive and persistent ache in his loins.
fuck. he thinks now as he did during first glimpse, solidified upon their first meeting: that she's effortlessly pretty. even so, they've only had one real conversation with one another and he thinks that he didn't have a right to
ache so goddamn bad for her. the instinct is as old as time, however; and his body doesn't seem to care about whatever feeble argument as to why social conventions were more important than sexual desire salvatore could pathetically come up with.
driven by those archaic and primal instincts nonetheless, salvatore lets out a chuff in the hopes of grabbing her attention.
salvatore.
she speaks his name; soft. it causes a delightful shiver to slither down his spine, marveling over how his name could possibly sound so enticing. ❝kaori,❞ he murmurs in return; emberglow eye watching her. her posture appears open and inviting though she herself does not close any distance between them. he ghosts forward a step and hesitates. the careful swish of her tail tempts him to keep closing it just as wholly as every aching fibre of his being does.
for a second, he swears he feels the flash of teeth, the saturation of hot breath upon the back of his neck. even thousands of miles away he hears the growling command of killgrave that he is nothing, that if he wants to keep breathing he better walk away; but salvatore was the rebel child and ignores the haunting abuse of his warmonger father as he did back in the loch.
salvatore draws nearer to kaori; nearer still. when he is close enough, if she allows it, he will brush his muzzle against her cheek. this close to her, her scent is overpowering; all he can smell. it saturates everything, temptation manifested; causing the ache in his loins to quicken as it does his heart rate, his nerves prickling with anticipation.
she allows his touch; almost demure in its nature as it was. testing; like the brush of lips against lips to see how he will be fully received. the warmonger had made it very clear that salvatore wasn't allowed to have this; to desire or be desired. scarred flesh around his dead eye gives off a shot of a sickening feeling in memory but before the memory can drag him back kaori's teeth are at his chin, nipping gently and teasingly. it grounds him; saves him from drowning.
a low, pleased growl rumbles non-threateningly in his chest.
❝yes.❞ salvatore rasps in response to her question; realizing how true it was as it leaves his lips. he wants this. he wants her. the consequences for it are far from his mind; not to intrude in on this moment. just him and her and the building desire as she glides her body 'round and against his, only furthering the ache of anticipation salvatore feels.
then take me; comes her murmured declaration into his shoulder. inviting and welcoming and commanding ...and what was salvatore besides an obedient soldier?
salvatore doesn't speak again — there is no need for words now — as he moves then; hating to break the contact of their bodies even though it is to circle her and place small love-bites down the elegant flow of her body. he soothes each nip with a draw of his tongue against her ebony fur in tiny kisses. he draws up behind her as he's finished following the mapping of her body; black, leathery nostrils flaring as he draws in her intoxicating scent, strongest at it's source.
it is here he lingers, waiting for her to give him the final go-ahead. when her tail moves for him, he would rise upon his hind legs and embrace her in full, reveling in the way her hips fit flush against his own.