Mature Content Warning
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the incandescence continued. it felt she was too restless to sleep, to drink, to eat, though she did all these things.
mireille set her eyes on the mountains she did not know. this space was open, streaked with melted snow. a dart of her emerald eyes about assured the she-wolf before she went down the gentle slopes to drink.
there felt inside mireille a sense of time she had not experienced before. it tracked the days by her interludes with men and the temperature of her own flesh.
thirst slaked for now, the red wolf lifted her fine head to look around for the former, knowing that the latter would not abate without it.
There is a dell where the trees part and where a nameless girl ripples her lips across a lake of silver. Her head rises to address him. He does not linger in growing want; does not play the game of war and chase. They will both know why he has come. He is expected.
“Lady of the lake,” his whisper greets and he glides forward, scarcely more than a spill of ink.
The jackal does not reach for her, but measures in looks. She is young and deep red, like an allaying wound he would tend with his tongue. Her scent to him is this color, like the flesh and pulp of a wolf body without skin.
She is drawn in through lungs and exhaled between teeth when his lips part into smile. “So strong.”
He remarks on the burn that has led the likes of him to some mother’s daughter. Perhaps this wolf was soon to be some daughter’s mother, too, inferring by new marks left from a man who’d hunted her with his edges.
“What does it feel like, the heat?" He holds her with wide eyes that do nothing to veil this fervor.
"like a hunger dat never stops, an emptiness never filled." he was a willowy charcoal shadow, eyes of gold fixed to her in what mireille chose to believe was supplication.
he did not close the space between them, and nor did the seawolf. she stood only watchful, hips curved, wondering what sort of man he would be.
the ocean-touched gemstones of her eyes were unwavering, meeting the broad curiosity in his own.
Her listener’s ears give attentive bent to the accent of a faraway tongue. Against her words he nuzzles himself, to savor the pitless hollow where lies her undying need. That which she would not sate without cooperation from another. Whether designed by the gods or intended by nature, what intriguing circumstances that should join them here; at this place where water meets sand.
The man of the sands draws nearer to the lady of the lake. “Can’t have that,” he’ll purr.
She receives him squarely with a look intent. She does not divert his curiosity. She answers in earnest. He likes this.
He chances two steps deeper, so he might see clearer the forest in her eyes. If he reaches now, he could stroke his cheek along those sun-tipped shoulders.
“Does she hunger, too, for motherhood?”
"it be some'ting i do alone," mireille purred, arching feline beneath his brushing cheek, centering herself not as someone to which he might refer, but herself, her flaring, burning self.
like the priest he was reverent, and the seawolf wound sinuously around him, not yet content to stand for his arms about her slender hips.
"but i hunger," came her whisper, the tugging of her teeth pulling a tangle from his shadowsmoke shoulder, tongue pressed for a ravening moment to the flesh beneath.
different too, this ache inside her at the particular moment. this interest.
There had never been a lady lovelier.
She quells their distance. Her touch is a flame that sears pathways into his fur. Her dance encircles him, she invites his lust. He is teased and baited and stoked. In rapt reception he stands motionless against her slithering.
She needn’t enchant him.
If instinct were to prevail he would tuck her swiftly beneath him, so he might know how his seadancer tastes. Yet, his eyes find her scars. Is this her preference, for a violent exchange? Does she wish to be a vessel for his teeth?
He sets upon the cuts with his mouth and slowly his lips graze her bare skin. He whispers against her, “I am no father.”
But he was a maker.
He slides two limbs over her spine, enclosing her blushing shade into his darkness. She would know gentleness. The devil is a gentleman.
his assurance heated mireille further. the stoic nature of the body laid open to her exploration was a boon. she growled softly about his ears, and when he spoke of his willingness to leave her thereafter, relief cascaded into wildness.
he would be gentle.
she would be unhinged, insatiable, driving him on and on until her legs were no longer fit for support.
***
her emerald eyes drank him in, cheek pillowed on the cold grass. mireille was still silent, a honeyed grin spreading slowly across her mouth.
They coil together. And again. And reprise as many times as they would, and with every shudder may he drown out any man that has come before, and any that may come after.
He is tested against her wildfire, and to her ear, “Temptress,” she is named.
When they’ve finished they lay entangled. He knows nothing about her but everything about her body. He strokes her lips with his tongue. He tastes himself.
“Where now will she go?” He asks with a murmur into her breath of brine.
her jaws parted to let the etch of his tongue be known against hers. she was filled with the sense of him, his restrained power, his knowingness. her pelt was smudged with their scent, a darkweave veil that draped over her, permeated by the cinnamon hiss of her season.
mireille raised a paw, played along his shoulder with her claws. "away."
the word arrived in a glitter of teeth and darkening eyes; the seawolf imagined, allowed herself the image of seeking him again, once she had turned her course for home.
in these feral places, some part of her would remain.
mireille coiled closer, salvaging warmth in the knowledge she would not have to drive this man away. when they stood it would be the end.
and so she did not yet stand.
a blast thankyou <33
He smiles against her mouth. She evades him even now, sheltered between his limbs and snaking closer. He licks her teeth to seal her secrecy with a kiss.
Like a siren she is to him, and he does not quickly steal away.
But eventually he will give a farewell glance to the red girl with sea legs, turning through which he came to places unknown.
And even when she would never see him again, she would see him again in the eyes of her children.
<333!!! thank YOU
when he left, mireille watched his trajectory.
she wanted so much to sleep but did not.
instead she lifted herself upon pleasantly weak legs and carried the stranger's essence off into the no-wolf's-land she had selected for this week's bower.
the sensation of his embrace would not be forgotten.