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missing mr
@Colt so i am shaking a bag of treats at him. forward dated a little bit so threads in other locations make sense! set late at night!
Stupid, stupid, stupid. Oh, how stupid she was.
As much as Wren wished she didn't, she had cravings. Perhaps it was the time of year; the way the sun was high in the sky for longer, a ticking biological clock within everyone calling them to action. Or maybe it was more of her own recklessness. Perhaps it had nothing to do with biology, and more of the fact that she lacked concern for her own wellbeing. Either way, the burning memory of his legs around her hips and the lingering promise of more was getting harder and harder for her to bury in the back of her mind.
They'd made a deal, had they not?
Over the course of a few hours, Wren had made her way back to where she had first encountered him. The floodlands came into view, the cool blue moonlight shining on the banks of the delta acting as a beacon. When she parted her lips, she could almost smell him. Half-tempted to go further to the borders of his pack's territory, she stopped short when she'd begun to wade through the shallow overflows. A secret was a secret, and a secret they would be.
Dry land was a blessing, and one she didn't take for granted. Here she would perch, and throw her head back in a bellow. She could only hope he would recognize the sound of her voice.
Oh, hello.
With a brief, wordless greeting from her in the form of a gentle touch of her nose to the hollow of his cheek, she begins to follow him. He hadn't needed to say it, yet he did anyway. She silently appreciated it.
She let him lead, trailing behind and catching up with him via the smells that he had carried with him. Ashy was his own scent, one she'd missed more than she possibly realized. Oh, how that fire burned! The females that lingered in the wisps of his wiry chestnut fur stood out to her, sending a momentary prickle of possessiveness down her spine, yet it fizzled out just as fast as it had come in. She was no particularly loyal woman herself. She had no right to speak. She was sure he could smell her other acquaintances on her just as well; though none had been in quite the same fashion as him.
Miss me, huh?
Was all she'd said at first, a devilish, winding smile slipping across her lips. With how fast he'd come to her side, she was sure he couldn't deny it.
apologies for the late reply, i've been out of town D:
Accepting his embrace with a low, rumbling hum, the crown of her forehead presses into the crux of his shoulder. Solemnly intimate, and only lasting a fleeting moment before her tongue pokes from between her lips and hungrily presses into the fur that lay there.
Don't let it get to your head.
she teases, pulling away to meet his eyes. Oh, how she'd missed those eyes, much more than she would ever let on.
Surprised to be met with something like a serious expression, she meets him where he's at with a quirk of a brow, smile falling and only lingering on one side of her mouth.
I don't want a family,
she blows a puff of air from between her lips, shaking her head. I'm never gonna be a 'ma', either.
An odd thing to reassure someone about. Usually, she'd figured, it would be the opposite, in the form of half-hearted coos about how great growing one to four parasites within her would be, going on to birth them and be responsible for them. All because either the sire wanted it, or her supposed "maternal instincts" kicked in. Just the thought of it earns a wrinkle to her nose in disgust. Admittedly, it brought her some sense of relief that he sought not for children from her.
Perhaps it was sort of a gamble, an inherently reckless act to have crawled back to him like this, but maybe God would be on her side. She could only hope Colt would be, too. But I do want you.
Oh, well, aren't you generous?
Wren all but purrs, a coy twist of her tongue paired with a grin that leaves dimples at the corners of her mouth. Her kisses trail up to his chin, now, soft and gentle against the prickly hairs that cover his jaw. Y'know, Colt,
she pauses briefly, cheek pressed against the harsh cut of his jawline. A whisper of a touch, although noticeable. I don't think you and I are all that different. Maybe that's why I came back here for yah, eh?
A few days. She was content with that. Enough for the songbird to perch on his shoulder, drink from his palm, sink her talons in; but not enough time for either to grow restless.
Oh, what, you mean you don't wanna get muddy water all over yah while we're rollin' around?
She nearly cackles at that, laughing at her own joke with a high, breathy chortle. I don't know, pretty boy, you tell me, and I'll follow.