June 18, 2024, 02:15 PM
The gentle wisp of one last songbird only now begins to fade in the night air—the brush of her muzzle upward to his chin, eliciting a crooning rumble from the man. He can feel her gaze on him, but he’s too invested in looking over her himself—tracing contours, urging himself to take this moment to memory. The scent of the berries tease at his nose—certainly burn in his belly and emboldens him. But there is more to her than that—the softness of the sand is ebbing from her—but she smells of sunlight.
Of sweetness. Of stolen moments.
She’s placing a kiss to his scar—his breath hitching as he stills—her words still blurry for consent, if he considered it truly.
But enough for him to relax more to her—his own breath toying at the silken fur along her lobe, his nose tracing down before a paw lifts, cupping her cheek—more droplets spraying. “Why are you here, Eset?” It’s a question—but the softness of his voice doesn’t demand an answer—not yet. Instead, his own lips rove toward her, tasting her—searching.
This was certainly not in his plan.
Of sweetness. Of stolen moments.
She’s placing a kiss to his scar—his breath hitching as he stills—her words still blurry for consent, if he considered it truly.
But enough for him to relax more to her—his own breath toying at the silken fur along her lobe, his nose tracing down before a paw lifts, cupping her cheek—more droplets spraying. “Why are you here, Eset?” It’s a question—but the softness of his voice doesn’t demand an answer—not yet. Instead, his own lips rove toward her, tasting her—searching.
This was certainly not in his plan.
Hebsut*
before, I was not a witch
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She allows herself to be disarmed beneath the cupped heat of his palm, with a songbird’s final refrain and her stranger’s gentle question as it drifts in the cooling vesper. Her eyes darken before they lift; at once too vulgar, unladylike, to gorge herself on the true merits of him.
He would feel a red ache in the way she touches her paw to his own, caressing it there, perhaps all the answer another man would need for such a question.
Why was she here?
She had too many responsibilities, the palace to attend, a ruinous history of misfortunes and mistakes. This timing was all wrong, and her brain had been stuck on something; she did not know if she were wolf or coyote, and neither language seemed to fit her mouth. She was broken in ways where the pieces had no matching angles. Suffering feels safer, because if she started to believe she deserved affection, she’d have to find it acceptable in everything that remains unsolved in the quell of her heart. The banks of the river call for retreat. Overwhelming are reasons to be anywhere other than here.
Yet her mind rushes with a forbidden insistence that this is her life to enjoy; to open like a fruit in season and taste the sweet nectar. To worry not about uninvited guests, or judgements. To let want into her body, to bless her half-bred skin, and those muddy-pawed beings who would bud from her own-
Terrifying! She was afraid of what a life like that would do to her. And- perhaps more afraid of a life without it.
She sighs against his chest, writhes beneath the undoing of his mouth, no more heavenly or hellish than she is now. His roughened palm is removed from the side of her face and unfolded before her lips to set a kiss there. When she pulls back, the edge of her mouth curves.
“To be alive,” Eset answers.
Her hunger stills, breathing a pause. She searches his ligthstreaked face, warm and beaded with moisture. But it is his darkness that she wants to know; that pulls her into his orbit.
“Why are you here, Akavir?” She searches him, asking the same. Because he should have turned from her far earlier. Because she brings with her complications. Because there are consequences that will result if she brings her lips to his- and that most alarmingly, she does not want to stop herself from doing so.
He would feel a red ache in the way she touches her paw to his own, caressing it there, perhaps all the answer another man would need for such a question.
Why was she here?
She had too many responsibilities, the palace to attend, a ruinous history of misfortunes and mistakes. This timing was all wrong, and her brain had been stuck on something; she did not know if she were wolf or coyote, and neither language seemed to fit her mouth. She was broken in ways where the pieces had no matching angles. Suffering feels safer, because if she started to believe she deserved affection, she’d have to find it acceptable in everything that remains unsolved in the quell of her heart. The banks of the river call for retreat. Overwhelming are reasons to be anywhere other than here.
Yet her mind rushes with a forbidden insistence that this is her life to enjoy; to open like a fruit in season and taste the sweet nectar. To worry not about uninvited guests, or judgements. To let want into her body, to bless her half-bred skin, and those muddy-pawed beings who would bud from her own-
Terrifying! She was afraid of what a life like that would do to her. And- perhaps more afraid of a life without it.
She sighs against his chest, writhes beneath the undoing of his mouth, no more heavenly or hellish than she is now. His roughened palm is removed from the side of her face and unfolded before her lips to set a kiss there. When she pulls back, the edge of her mouth curves.
“To be alive,” Eset answers.
Her hunger stills, breathing a pause. She searches his ligthstreaked face, warm and beaded with moisture. But it is his darkness that she wants to know; that pulls her into his orbit.
“Why are you here, Akavir?” She searches him, asking the same. Because he should have turned from her far earlier. Because she brings with her complications. Because there are consequences that will result if she brings her lips to his- and that most alarmingly, she does not want to stop herself from doing so.
June 21, 2024, 08:17 PM
The words she gave him were vague—purposefully so, he believes, but it does not stop his gentle exploration of her now. She remained guarded in so many ways—much the same way Silvertongue was with him, and he wondered if it was an effect the desert palace seemed to have on its inhabitants.
Was she victim in the same way his silver heart had been?
Even now he could admit to himself, while he trailed kisses along her jawline, that there was a deeper will within him to protect this woman he knew nothing about, if only because of his limited knowledge of the red sands and those that dwelled upon them.
It was a foolish notion.
He also didn’t care—pulling her closer, the heat of her—there was something about this woman he wished to indulge in. To know. To learn.
He could start by exploring the lissome curve of her body—a paw trailing to a hip, his lips now pressing to the fluttering pulse of her throat.
She pulls back and he almost doesn’t register her question right away—his pale eyes seemingly darkened, searching her face—the press of a crooked grin barely playing across his muzzle. “To be alive,” he returns at her—
—because somehow, he felt, whatever conspired here this evening would last only for a time… and already he was dreading the feel of empty arms that were not upon her.
Was she victim in the same way his silver heart had been?
Even now he could admit to himself, while he trailed kisses along her jawline, that there was a deeper will within him to protect this woman he knew nothing about, if only because of his limited knowledge of the red sands and those that dwelled upon them.
It was a foolish notion.
He also didn’t care—pulling her closer, the heat of her—there was something about this woman he wished to indulge in. To know. To learn.
He could start by exploring the lissome curve of her body—a paw trailing to a hip, his lips now pressing to the fluttering pulse of her throat.
She pulls back and he almost doesn’t register her question right away—his pale eyes seemingly darkened, searching her face—the press of a crooked grin barely playing across his muzzle. “To be alive,” he returns at her—
—because somehow, he felt, whatever conspired here this evening would last only for a time… and already he was dreading the feel of empty arms that were not upon her.
Hebsut*
before, I was not a witch
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June 28, 2024, 12:52 PM
“Akavir,” she intones, but does not dissuade him. Her mouth parts beneath his kiss and when he speaks the same sibylline confession she shudders-
She knew if they submitted to one another it would be the natural order of things; this advent of lust and momentary pleasure. She could pretend to take refuge in his arms, but come morning he would return to his river and she’d lose this moment to an illusion of starlight. Life was not this dream; dreams do not exist.
But his flesh exists. The feel of his mouth charting her curves exists, and also the way her urgent pulsing rekilned between her legs. She slips from his arms and lets out a slow breath, sifting her chin sensually down his jaw into his nape, seeking his scent. Her mouth disappears into strands of dark fur, her body pushes into his flank shamelessly.
She wanted him. She wanted to be engirdled by black smoke and swept into utter night. It was different from before, this was a need so strong it was almost painful-
But it was different, too, from all the lovers she’d taken to her bed; from all the ways she had detached herself from pleasure.
There was meaning for her.
She knew if they submitted to one another it would be the natural order of things; this advent of lust and momentary pleasure. She could pretend to take refuge in his arms, but come morning he would return to his river and she’d lose this moment to an illusion of starlight. Life was not this dream; dreams do not exist.
But his flesh exists. The feel of his mouth charting her curves exists, and also the way her urgent pulsing rekilned between her legs. She slips from his arms and lets out a slow breath, sifting her chin sensually down his jaw into his nape, seeking his scent. Her mouth disappears into strands of dark fur, her body pushes into his flank shamelessly.
She wanted him. She wanted to be engirdled by black smoke and swept into utter night. It was different from before, this was a need so strong it was almost painful-
But it was different, too, from all the lovers she’d taken to her bed; from all the ways she had detached herself from pleasure.
There was meaning for her.
June 30, 2024, 07:06 AM
not sure if you want to fade this and have another, or keep going but I'm game for whatever!
She is a flame that burns even in the cold water of the river. Beautiful in the first hint of moonlight, he finds himself wondering how her eyes glow in the stark darkness of the night-- of the warm afternoon sun. The daybreak of morning...
... how beautiful she would be in the autumn, with the leaves painted around her.
It's a pipe dream. Even with the burn of berries he knows it--that this mysterious woman was not here for refuge or to stay. The thought leaves him with a shroud of disappointment. One he cannot dwell on right now, and he instead chooses to live in the moment. Especially a moment as beautiful as her.
Her touch elicits a rumble from him, his gaze sharp as his eyes follow her movements.
He follows her--captivated. Reaching for her, gentleness given only until consent and then his touch becomes reverent... unbridled. His need for her encased in the kisses he offers as he explores her, the crooning growls of his praise.
He would pull her to him--would fit her against him as if she had always belonged there. And for a night, he could pretend that she did.
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