Swiftcurrent Creek if you spent your whole life working

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heat thread 2/?
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Still burned, still itched.

She decided to skirt the fanfare and sought the scent of @Akavir herself. Harmless, right? She knew it would not be such, but he was the head here among the creek.

If anybody could help her...

She crooned out a lonely note.

Jakoul’s scent was becoming noticeable—and thus, Akavir was keen on drifting further from her. Been there, done that, and all of that fun stuff. For now, he ignored whether or not she planned on tending to her needs—and how, to be more specific, knowing full well if a rogue tried to traipse across the borders he was looking to claim as his, there would be a punishment to the trespasser.


So when her crooning, lonley note beckoned to him, the man shifted, muzzle swinging back to take in the wisp-ish she-wolf. Assessing her carefully—stoically—Akavir was not the imag eof a doting suitor, as much as he perhaps should be.

But he knew the situation would need to be tended tot in some manner—it was simply a pity that the season was upon them and they weren’t even established fully with rankings. “Jakoul,” he offered, hoping his tone came across warmer then perhaps his body language.

He crooned back her name.

Softly, carefully, her tail waved. Crouched as she was to make herself small before him. She did not need courting, love, cherishing. She did not fool herself into thinking she was worth those things. Nor did she think she'd find them this year. Same as all the years prior.

Tentatively, she inched a bit closer to him. Prepared to dodge should he not welcome her.

He withheld a sigh at the she-wolf, gaze roaming her and considering. He was used to the coy woman in heat—alluring, playful and demanding.

Ibis, honestly.

Jakoul in the moment was uncertain and timid. And so the man swept forward, more a surge of protectiveness for his pack mate than anything, wondering if this nature had been forced upon her in the past but never once asking. He rumbled lowly, muzzle bending down to preen at the top of her head should she allow it, and tipping his muzzle back, he did what he felt the most necessary: he crooned out a low howl, summing @Lestan to him, should the man be about.

She leaned into it, into him.

A call had been expected. Nor did she wish to think why he declined (for she could only see it was a decline) her so freely. Had it been something she'd done? Something she hadn't done?

Softly, carefully, teeth reached for tufts of fur on him to groom.

An apology if he looked for such a thing.

She leaned into his warmth, and as his song faded, he bent down, hoping to soothe her with nudges and affection along her head and cheeks. Her ministrations were gentle—apologetic, it felt, and he slowly reclined to sit, hoping she did not feel less by his actions. Instead, he nosed at her ear, and very softly whispered to her. “It’s not me you seek,” he offered. “I’m not a good father. I’m not a good man.”

And he would leave it at that.

Not a good father. Perhaps, she had no baseline for judgement.

But...not a good man? She argued he was too good of a man to have let her in in the first place.

Want. She assured him, soft but not prepared to press. If he truly declined, let it be so. Not matter, not good.

He rumbled, ceasing his actions to glance up, hoping to see Lestan answering his summons soon. There was no stirring from the foliage and brush—instead, the soft white of a previous evenings snow still blanketed the area, untouched, for the most part.

She spoke softly to him, endearing—requesting. He glanced down to her once more. It should matter, he wanted to tell her, his brows furrowing. Instead... “Why does it not matter?”

Why did it not?

She wished she was more skilled with words, that she could weave a finer image for him of reassurance and acceptance. Instead she rumbled, soft and warm, tucked herself along his side.

Jakoul...not good.

A soft showing of the beast within, tucked between her ribs.

Not need be. Not need you good. Just need...you. Creek.

She tucked in—warm, soft and welcoming. There was still no sign of Lestan—and for a moment, the shadowrunner gave in to the wishes of the woman—to himself, if honest—and slowly laid next to her, wrapping about her, pulling her closer to continue soothing her.

She offered a part of herself—maybe. A stranger that came to their borders with no real rhyme or reason except seeking a place to rest. Her intentions were never made clear spare assumptions, and the frost-maned wolf would see if he could seize more from her, should she allow it. “Why does Jakoul need the creek?” She didn’t believe herself to be good, either—he could perhaps assess that in a moment. For now, he crooned lowly, a rumble in his chest, black fur melting to black fur.

He was good and warm

The cold world had become warming fires in moments. She groomed along his own pitch black fur, softly working out any knots or matting. Mindful to not pull or hurt.

He still had questions, but she had garnered some patience as she was held.

Need...purpose. Need home.

She hummed deeply and reached to swipe a tongue over his chin.

“The creek is your home if you want it to be,” he offered, enjoying the attention she paid him now. Still, no Lestan, and he wondered vaguely if he should call again.

Jakoul seemed content for now, in his arms. He could protect her from any curious lone male wolves that came upon her scent—and when Lestan came, he would ask the gentle Mayfair to do just that. Not that he was confident the brown bard could fight.

He dipped his muzzle down, preening at her, grazing his nose to the soft fur of her nape.

Let it be so.

Until she would fly the roost once more, but that was still a while off. Now she would reside on this side of the mountains, along this creek, along the man who held her.

She knew to expect nothing, but she cherished what she had in that moment.

Help Jakoul?

She sought to prompt him, kind and warm. A soft shift of her body alongside his, wondering and waiting.

Still she was prepared for another rejection.

His nose would graze her nape—trailing from the crown of her head to the blades of her shoulders. He would indulge himself for only a moment, but knew it to be cruel in that moment—the warmth and softness of her. It would have been a lie to say he had not missed holding another in his embrace.

But if he were to explore her further, he knew he wouldn’t be able to let go. He had loved once, and he had lost her. Had lost a part of himself with her—his family had crumbled. He had failed to keep them safe.

His muzzle trailed upward once more—heated words to the curve of her ear and his own larger form melded closer to her supple frame, appreciative of the curves pressed to him. “I can’t in the way you want. It's not a good idea,” he rumbled, sighing out—fully believing nothing good could come from it. “But you have my permission to seek out Arric. Or Lestan, should he ever get his ass here. Because the creek is your home. Jakoul is safe here.”

It was a whine, piercing in the back of her throat. She had been prepared for it but it stung all the same. She had sought him out! She picked him for — for everything. The strength, the creek, the safety he offered so freely.

They did not have to be good to deserve this moment. Especially if he allowed her permission.

Safe. Her ears pinned back to her head and she tucked herself sharply underneath his neck. Against the curve of his chest. She had not yet gone running to the arms of Arric or Lestan, or beyond the creek. She trembled against him for a moment.

Another low whine that petered off into a crooning note.

She fit against him—nestled tightly against his chest, as if she fit so very perfectly there. A rumble from his throat would be a hint of his own resolve fading—the slightest lift of his forelimb to encase her, willing himself to not pivot her around and pull her hips sharply against him. It was what she desired—he knew that. Hell, he would enjoy himself too, he knew that.

But then what?

Then what… He groaned softly against her ear, a smile pressing to his mouth despite his jaws seeking to preen at her further. “You test me,” he confided.

A test.

It felt her whole life had been a series of them. Testing her resolve, testing her strength, testing her very spirit. A test for loyalties and morals.

Had it all been for this? For a moment to picture oblivion and bliss in equal turns, given the form of a inky, silver dusted man? Jakoul had not been made to break, but something did creak and fracture within. To look in the face of what a life could be.

She did not wish to let go, she did not wish for him to let go.

No. Her voice sharp against the softness of his fur.

No test. Just...you.

His response was a feral rumble—the shift of his hips, the desire to drag her closer to him and fit them in a much more intimate manner. His breath huffed out softly, blowing the soft fur against her cheek before he dragged himself from her warmth, embracing the cold as one would a slap to the face.

Looking down to her, stoical and guarded, the Mayfair knew this was not a game to continue. It could not continue.

“Come on,” he coaxed, nose moving down to gingerly press to her shoulder. “Let’s see if we can find @Lestan.” He paused, ire in his words that the earthy man had not come to his summons yet. “He’s probably chasing butterflies or something.” His cousin (were they cousins? Relatives of some form) seemed a more whimsical type.

“Or @Arric. You should stay with someone else, in case a rogue tries to cross the lines…”

He wished to pawn her off to another.

The knowledge settled heavy in her chest. Then it burned with the way the cold replaced where the warmth of him had been.

She would not stay now. Not to wait for another.

Perhaps a dare, perhaps a selfish declare. Silently she began to pad off a few yards. Head turned over a narrow shoulder where the cologne of him still radiated.

Pale eyes fixed on him for a moment.

tags for reference

She was silent at his suggestion—frostier than perhaps the winter air that surrounded them now. She distanced herself, an angular muzzle looking back over a graceful shoulder to offer him a rather pointed look.

Oh, he knew that look—had been on the receiving end of it many times. He had pissed her off—rightfully so. Dogged by her stare down, and feeling annoyed that just how much he detested the warmth that had now departed him with her, he stared after her, solemn—to grovel would be unfair to her. A whiplash of emotions, and so, with a certain finality of the grave he had certainly dug for himself, Akavir tilted his muzzle up, calling once more for either Lestan or now @Arric—to see her reaction. To see theirs.

And to try to quash the flare of a dragon’s jealousy that mounted in his chest, for it held no real place here.

No.

She need not say it for it to be in her gaze.

Hackles softly prickled, she began to move off with more certainty. If he did not give chase or order a halt, she would be gone. Off into the woods.

Still here, in the protective bubble of him and the Creek's borders, but out of sight.