Bearclaw Valley [m] burning skies

Mature Content Warning

This thread has been marked as mature. By reading and/or participating in this thread, you acknowledge that you are of age or have permission from your parents to do so.

The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: here we go. >) this is all welcome btw!

the irritation over the days gives way to a fiercer ache, a burning beneath her skin like a fire that does not burn her as it races thru her veins. it still feels wrong. especially that towhee still is unsure what it is.

convinced it is an illness.

an illness that fills her with a restlessness that has her huffing and scowling at the shadows as she paces outside her chosen shelter. warring with the need to sequester herself away until she is well again ... and letting her paws carry her as far as they could.

maybe she could outrun this plague, since clearly she couldn't fight it.

she wears a path into the earth, pacing back and forth; a fierce storm personified, wanting nothing more to crawl out of her own skin and body.

tvar had been drawn from his patrol by the overwhelming scent that she wears. his muscled frame wearing frustration, he is compelled; drawing through the brush surrounding her densite, nostrils flaring with heavy huffs of breath.

he steps forward past disturbed brush, black paws breaking the distance between them. tvar is careful, his movements steady as if not to spook her. his nostrils flare, taking in the scent that clings to her—a scent that both draws him in and sets his pulse roaring in his ears. his voice would be lost on her, so he opts for movement instead. he circles into her line of sight, ensuring she can see him clearly, hazel eyes steady on her form. head lowering slightly as he approaches further, his movements calm. a faint chuff leaves his lips, though not for sound—he knows she will see it, the soft huff of his breath against the cold air.

he does not push, does not demand—he waits, his gaze steady on her, offering her the choice of whether she will accept him.

towhee's sense of smell has always been sharply keen — an attempt to overcompensate for her lack of hearing — and she notes the difference in the sharp wintergreen tang of the air. she smells his warm musk, inviting despite that she'd never much noticed it before ( beyond the obvious that he smelled clearly like a wolf of bearclaw ).

and then he circles into her line of sight, approaching.

tvar.

sharp golden gaze rakes over his body with an appreciation that surprises her. her guard falters, like an invisible shield flickering as it wars with whatever force moves against it before it drops. towhee had never noticed anyone, really. never interested in more than proving herself.

she watches the puff of his chuff unfurl in the cold air before them, and feels a low fire stoke in her belly.

everything about what she is feeling is unfamiliar. uncharted territory. her tail lashes the air once. twice.

her choice.

towhee's instincts take control of her until she is naught but a puppet on marionette strings — steps drawing her nearer; gaze assessing him. a low noise of approval rumbles in her throat as she makes to circle him slowly; a would be brush of her side against his own, if he would let her.

as she circles him, he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t move, only follows her with his eyes. he lets her take the lead, lets her make her assessment. when her side brushes against his own, the heat of her touch cuts through the cold, and it’s all he can do to remain steady. his head dips slightly, muzzle tilting toward her as if to invite her closer, and his body shifts subtly, turning toward her.

her touch lingers on his side, and he lets it guide him, steps upon black paws slow as he mirrors her circling motion. his head invades her space so he might brush his dark snout faintly along the curve of her shoulder, inhaling the soft scent that permeates from her. a growl in his throat then, that she can’t hear but might feel vibrate the muzzle that burrows through her fur, scenting approvingly at her.

his breath is warm upon her fur, seeking to move his snout to angle down her neck, nose rooting patiently through her fur. his tongue, warm, finds her ear and he laps once, twice at the base where ear and dark skull connect. his own blood hums, his heartbeat heavy in his chest as if it might leap out and betray the calm he’s trying to maintain.

it is not his wish to rush her, and it’s clear in the soft approach he takes with her now. letting her circle him, assess him, brush against him; whatever she might do, a man confident but patient to her wills. his head lowers to bump against hers as he attempts to press his strong frame up further against her, seeking more touch from her now.

her heart thrums in her chest, carrying the fevered blood faster thru her veins; reacting solely and strongly to the touch of his muzzle against the curve of her scarred shoulder, a sharp breath given at the growl she can feel vibrating from his throat. his touch brushing down his neck, lingering before it rises to her notched ear.

the brush of his tongue draws a soft, sensual noise from her — though she could only feel the push of the air, the soft vibration from her throat as it leaves her.

towhee'd never felt this war of both wanting to be closer, to let her control further spiral away whilst feeling powerful.

it was bizarre. it was beautiful.

she does another slow circle; coquettish as she rubs her body alongside his, finding a strange but far from unpleasant intoxication to the melding of their scents, the heat of his body.

she aims to nibble at his jaw, and draw her tongue against the love-bites. but she is burning hotter; a wardrum whose beats are reaching its crescendo...

burning for him.

she comes to a stop before him, her golden gaze searching his earthen gaze for a moment before she turns her back to him, glancing over her shoulder: the invitation clear.

when her soft sound reaches him, there is the faintest hitch of his own breath in reaction; he can hear the thrum of his own blood rush within his ears. he grows more guarded of their surroundings, now cemented in his possession of her—if only temporary, if only for the right now. she strikes him like a flame meeting dry kindling, and he leans into it, into her, basking in the heat that draws to life between the two of them.

dark pelt pressed to even darker pelt, melding together beautifully.

tvar takes it upon himself to fully close the space between them, each step bleeding with a red confidence; his tail steadily flagging in the air, each brush of his mouth to her fur more fervent, hurried than the last. there’s no hesitation now, no second-guessing. she had given him the go-ahead, and he moves without faltering.

eyes meeting hers, following her gaze behind her shoulder, tvar offers her press of his forehead between her ears; then he brushes past her, strong body to strong body. once behind her, his chest brushes against her back as he leans down, his muzzle pressing firmly to the curve of her neck. his breath is warm against her fur as a low growl vibrates in his throat yet again. his teeth graze her shoulder in a brief nip, before burrowing teeth into the thick ruff of black fur there.

we can fade and archive or im down to fade and continue -- up to you <3

there is no thoughts of the future, not even the very near future, how she — or he — might feel in the ebbing aftermath of it.

there is only the moment, the strength of him as she is drawn into his embrace and how it both stokes and calms the fire blazing within her.

---

fade to black

---

the insistent fire that'd been burning through her veins quelled; relief and satisfaction flood her synapses. contently, towhee smooths down errant, ruffled fur of her shoulder.

though uncharted sea for her, it had been far from unpleasant. and in the afterglow his profile is somehow even more handsome then it'd initially been she notes as her gaze traces it almost lazily. her breath catches; stirs a soft flutter in her chest.

despite that, towhee's pragmatic by nature and does not think it meant anything more than what it'd been, even if she was still a little unsure of why his presence and the intimacy shared between them had been a miraculous balm to her ailment.

she sneaks another peek at him to gauge his own reaction.

tvar stirs from sleep, the warmth of her presence beside him a quiet reassurance even before his eyes fully open. hazel eyes crack open, settling on her for a beat longer than intended, his thoughts clouded with fragments of old expectations and new realities. he moves, then, albeit slowly; the bulk of his form shifting into a lounging position. as he leans closer to her, his muzzle brushes hers, a kiss pressed to the bridge of her nose.

his tail stirs, wagging faintly behind him, though his thoughts are heavier than his actions might suggest. if this had been home—if he were still vahaelarr crownore, prince of winterhelm—this would’ve been forbidden, a reckless mistake that his honor would demand he rectify. but here, there is only freedom. still, there’s a pang of guilt buried deep in his chest. it rises like bile in his throat. yet, as his gaze sweeps over her and the peace that lingers in the lines of her face, he forces it down.

this is not home.

this is not the life he left behind.

he isn’t that man anymore.

how’re you feeling? the question is simple. tvar has no illusions about what this was—or wasn’t—but he can’t help the way his mind lingers on her.

for a small moment she envies how he was able to be lulled into sleep; while her mind feels more awake perhaps than it'd ever been. something has decidedly shifted in her, to be examined later she thinks as she watches him stir awake. she looks away quickly, as if she were afraid of being caught admiring him.

which was very un-towhee, who had built her fortress 'round her self with the 'fake it to you make it' lie that she wasn't afraid of anything.

warmth brushes along her cheeks at the brush of his muzzle against her's followed by the kiss.

she likes it more than she fears she should; and she pushes that thought down, to unpack later when she inevitably finds herself patrolling the borders though an instinctual part of her warns her away from them for the time being.

much better than she had been before was, at the moment, not very easy for her to communicate she settles for attempting to communicate 'i feel great' with the shift of her shoulders closer, the hold of her golden gaze. she signs it slowly in ptero with a gesture of her paws, limited though her lounging position made it. she had not necessarily intended to teach ptero unless it was asked of her but it would certainly make communicating easier. to finish, in case something got lost along the line of translation, she presses a soft, lingering kiss to his cheek.

then, she moves her paws, deliberate and slow. he recognizes it as communication, a language he doesn't yet understand? meaningful. her effort to bridge the gap between them isn't lost on him. it's humbling in a way.

when she leans in to press a kiss to his cheek, his ear flicks slightly, betraying the quiet warmth that spreads through him. for a moment, he simply lets it settle, lets himself take in the moment—the way her breath brushes his fur, the closeness of her.

his voice is low when he speaks, though there's a softness to it that isn't always there. that language—what you just did with your paws—will you teach me? his gaze searches hers, hazel meeting gold with an earnestness that feels almost raw.

towhee's always ran away from her own vulnerability — the emotional kind, at any rate — but there was no running here. stranger still that there is no urge to. even if the raw earnest she finds in his gaze as it holds her's, steady and as unwavering as the nature made stonewalls 'round the valley they call home makes her want to slam her shield wall back in place.

which was utterly silly, given that the physical intimacy they'd shared was the closest she's ever allowed anyone. physical or otherwise.

with thoughts clear she recognizes that it scares her.

he asks to learn ptero. her heart thrums in her throat — another thing shared between them.

-yes.- she makes the motion with her paw and nods her head in tandem: an easy way to start. 'yes' and 'no' were the easiest in her ptero vocabulary to teach, after all.

tvar watches her carefully, catching the subtle motions of her paws, the slight nod of her head as she signs the first word. it's simple—direct. "yes." his lips curl faintly at the corners. yes, he repeats aloud, and he lifts a paw then, mimicking her motion carefully. it’s clumsy, but he tries nonetheless. like this? he asks.

his tail shifts faintly against the ground, a subtle wag that mirrors the warmth creeping into his otherwise stoic demeanor. he breathes out slowly, feeling that pull toward her again. she’s all sharp edges and guarded strength, but here, in this moment, she’s something softer, too. something he wants to keep close.

is no next? he intones with a playful smile. that does seem the most obvious one.

there is always something a little endearing about watching someone try to sign ptero the first time; a bit clumsy like a pup trying to stand for the first time. no doubt it is a similar sort of experience, for it wasn't natural per-se. for her, yes. just as the silence she lived in was natural. she knew nothing else, and did not necessarily yearn for it except in moments of great frustration when she assumes it would be easier to speak her words rather than gesture them out with her paws.

still, his first successful ptero attempt brings a soft, albeit encouraging smile to her lips.

his question, playful she deduces from watching his micro expressions draws a coy look from her. he was right, of course. it was the next fundamental building block of learning ptero.

-no.- she draws a sharp slicing motion with her paw, giving her head a shake.

tvar watches closely, his gaze fixed on her paws as she demonstrates the next sign. a sharp, slicing motion. she makes it look effortless; the gestures are probably as natural to her as breathing. his lips twitch faintly, betraying the focus etched across his features, and he mimics her movement again, his paw dragging through the air with more confidence this time.

no, he echoes, aloud. it’s sharper now, closer to her own motion, though still imperfect. he glances at her, seeking her approval. his gaze lingers for a moment longer than necessary, caught between the motions of her paws and the flicker of her golden eyes.

tvar wasn't expecting to involve himself with anyone this season. it had just happened. and now, the thought of another male near her—touching her, vying for her—is enough to set his blood boiling. his tail twitches now, as if irritated; but he presses closer, pushing his fur into hers, as if trying to seek some sort of calm from her. his head lowers momentarily, hazel eyes raking across towhee.

a distraction is needed from his brooding thoughts. what next?