Firefly Glen [m] Chaleurs

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The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: Conception thread. Sfw, but probably uncomfy for some

@Lorcan

Viskani knows herself well. Matriarche, Heritiere, Glaieul, Magnolia, it is the same year by year. Winter comes, and she is ready to provide for her pack once again.

In the domain of her mother it was rather easy, for many suitable men wandered about; but now she prowls in search of one. An ear twitches. For now she seems to be alone.

The head of the noblewoman lifts, a howl leaving her throat that is nearly a whine. Unbecoming, and yet it does not matter for Montagne de Cigue is not here to see. There is a reason for the Matriarche to take her exit during this time, after all.

the faint howl carries through the silence, soft at first, then sharper—a sound that pricks at his ears and pulls his attention toward the distance. it’s a call. a beckon.

who is he to not heed it?

his steps slow, his golden eye narrowing as he tilts his head slightly, inhaling deeply to confirm what he already knows. heat.

the faintest smirk tugs at his scarred lips as he approaches. well, he drawls, what do we got here?

A man is quick to approach. They always do.

Eyes graze over the other; analysing, judging, deciding if he is worthy.

A dark coat, muscular figure, and larger than herself. He could make good sons, and strong daughters. Most importantly, he was unknown to her.

She can see his ego bared through his words and mannerisms, a vulnerability that deems him an easy target for her efforts. Her voice is a purr as it rises from her throat. Utilise tes yeux, mon amour. Her head is lowered, tail waving at her hocks as she approaches him at a trot. You are a smart man, to come so quickly. She creates an invisible competition, something for him to fend against.

Men are easy. The Matriarche has learned to feed their egos, to use them to her advantage.

lorcan doesn’t wait for an invitation—he steps in, closing the distance between them with a sure, deliberate stride. there’s no hesitation in the way he moves, the way his golden eye rakes over her form, taking in every detail. she smells of heat and challenge, and he intends to meet both head-on.

i am not a man who wastes time. he murmurs, his voice low, the faintest growl lurking under each word. rest assured.

he leans in, muzzle dipping toward her neck, testing her reaction before he presses closer. his breath warms the air between them, the scent of her stirring a hunger he won’t bother hiding. there’s a confidence in his stance—straight-backed, head high—like he’s already decided how this will go.

Her gaze is watchful, waiting.

Ah, you're experienced then? That certainly sparked her interest. Her responsibility or not, she should be allowed to enjoy herself. A muzzle pushed towards her neck, she acknowledges it with a soft growl, playful rather than malicious.

He is confident, sure of himself, and the Matriarche is glad for it. A confident man is far quicker, and just as he, Viskani does not waste time.

Her own lowered head meets his muzzle with a soft lick, eyes briefly meeting his.

lorcan lets out a low, throaty growl in answer, stepping into her space without hesitation. experience comes with age, he breathes. when she meets his gaze, her tongue darting to his muzzle, he takes that as all the permission he needs.

her soft growl is cut short as he bowls her over, pinning her to the cold earth beneath them. his breath warms the air between their faces, golden eye flicking across her features. there’s a surge of possession in his posture—victory, challenge, and something that sparks hot at the edges.

you said you wanted quick, he rumbles, voice low, just shy of a snarl.

fade now?