Jade Fern Grove chafa

Warmth radiated from her—cool, spring air from the storm contrasted such as it billowed from the entrance. He remained enthralled with her for the moment—reverent. Another gentle kiss, encouraged by the graze of her delicate paw, lingering upon the back of his neck.

He tilted his gaze upward—frosted champagne meeting cerulean blue, and boldly, he moved his lips upward—another kiss planted—the suggestion in this one shifting in dynamic as his eyes never left her—unspoken and awaiting her words. He could not continue uninvited—but in that moment, he would graze his chin  more roughly along the delicate swell of her stomach, the stubble of rough whiskers painting the same pink tinge upon her skin as a man with stubble might—thoughts slipping to the wicked ways in which he could leave such a mark along more intimate areas of her body. It was hard not to envision what it would be to wake in a morning and have her, like this.


An eternity.

the image opened in front of silvertongue as well, unfurling in intoxicant waves of color and sensation. no matter how many times it had been or how long between, akavir always drew from her the summertime glow which now heated in the gravid body, waking her as if he had kissed lightning beneath her skin. rote; wanting; silvertongue began to respond, to reach for him, to shift her hips for the velveteen love of his passionate rhythm — she let her arms fall back in the next, her glassblue eyes reaching for him, darkened with a near-telepathic answering want, and a piercing, limpid anguish. "akavir." her voice shook, silted with the ache of salt; she pulled away from him, from under him, toward the door, and rain brushed her shoulder as she looked into the muddy land, then to him; a breath swelling her chest; "oh, akavir;" and silvertongue ran from the little cave and the marrow-rending cry of her entire soul for the creekwolf and his knowing eyes.

She bloomed beneath him—a moment to writhe as his name sang from her lips—like a balm to his internal wounds. He trailed upward now—her hips aligning—his kiss slanting toward a breastbone.

Featherlight, and then she was gone. The blazing heat doused by the frigid air—his name spoken once more from her in a little gasp—and his eyes watched her disappear from his life—limned in the faint glow of of a stormy night.

He did not move from his spot… Not until the storm passed. Not for some time. Minutes became hours. A night.

And as if the stitches pulled from a bleeding heart, he slowly rose, slinking out of the cave. Day greeted him—the sun seemingly forgetting that there was nothing to be cheerful about.

A certain hardness settled in his eyes. Resolve. And with a released exhale, the man began his way home—

—for the day to day tasks would always need to be done, no matter the unraveling of his world.