Barrow Fields Lord, show [m]e how to say no to this

@Kjalarr

Mature Content Warning

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The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: Foreplay and eventual sexytimes

Had she known of the history between the Sound and the Woods, she might have steered clear of the Sound. She was far enough not to cause trouble with the current leadership, but too close for comfort if she were her mother. The interactions between the two packs were faint, practically non-existent in her mind. She had more pressing matters taking charge. The white witch murmured to herself as she rubbed her body along the grass, feeling more anxious and needy than usual as she neared the end of the shoreline.

Kjalarr did not oft stray too far from Saltwinter. In fact, he hadn't since Caiaphas' assumed death. It had been months and there was no sign of the sea queen's return and Kjalarr did what he had to: he kept the rag tag band together, he kept plowing forward, towards the winter months which he held no illusions of. They would be rough but Saltwinter would endure, as they always did. Yet, never leaving the Sound was driving him mad. He was a ranger and being cooped up made him feel caged. It was with a quick muttered “I'm going out for a few hours, I'm not going far” to Maude he slipped out of his borders into Barrow Fields. The last time he was here he'd ran into Floki. Despite the plainness of the rolling field with bizarre mounds, Kjalarr caught hold of a scent that was close. It was distinct but not one that he would forget. Without truly consciously deciding to he followed it to see the culprit, rolling her scent upon the grasses of the fields. Greedily, the Jarl drunk them in where they tantalized upon the soft breeze. Black, leathery nostrils flared as he approached the ivory clad woman.

Kjalarr knew from experience how this went, though this woman was not the mysterious Freyja that he'd had earlier in the year. As he neared his two year mark there was little doubt that he was able to spawn. Children might not have resulted from his tangle with the mysterious Freyja (whom he had not seen after) but if his math was right it could be possible now. Because of this some logical part of the scarred northman's brain told him that he should exercise caution, or better yet, turn around and force himself to walk away. The viking did neither. Instead, he drew nearer with a low rumble of desire in his chest. He didn't know this woman, and he believed that she would likely be like Freyja (Osprey) and he would never see her again even if his seed took hold. He didn't mind the idea of being the absent father. He had enough on his plate.

Besides, he reasoned, the Gods willed this meeting. They desired this. Theirs was the only power above his now. Though he had drawn nearer he stopped, waiting for her, knowing that this was how the preliminary dance begun.

A wolf of platinum and sand emerged to greet her, the rumble in his chest exciting her. The woman rolled in the grass, spreading her scent further, before laying on her side, her head lifted to watch the large man approach. She rumbled in return, her tail thumping on the ground before settling, parallel with her body, if not higher, to grant the man a better view.

The stranger continued her ploy on rolling in the grass, spreading her scent further along the earth. Odinn spare him, it was so intoxicating. It awoken and tempted every primal instinct in him until he didn't care that he was a stranger. He didn't care who she was, or what pack she belonged to. He just didn't care about anything then him and her and that her scent caused a fire to burn in his loins. It was instinctual: the need to spread his seed, to further his gene pool. He neared as her rumble answered his own and her tail thumped upon the earth a few times before she held it a bit higher than parallel with her body for him to inspect. Assuming this was an invitation his head bowed to cautiously sniff at her; testing her. Would she be like the mysterious goddess almost a year ago? Would she want play first? Would she tempt and tease? Or would she be straight forward?

Potema felt her excitement grow in her stomach as the male neared her body. She shivered as his hot breath skimmed over her, whining softly as he tentatively sniffed her. She moved her upper body forward, nibbling around his thighs and crotch, her tail beating a wanton taboo behind her.

The sound of her whine was enough to drive him to madness. Kjalarr was drunk on her scent. Though none of this was unfamiliar to the viking it had been a long time and in some ways this made it a novelty all over. And this pallid stranger was so much more bold than his unknown partner the first time as was evidenced as she drew nearer and he felt her nibble at his thighs and crotch. He let out a low growl, that sensation utterly foreign and new to him. Yet, it only enticed him further. A low whine slipped from betwixt his lips and the fire in his belly and loins burned, threatening to burn him from the inside out. Kjalarr made to nip at her thigh as he nosed her tail, drinking in her scent again with flared nostrils. It was like a Beserker high, a high that would not end until he left his claim upon this valkyrie. Much more brazen than he'd been his first time he drew his tongue against her before pulling back, the taste of her lingering upon his tongue, telling him all that he needed to know. She was receptive, that much her scent told him, but if she was ready for him then the viking saw no need to dally. There would be plenty of time for that when they were stuck together from their union.

Out of them all, he was by far the most passionate. She didn't want to urge him along, not him, not this time. She hummed in pleasure, leaning forward to lap at his crotch as he nipped and nosed hers. When he drew his tongue against her, she cried out, louder she had been so far. He hadn't even entered her yet and her brain was already swimming.

Potema whined, pushing her body into his touch. It was up to him to prolong this teasing and investigating, but she would go along with whatever he had in mind.

His first experience of a woman in heat had been very different. She had wanted to play and while the memories were fuzzy and he struggled to recall — especially when the stranger before him was all that was on his mind — but he did not think she let him touch her. At least, not like this. Yet, Kjalarr desired to explore. To learn what she liked, what felt good to her. If he was going to develop a reputation to rival Ragnar's own he might as well do it right. He bit his lip as she lapped at him in kind, the sensation entirely new to the viking but far from unpleasant. The feeling was rather delicious. His tongue drew ever so slightly across his lips, the taste of her lingering on his tongue. Her cry had been an encouragement to Kjalarr who drew his tongue against her a few more times, wondering if he could elicit that noise from her again and build the suspense that tightened his muscles. His body ached for her, and he offered her an encouraging nip to her hip to communicate it. He knew she had to ready for him, too, but he knew she couldn't be far off the mark if the sounds she had made were of any indication.

He repeated the action again, making Potema go crazy. Her whines increased in volume, becoming moans as he continued. Her mind whirled; none of the others were like this. Were they supposed to be? If they were, she was highly disappointed with them. She bit her lip, feeling his nip against her hip. Her body rose, her rump in the air, tail waving above her back, inviting him in. She was ready for him.

Her whines tapered into moans and Kjalarr delighted in the noises, in the knowledge that he was able to have this effect on a complete stranger. Granted, a lot of it was probably hormones (if not most of it) but he was drunk on the flood of them and didn't really care if all it was the instinct to reproduce. He was more than willing to let the primal side take over and when she rose, her tail moved to the side out of the way, inviting him in he pressed his chest against her for a brief moment before he hooked a foreleg around her hip. He grasped her scruff betwixt his jaws and his second foreleg hooked around the other side of her hip as he rose, shifting the bulk of his weight to his back legs. He gave a test thrust to ensure their bodies were aligned properly and once they were a second rock of his hips against hers joined their bodies.

His weight pressed against her back, and her breathing quickened before he even entered. His jaw clamped around her scruff in a familiar, slightly painful feeling, his two forelegs around her hips a gentle pressure, though the best feeling was yet to come. He thrusted, though it didn't hit home. She whined in disappointment, knowing that it was a common practice in males to assure themselves that they were in the right place. It was on his second that she began to melt, pressing back into his hips, moaning again.

The pallid temptress beneath him whined in disappointment at his test thrust. As it had been intentional he didn't let it harm his ego. Assured that his next rock of his hips would see him where he was sure they both wanted him to be he adjusted his grasp upon her scruff and let out a low rumble of content and desire as she pressed her hips back against his. His grip tightened around her hips, aiming to guide her back against him with each roll of his hips flush against her's. Her moans only served to fuel the fire and it took his self-restraint to keep his pace even for the time being. Patience had never been Kjalarr's strong suit but he kept himself in check by reminding himself that her own pleasure was as important as his in this archaic and saccharine dance.

She gripped the ground beneath her as best as she could, trying to lock her knees; he was by far one of the largest males she had to bear on her back. His grip was tight around her, though it wasn't entirely uncomfortable. His pace was surprisingly steady for someone his age — someone almost, if not a bit older, than her — which only served to spur her pleasure. Too fast took the pleasure away, which was half of the point of mating. Her moans reached a fever pitch as she clenched around him, her brain whitewashing for a brief moment before she came back to reality, the silver male still pressing his weight against her.

Without much practice of this act Kjalarr's stamina was not what it could be. Her moans rose above his heavy pants and a low half gasp, half rumble of pleasure tore from his lips parted where his teeth grasped her scruff as she clenched around him. A few thrusts saw her through and took him to the accumulation of his own zenith as he felt the knot form and tie their bodies together as his speed spilled within her. Knowing that it would be some time before the knot ebbed enough for them to part he — very carefully, mind — untangled his limbs from her's and slowly, as not to cause either of them harm, moved so that they were standing back to back against one another.

Oh Sithis, She murmured to herself as the knot tied between them. Potema whimpered with disappointment as his weight left her. Inexperienced as he was, he was, by far, one of her best lovers. She did not know what kind of man he was, but a part of her wanted to selfishly keep him to herself, to steal him away from the shore and back to the darkness of Blackfeather Woods. She could easily do that with her heat in full swing, she half-thought, wondering if the sandy-legged male would initiate a conversation with her as the others so awkwardly did.

She murmured something he barely caught through his heavy pants as he tied within her. Left to the gradual slow of his breathing and heart rate as he rode the high of pleasure down on legs that trembled slightly for a brief moment in the aftermath he thought about it. Kjalarr wasn't sure what a Sithis was and spent some time contemplating if he wanted to ask. He wasn't really interested in after sex pillow talk. They were mysteries to one another, as Odinn was to the mortal women he bedded and conceived children with. Though his curiosity was an starved thing, in the end, he did not ask who or what Sithis was, desiring to keep the enticing mystery between them as such: a mystery. He would be like the Allfather and keep his identity (and his curiosities) to himself and deigned not to ruin it by speaking, lest she wished to break the lust filled silence between them.

He was silent, not even mentioning her half murmured words. She was content with that, focusing instead on her still rapid heartbeat, willing it to slow. She shifted her hips, her back still a bit sore from his weight (and all the others'). All that was in the air was the distant crash of the waves and the caws of seagulls and their breathing. That was enough for the witch, who, like her lover, wanted her identity hidden.

feel free to post once more or archive as is! <3

Time wound on and Kjalarr kept to his silence, waiting until the knot that bound their bodies together would loosen. The viking was not sure how much time had elapsed but he felt it loosen and carefully he detached himself from his unknown lover, his salmon pink tongue drawing across his jowls in satisfaction. The Jarl circled her once, his body would brush against hers if she allowed it. He did not want to part so coldly as leaving simply because they were done. He could have. It would have been easy and though they had both used one another for sex he had a blooming reputation he would like to keep. “vertu sæll” He offered her in the guttural language of his father, seeking to offer her a simple parting kiss upon her muzzle if she allowed it before he slipped away and headed back towards the Sound, finding that he was suddenly rather hungry and desiring to now sate the rumble in his stomach.

She released him and she did so with a gasp, mirroring his movements as her tongue swiped over her lips and nose. She sat back on her haunches, hoping that the seed would stay there, remain. His body pressed against hers, and she trailed her nose through the platinum fur. She did not ask his name, nor gave it to him, but returned his gutteral farewell with her own, Geros ilas, kostagon sagon kepa hen ñuha riña, She lingered there for a moment, until she felt ready to move on to her next conquest.