Raven's Watch Her body is my canvas, painted with butterfly kisses

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Tagging for reference; no obligation to join!

Entangled limbs and breathless gasps, the feeling of both as familiar to him as his mother’s face. It dragged from the depths of his mind the memories of his previous life, of the acts he’d performed and the suitors that had come from near and far in order to spend but a single night with the young Tētlauhtilli. Men and women alike sought his company, paying more than what he was worth in order to be granted unsupervised access to the yearling, allowing them to give and take until they were satisfied. After being taken in by @Athanasius, he’d tried so desperately to leave that life in his past, but was unable to. It was a part of him, a period of his life that he could neither forget nor abandon. The lessons were engraved into his mind, repeated daily by the voice of the Cihuāpilli; his leader, his master, his mother. He longed to see her face again, to be held in her embrace and cooed at. The special treatment that he received from her was something that he missed terribly, the treats and the days away from the woman things that he recalled fondly. He missed it all but was oblivious to exactly how deep his emotions ran—until he awoke to find his body trembling.

Removing himself from the beast, his current master, he gave a gentle shake of his coat and then wandered away. His mind was clouded, his legs driven by his subconscious. It felt to him as if he was trailing along ancient paths, though he knew, deep down, that nothing there was his. When at last he stopped the boy was on a ledge, gazing up into the night sky. He sang no songs of sorrow or joy, he merely stared, imagining that those from his home were there with him, gazing up at the very same sky.

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He was half asleep when Mazatl rose, his mind snapping back into alertness as the small male detangled himself from his embrace. He watched with half open eyes as the boy rose, shook himself, and wandered away. When it became clear to him that this was no late night bathroom break, Athan followed the fresh trail of the boy's sweet scent, up the slopes to a ledge hanging over the land below. Athan watched for a moment, momentarily frightened at what he might do. The boy had not spoken yet, to him or anyone else. He had no idea what thoughts danced through his mind, or if he were truly happy. The strigoi approached tentatively, soundlessly, easing his way towards Mazatl. He lay near the deer-framed boy, his body providing a safe place for him to lean against if he wished.

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From his lips there fell a soft sigh, nearly soundless in its escape, but laced with an ancient fondness. Entangled by his thoughts, the approach and settlement of his master went by unnoticed, leaving him to continue his stargazing. It wasn’t until a cool breeze swept passed him, wrapping itself around his body like a cat might its owner’s legs, that his concentration was broken. Racked by a shiver, his body trembled under the touch of nature’s breath, his ever thin coat leaving him unequipped for anything other than warmth. Intending to return to Athan’s side, he began to turn, only to stumble over his own legs and fall down, his bottom jaw colliding with the harsh terrain. A sharp yelp fled from his throat, piercing the night with its high frequency whilst his eyes landed on the face of the very wolf whose embrace he’d planned to seek out.

Allowing for not even a second to slip by, he scrambled up to his feet and took a careful step forward, acting as if he’d never fallen. With a low whimper, he closed the distance between himself and the man, his steps slow but without hesitation. When the space between them vanished, Mazatl drew his muzzle through the fur covering Athan’s throat, tracing his way upwards until his nose was pressed just below the man’s ear. There he lingered, his breathing light as he murmured, “Tlācahuah,” softly into his fur. He did not move away, nor was another word uttered, as he waited to see the man’s reaction.

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He watches Mazatl silently, his presence not yet sensed by his baietel. He simply sat there, waiting to see how the dark honey colored wolf would respond to him, or if he would do anything more than simply staring at the stars. 

A gust of wind was what finally turned him around. He knew from winter that his baietel​'s fur was thin, a paltry defense against the freezing cold. Athan expected that, having taken as much as he could bear, Mazatl would turn back to join the group for the rest of the night. Athan began to rise to reveal his presence to his sclav, but paused as the long limbed boy tripped over his own appendages. Fear took him for a moment, but as the danger passed, Athan realized the mirth of the moment; he was so much like a fawn it hurt (literally)! The strigoi chuckled, his eyes brightening as they both closed the distance to each other. 

Athan placed a kiss on Mazatl's forehead, a soft, pleased growl resembling a purr as the younger boy's muzzle trailed up his throat as to his ear. He was ready to herd Mazatl along back to their "camp" when a soft voice caressed his ear. 

He blinked for a moment, wide-eyed, slowly gathering what this meant. A smile crossed his face, dreamy, as if he heard the voice of a spirit or god. That one soft whisper solidified their relationship for Athan, however twisted it may seem. It meant, to Athanasius, that he finally, truly trusted him. What does that mean? He asked, turning his head to meet his eyes.

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It had been an act of impulse, his usage of his mother tongue. At first, he was unaware of his speech, knowing only that he understood the word and its importance. By using his voice, he was able to place a smile on the face of his master, a true accomplishment. The question that followed, however, made him freeze; it was brief, his recovery made quick as their eyes locked. With a slow shake of his head, Mazatl dragged his gaze away from the pools of amethyst, fearing that he might drown in their depths. “Tlācahuah,” he repeated, only, this time, there was a soft whine clinging to his voice. Keeping the meaning to himself, the boy pushed himself closer to Athan, muzzle once again finding its way through the thickness of his coat. It was for but a moment that his eyes slid shut, relishing the close proximity he had with the man and the way his fur felt.

Falling back into old habits—the lessons once taught to him were never without the power to overpower his mind—the yearling’s nose glided over pale fur, stopping again after reaching Athanasius’ chin. All along his jaw, there were soft, affectionate nips placed, leading towards the greater male’s cheek, onto which a kiss was deposited. He sought an opportunity, a chance for him to repay the man for all that he had done. The peculiarity of recognizing a man as his master was still something that he’d yet to fully accept, but that did not mean he was ungrateful. He knew of all that had been done since they were brought together, of how he protected the boy and fed him, as well as kept him from freezing. For all that had happened, as well as all that might, Mazatl wished to give his thanks in the only way that he knew how: with his body.

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The word was repeated once more, faded slightly, as if in echo of the first. Athan did not pry anymore, knowing that the single word was enough. He figured it was some diminutive, or some name for him in Mazatl's tongue. He did not even know what language Mazatl spoke, though he knew that the boy at least understood English.

Athan leaned back to let Mazatl fit in the curve of his body, then surrounded him in his warmth. The chill of winter had not yet escaped, filling the air around them in the dark of night. He had enough fur for the both of them, however. Athan relaxed, his eyes half lidded, one ear tilted back behind him, still overprotective despite the intimacy of the moment.

He stirs suddenly as Mazatl's head moves, the boy's nose gently tracing through his fur. As the first nips descend on his chin, a soft rumble fills his chest. His eyes close as he let's the boy do as he wishes, lazily kissing him back every once and a while.

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Ahhhh, short post. “orz

As his nips trailed along the greater male’s jaw, he was rewarded by a soft rumble. His tail wagged, glad to have not caused any negative emotions to arise. After several lingering kisses, he rounded the male once more, rubbing himself against him like a cat would his master’s leg. As he neared his side, Mazatl gave a soft whine and nudged his hip, before proceeding downwards. Again, he froze and glanced towards his master, suddenly uncertain. Whilst the very same dance had been performed more times than he could count in the past, he felt differently towards Athan. He wasn’t just another man to please, but his guardian and someone that he had started to care for. The yearling’s previous desire to relive the past had vanished, replaced by insecurities and uncertainties as he stood there, still and gazing at his protector.

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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: sex

Athan laid back, letting his baiatel do all the work. The small, fawnish boy covered Athan's body in kisses, rubbing his body against Athan's in a soft sensual motion that suggested experience. He watches the boy's movements with a protective, claiming pleasure knowing that, however many wolves came to experience his body, the young courtesan was his now, and no one else's. 

He felt the nimble body inching down towards his groin, his leg lifting compliantly with the gentle nudge. The strigoi's amethyst eyes open, curious as to why the boy had stopped, whining softly. When it became clear to him what he was asking, Athan smirked and simply said — Go ahead, — before lifing his leg up further.

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It was unlike him to feel insecure, having been raised to be anything but. Ever since he could comprehend that which went on around him, Mazatl had been taught about and made to observe various activities; it was life for him and many others, something that could not be altered. Yet, as he stood there, staring at the man whose existence had ensured the continuation of his own, he could feel his nerves flaring to life—and it practically hurt. But, he could not allow for the unfamiliar sensation to overrule the only life that he had ever known, and so he swallowed down the thousands of butterflies trying to flutter up into his throat and drew himself nearer to the man.

Tilting his muzzle downwards, the yearling moved with the grace of a well-aged doe, his tail brushing against his thighs. He ran his nose through the fur along his master’s stomach, slowly inching closer to his final destination—which, after reaching, he proceeded to run his tongue along the length of. Stopping at the base, he touch ever so gently with his cold nose, right before releasing a whisper’s worth of a breath. Stilled, he hovered briefly, then returned to his gentle licking, each touch made with his tongue slower than the last.

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His eyes fell shut again, his body relaxing as the warm breath billowed through his fur, kissing his skin. He sighed, his legs splayed open, the only source of tension in his body as he briefly gave himself to the deer-like boy. Athan would open his eyes as Mazatl's mouth grew closer to his groin, focused on watching him now as he hovered over him. He initially flinched at the foreign muscle's touch, but quickly relaxed, his body quickly succumbing to the overwhelming sensations that sparked from Mazatl's touch. He groaned in ectasy, eyes fluttering closed once more.