Jade Fern Grove give me that secret hush i must yes i do need [m]

Under the cover of the night, Isleña hunted.

She moved along silently, with all the presence of a shadowed eidolon; and for all the life around her, none of it was aware of her being. Her paws were placed carefully upon the ground, soundlessly. Her fur, dark as the night with a warm autumnal tint, was nearly indescribable from the dark matter all around her. The banshee’s scent, however, was strong from her communal living with wolves of the same blood — but Isleña positioned herself downwind so as to not broadcast her presence in this place. When she lost the element of surprise, Isleña’s chances of a successful hunt [or kill, or fuck] dwindled greatly. 

It was a rarity that Isleña slept through the night, so she found herself becoming increasingly more of a nocturnal creature. She stirred only when the others were asleep and slunk off into the night to do god knows what; stir up whatever trouble she might find, or procure food for her family to indulge upon whence morning came, something, anything to keep her mind and body busy. It was in her sleep that the nightmares came, so it was something that Isleña went to great length to avoid, often to her own detriment. 

A rustle in the woods. A scent upon the breeze. The banshee’s faculties snapped to attention while the rest of her body fell still and close to the earth. As the only part of her being that she bade movement, her ocean eyes searched her immediate surroundings for the scent and sound’s origin. At first, it was as difficult for her to see others as it was for them to see her, but before long — there! She saw it. A doe and her calf, likely of late birth given how it was still small and weak. 

The lean muscles of Islena’s legs knotted themselves in anticipation of a short burst of motion. Her mouth clamped shut upon itself and salivated endlessly; her tongue lay virile just behind her teeth and lashed against its confines, wishing to be freed. Even with this, the woman-luk remained still and did not deign to do anything but watch the mother and child as they shuffled through the undergrowth and razored away at the edges of leaves. It was almost too perfect of an opportunity, with an ungulate small enough for her to fell herself, yet large enough to feed her roving group for several meals. Still Isleña watched, her entire body a tight ball of tension and anticipation, but mind eerily calm and soothed in the presence of such sweetness. The deer continued to move on noisily, tails swishing against their rumps, and Isleña’s carefully trained gaze followed the two until they were out of sight. Then, like the deer themselves, Isleña moved on to find different, less lovely fare. 

What the family didn’t know, wouldn’t hurt them.

He, too, had come into the beautiful fern grove looking for food, and he, too, had found the mother and her child, peacefully existing within the forest. He would have struck, if not for the glimpse of ruddy dark fur amidst the trees, a flash of pale green eyes. Curious, he began to pad toward the other wolf as the two deer trailed away, an opportunity lost.

With a chuff, he drew near, fixing his bizarrely-hued gaze upon her. She was lovely and lean, but there was a savagery about her manner that made something within him stir. She was no ornament; she was made to consume, and to be consumed. She was a fighter, like him.

Surprised you turned down the snack, he remarked, a wry smile painting his maw. Especially with winter so near. Would've been easy to make short work of the faun, even by yourself. Vercingetorix waited for her rationale, ears swiveling idly atop his broad head.

Isleña was surprised when another spoke to her — she had fully believed she was alone under the cover of night’s darkness. “Sikmək!” she cursed as her body tensed and lurched in place, soundlessly lifting a centimeter or two into the air much like a cat. Then, within the same instant her hackles rose and ears pinned back, and her visage whipped over her shoulder to see just which of her family had seen her forfeit the world’s most perfect meal opportunity. Caught/

Oh, but a delightful surprise awaited her! It was a man, much larger than her, and not subtle or shy in his way of approaching her. Isleña, a creature of the underworld, unfortunately did not entertain much knowledge of the area’s common tongue — after all, the language of her family was the common tongue where she had come from — but she understood more than she could speak. Normally Isleña would dismiss anyone she could not easily communicate with — read: family only — but the handsome face was welcome and the banshee was not so quick to abandon his company. Even still, the majority of his words were gibberish but she assumed from his wry smile that he was referencing the doe and her small child.

Islena searched her lexicon for the most correct word, but her choices were so few. She settled on “Pretty,” knowing that the hulking brute might not agree with her assessment of the deer. They were food, and so often, food was not considered pretty. Returning his knowing grin, Isleña made a small request of him. “No tell,” she asked confidently, though she was only grasping at the language she spoke so well. With a deft flick of her chin, she signaled to some anonymous group of others amongst the trees. Of course this stranger wouldn't tell her family, because he did not know them, but she really wished to say I am not alone and at the same time acknowledge her most-willing hunting faux-pas. “Please.”

To show she was not an idiot, however, Isleña slurred in her native language “Ailəm bütün sürüləri ala bilərdi.” and watched to see how he’d react to being put in the same position.

His ears flattened at her curse, and he took a step back as she wheeled around, steeling himself for a fight. When there was none, he finally relaxed, little by little. Pretty. I know I am, Vercingetorix responded, grinning down at her. I won't tell a soul--though everyone knows it already. Cheeky bastard.

Then she shot some words in a language he didn't understand--words he couldn't have replicated had he tried. Uh, cool, he responded, grimacing awkwardly. He nodded, pretending comprehension. He supposed he was just hoping she had said something good, something agreeable.

Actually, shit. What had he just agreed to?

He said some more words in the language she did not understand, but she understood his smile and his demeanor; if there was anything that transcended verbal language, it was the words that were spoken with the body. His tone was light and jocular, not at all hinting at the frustration some wolves might have felt watching another sacrifice a meal right on the cusp of winter; he also mentioned the word “I” quite often, which was the only word that she recognized, and wondered what he was saying about himself. Pompous bastard.

Isleña was fearless, if anything, and did not shy away from the chance to converse more with the man who so loved himself. She referred back to their only common ground. “Are pretty,” she restated, gesturing again to the deer who were long-gone and safe away from the wolves’ domain. Her eyes, twinkling with something akin to fire, flashed back to his. “You more,” she chimed, knowing that her meaning would be understood despite her choppy syntax and heavy accent. The banshee laughed a little, as women who were not Luks were expected to be gentle and demure and not so forward, so she must pretend to be ashamed or embarrassed. She was not, of course, but it was part of the show.

“You are hunt?” The chocolate dusted woman inquired, hoping to steer their interaction a bit more. Isleña liked being in control; perhaps she could entice the man into accruing a meal for her, which she would then salvage and bring back to her family, of course.

Mmmm, she stroked his ego nicely. He preened at her compliment, lifting his head and staring down at her. You most, he responded, voice low and slightly hoarse. He shrugged at her question, making a noncommittal face.

I can hunt, sure, Vercingetorix responded. When necessary. I enjoy other things more. He stared at her, a question in his eyes. Before she could answer, he padded away, a semi-circle around her, looking into the trees. He inhaled deeply, trying to read the scent of her.

Are you alone? he asked.

Isleña didn’t truly know that the man was saying, but she imagined it to be complimentary and not-so-subtle. The woman chuckled and rolled her shoulders, accepting whatever comment he proffered. She was not picky when it came to these sort of things.

— but then he asked a question, and she recognized one word: alone. Alone she was not! A Luk was never alone, and it was preposterous that the man even suggest such a thing. Did she not wear her packscent like the heaviest of perfume? Did her every movement not suggest the confidence and swagger that a woman who rolled deep might possess? Isleña was not alone, and would never be alone, for as long as she would be alive.

“No!” she gasped, backpedaling a step as if the man had struck her. “Not ever!”

Wow, k, that wasn't the reaction he was hoping or going for. He blinked at the outburst, the playfulness in his eyes fading, replaced by something more primitive and wary. When she had settled, he shifted, clearing his throat with an awkward, muffled noise.

I'm not here to hurt you, Vercingetorix explained, his voice different than before. Not like I could have in the first place. I mean, look at you.

She was fire untamed. Touch her and burn. And for all the pain he knew it brought, oh, he did so want to burn. At least for a little while.

The man handled her verbal assault with ease and decorum, which suggested that he did not mean her any harm. That’s what happened to wolves when they were alone, right? She had been told that harm would befall her in ways that was merely impossible when one was with her colleagues; with two pack members on each side, and another bringing up the rear, and maybe a few others in tow, there wasn’t anything they couldn’t do. This was an ideology that had been instilled in her from birth and cemented through the yearling’s many life experiences as a blood-born Luk. 

Isleña listened to his words, as meaningless as his lexicon was, but held onto the subtle tones and lilt of his voice. The stranger wasn’t afraid of her and didn’t challenge her; instead, he cooly saddled the bridge between those two extremes and rested there confidently. It was a balance that few others were able to strike, and Isleña found it quite refreshing. The banshee dismissed whatever he said, instead referring back to the only word she that understood and had such a vehement reaction towards: alone. Perhaps being alone was not such a bad thing. Oceanic gaze settling and chocolate-dusted hackles resting, Isleña’s voice found some sense of composure and fragile tranquility. “Və sən?” she asked, and then clarified with “and you?” but continued to further obfuscate her meaning by lapsing into a cheeky statement, in her rolling native tongue.

“Bir qadının ürəyiniz varmı?”

She calmed, and he relaxed with her, shaking his head at her question. Her foreign words were, he assumed, expounding upon her previous short query in the common tongue. Oh, how wrong he was.

No, I'm not alone, Vercingetorix said softly. But they are not close. I. . . The brute stepped closer to her again, the wanting winning out against distrust. He towered over her, his bi-colored gaze blinking down at her, and he let his muzzle dip to caress the side of her cheek, against her throat, where the pulse was soft and quick, the slender curve of her neck. . .

I have a lot of time, he whispered, bringing his lips to the shell of her ear again. He tugged the lobe gently with his teeth, expecting--desiring--the backlash that would come from such a touch.

Isleña hadn’t particularly invited the nameless man to step closer, and she thought he had been somewhat presumptive in doing so, but the banshee had come to expect these types of behaviors from men — they were all the same, usually. Even her brothers and her cousins only ever had one thing on their mind when it came to females; even with females such as she. Not even blood relations were enough to quell a man’s intense to dominate and procreate — not for the Luks, at least. Fighting and fucking were all the Luks were good for, some said.

As that thought flashed through her mind, she couldn’t help but allow a simpering smile to settle across her pointed features. When fighting and fucking were your fortes, you didn’t have to be good at much else; those two things tended to win out against all else.

So, for the reason, Isleña didn't pull away. She offered a soft flash of her teeth, because that’s what the man had probably come to expect from her by now [and she did have an image to maintain], but all in all the young woman enjoyed the man’s touches and did not resist. In fact, Isleña found herself doing quite the opposite of resist him. Before long, the cocoa-dusted serpent was luxuriating in all the subtitles of the man’s touch and nearly purred as she did so; a deep, throaty sound that demonstrated her current inclinations better than her words ever could. Yes, that feels good. Please continue.

Her purr set something alight within him, and he drew the tip of his tongue along the edge of her ear. Mmm, you like that? he rumbled, his words honey-sweet yet laced with something rougher, darker. Inch by inch, he pressed himself alongside her, trailing kisses along her neck, her chest, shoulder, ribs flanks thighs ahhhh. . .

(Maybe she'd stop him well before this point. Just know that he'd dive right back in, that persistent son of a bitch.)

Once at her tail end, he took his time with ministrations, waiting until the flower bloomed for him in every way before turning to mount her without warning. She might be a firebrand, but he was inexorable, a juggernaut. This far along, he would have his way, he would have her, and he would have all of her. No questions asked.

He did as he was bade, nibbling his way down the highway of her curves; kissing every curb and roundabout as he did so. Isleña teetered dangerously close to the edge of that place where her brain turned off and she became purely an instinctive creature — not that she wasn’t always untamed; for it was a part of her that forever lingered just under her surface, writhing and curling in on itself in its attempts to become free. It was the same part of her that threatened to grab the reigns now, steering her movements and intentions towards this man, instead of away from him as her mother and tutors had always taught. 

but no matter the desires that pulsed low and forcefully in the pit of her belly, Isleña knew she would not give in, because the moment a woman gave in was the same moment she lost all the power. As the small, lithe woman she was, this was about all the power she might ever have, and she would not sacrifice it so easily. Isleña would appreciate his attentions and relish his ministrations, for his lips and teeth and musculature felt so very divine pressed into the taut warmth of her form, but Isleña knew there would be a moment when she must stop him [for men were quite unable to stop themselves] and bid him adieu. Then, maybe he would dream of her and lust after her and become quite fixated on her until one day in the not-so-distant future they encountered each other again and their flame reignited and then he would be hers. Oh, how proud Tashkent would be! Yes, that was the plan, and it worked quite well for her — until, that was, the nameless man absconded with that decision for her. 

Oh. Ohhhhhh. That’s cool, I guess. It’s fine. Whatever. Change of plans. 

Isleña could not deny that it felt good, this man writhing around atop her; the worship he offered the banshee made her body supple and agreeable to his touch, but this was not exactly her intention and it was so like a man to take whatever he wanted, her plans be damned. Her ears pushed down and back against the edge of her gilded crown and lip quivered to glimpse the tips of her fangs, letting the man know that he was lucky that she was allowing him to take such liberties of her — and that if she hadn’t been so desirous of him, she might have not let him continue. If this man wanted to feel wanted, then that’s what she would give him; stroke his ego just as she was now stroking his cock. wow, did i really just say that.

“Sən axmaqsan,” she stated in a voice that lay somewhere between a hiss and a moan. “Gözəl bir axmaq.”

He buried himself to the hilt, a low chuckle rising in his throat as he saw her ears flatten, her teeth exposed. She said something in a moan and he grasped the nape of her neck in his mouth, gently, grunting with each thrust. He was a little proud of how long he could last, even by canine standards, and made sure to give her each and every inch to remember him by.

Fire-woman, he snarled in Trigedasleng as he came, going limp atop her. Fucking tease. Mmm--you burn for me just right. He breathed hard, ribs heaving against her back, before he'd loosened up enough to back down and away.

His bi-colored eyes glowing, Vercingetorix did a semi-circle around her, coming to face her again with quivering muscles. The demon was gone, the usual good humor returned to his face. Not bad, he said, a wry smile tugging at his mouth as he stared down at the woman. Hopefully our paths cross again.

Isleña was accustomed to the idea of being worshipped — apparently something about her everyday demeanor simply demanded it. She did not need fancy techniques or innovations to incite desire in a man, as the fire which burned within her became a conflagration, a contagion, when around that of men. It was impossible to be anything but present when in the midst of such fanaticism; they brought gifts and wrote poems to her, and if she let them in her bed then she also allowed herself to be pleasured, but none of it was every good enough to cage her. They could please her, but they could never have her. 

Certainly this was the first occasion that she had ever be taken by force — but, if his entry had been forceful, there were little to no signs of it writ anywhere on her face, her body, or her response. The banshee had now fully given in to the serpent that lay just beneath the her skin, involuntarily moving her body in a complementary dance to his own grunting thrusts and grappling movements. She felt him everywhere; not only between her legs, but across her entire body, the back of her neck and within her soul. Words could no longer be formed, but even if she could, they would have been drowned by the man’s own red-hot verbal affair, in a dialect that was not common and further stirred her carnal desires. So, Isleña breathed deep and uttered tiny noises as her feet slowly slipped out from under her, but she kept moving them back into place so that she might be able to carry his weight for just another moment longer. He was divine.

As it often was, the arc of her sexual adventure was tied with his own; as she felt the stranger seize and fill her, Isleña too fell over the cliff and allowed herself to ride the mind-melding waves of pleasure that emanated from some place deep within her lower belly. The action was over, and it left a panting and quivering pair in its wake.

Soon, the swarthy male dismounted and turned to face her. Isleña did not have to feign her satisfaction; it was evident in her lazy grin, her heavy gaze and inability to speak. Isleña simply stared at him, loving the fact that he know how she felt from the inside, and proud to have bedded a man so handsome [if not a little bit entitled because of it]. Only when he supposedly announced his departure, did Isleña find her tongue. What was this nonsense he was speaking of?  “Leave?”  she questioned with breathless incredulity and a knowing smirk. “We only now start. ”

It was the most intelligible thing she had spoken to him since the encounter began, and he smiled lazily, raising his brows. Nah, baby, I gotta go, he said, still slightly breathless. He closed in on her again, unable to resist the feel of her small but powerfully lithe frame against his. A cat and a mouse.

Except this mouse was no mouse at all.

Verx stared down at her, suddenly intrigued. Actually, he whispered, bringing his maw to her ear again, I'm interested to see what you have in mind. Come lay with me.

Rather gracefully for a large man, he folded himself down, sprawling out onto his side and casting a wanton stare at her standing above. Come have your way with me, he rumbled, a gurgling chuckle pouring from his mouth like water from a tap.

last post from me darling! <3

His words and his pandering were lost on her, but Isleña knew his meaning when the large brute dropped his body to the ground and sprawled on his side. The smile upon her maw grew from something satisfied to something sinister. Oh, she had ideas alright! Many ideas, but they all started with her nestling into that little crook oh his elbow and into his chest, to mingle together in innocence before they delve back into their carnal desires. For she was a tactile creature, albeit a little cold, but she still knew how to get her cuddles whenever she needed it. So, Isleña followed suit, and dove right into the man’s sea of dark, silken furs.