Sleepy Fox Hollow Gave up on it, but honey, you got my hopes up

Wylla awoke without a shred of doubt that the season had found her and dug its claws in deep. It didn't take being an intuitive woman to know it. She could smell it just as readily as she could feel it in her gut. Besides waking with more energy than she was accustomed to, she didn't feel much different, which was par for the course. She hadn't even known it was happening last year.

It was with a coy and arrogant defiance that Wylla rose from her scrape in the snow and marched out into the heart of Diaspora's territory. She spared no thought for Takiyok or the pecking order of the pack when she flagged her tail and waved it, beckoning @Mahler with her scent on the wind. She was much too wild, much too proud, and much too sure of her security here to care about flouting authority.

So she sought the General with singular focus, not because she wasn't in charge of herself—Wylla believed she absolutely was—but because she felt good and to hell with everything else.

had she not beckoned herself into a beacon that burnt amid all of diaspora, he would have found her.
mahler had awoken transported.
the year before, he had wisely taken himself away where he might be alone and therefore avoid temptation. as it was, wylla's scent was curling its maddening tendrils around him almost before his eyes had opened.
a hitch of his lip to taste the air; a low, possessive growl quite unlike him rearing proud in his throat. he had not seen jigsaw in some time, which meant that maegi's mate was the only male within diaspora.
but there were others who would come; his pack had blossomed in the form of wylla and mahler took up her trail with an almost irate swiftness.
the greyscale she-wolf strode through the snows with a confidence he would have attributed to takiyok, and the gargoyle's hackles rose concernedly.
it was the primacy of his being that had at long last overtaken mahler; his own banner unfurled corrupt and unflagging before the skies, and lavender eyes glimmered with an unfamiliar cast as he stepped proudly toward her.
drawing up to full height, the shadowpriest attended wylla with an expression that would have borne its usual impassivity, were it not for the haunting burn of sharp amethyst.

Mahler was prompt. Wylla knew he would be. After all, she was freely advertising herself, and he was not the only male wolf within a ten mile radius who might catch a whiff and be drawn in. That was, after all, the point of flaunting. He didn't need to know that Wylla was in control of herself enough to buck any other wolf; all he needed to believe was that if he didn't come, someone else would. That alone would ensure he did.

While Wylla believed that Mahler was just another greedy ass that wanted to bed as many women as he possibly could because he was insatiable and selfish, she also vainly believed he would never forgive himself if he failed to catch her, specifically. She suspected he would shirk the entire hierarchy of the pack just to do so, upsetting the balance of the ranks for the opportunity to act upon his so-called love. In fact, she counted on it.

There was more at stake than that, she knew, as she set her challenging yellow gaze upon the proud arc of his tail and beat hers through the air, but she refused to acknowledge that. Their feelings were on the line but who had time for all that? Easily sorted out later, she thought as she swept toward him, rumbling low in her throat and testing the waters with the forward prick of her ears and the burn of her gaze seeking his for just an instant. Not a challenge, per se, but she was just agitated enough to test him. Would he maintain control or would he let her take charge? Either way they'd likely reach the same conclusion, but one road was certainly more favourable to her than the other.

in the time they had been parted, mahler had taken the structure of diaspora and overturned it with an announcement. without knowing if he still retained takiyok's support, the gargoyle had been plagued by a sense of uncertainty.
he had been willing to seek amends when he rose with the burning fragrance assailing him, thrumming upon his every fiber and creating a dull hum that drowned out most else.
the brute had become untethered from the rope of logical thought that so usually tethered him; thus when wylla arced her perfumes into the airspace and pushed against the constraints he had sundered, mahler laved tongue against suddenly visible teeth in a silent warning.
decoupled from the constraints of impassive reality which might have instead led him to question her, the shadowpriest fell to simply wolf, as was their dance.
diaspora belonged to him. 
in this moment with head clouded and eyes aflame, he saw no reason why she too was not a possession, to be guarded and claimed and covered until no other man might see fit to plunder.
not by force, but for the very nature of the need that tensed them both into the start of a clash.

Mahler's choice was evident in the show of his teeth, and that just wasn't a good enough turn on for a hormone-driven Wylla. That was especially true given the nature of their last meeting and the unwarranted scorn she'd felt at the end of it. In response, she flashed her teeth back, a brief assertion that if he wanted her, he would have to play along with her.

It occurred to her that she could seek another man, a less prideful and arrogant man, who would submit to her the way she craved. The thought swung lazily across her mind, and as if on cue, Wylla turned away from Mahler. There were no other wolves she desired to fulfill her unwise needs, but if there was one thing Wylla got off on, it was being in charge of a situation. It wasn't that Mahler had lost her interest, but she expected his respect if he expected to partake of winter's ambrosia. Raptor had not respected her and she would not repeat the previous season, not like this.

So she began to peel away from him with long strides and a proudly arched neck that seemed to say, I will not be just another one of your bitches.

mahler was unsure that he had ever been under the thrall of such a craving. every movement, every step and arch and indignant feral billowing provoked a deeper and more ardent lust within the gargoyle.
the first to breed within a pack would take up the rank beside mahler. but it was occupied; but it belonged to takiyok. and despite their strife he had made his pledge.
wylla spurned, spiraled, blurred. mahler cursed the season, for it forced him forward after her, following the vibrant trail she had laid, the swing of silvergrey hips and pride of her gait.
she wanted more from him than the promise of children; even in his addled state, mahler remembered that she had intended to be second, that she had uttered her treason to him, that he had done nothing.
and now she wished to wield him, tooled by the eager appendage which he had not so long before wished he could tear off his body.
he hesitated, muzzle lowered,
then began to follow again. he would guard her all the same; the idea of wylla being covered by another man sparked a fevered, illogical seed of hatred in the gargoyle's heart, even as he fought for control, for any words that could reconnect tongue to instinct and stop this stop this stop

Her yellow eyes slid back in a sidelong glance. Mahler followed. It was deliciously intoxicating to be able to lead him wherever she wished, as was the belief that he was helpless in this. What would've been satisfying was to lead him somewhere where he would be forced to watch her succumb to the lusts of another. After all, he was pretending to love her while also planning to cover every bitch he could get his paws on. Didn't he, then, deserve to feel the sting of not being enough for her in return? Green-eyed jealousy roared in her and screamed to leave his greed behind.

But even the cruel satisfaction of shoving that bitter pill down his throat wasn't enough to compel her away. She wasn't looking for just a father for prospective children. In fact, more children were far from her mind and well outside her wants. That was the first clue that although she might've felt in control, she was snared just as much by the wiles of her body and his presence as him.

So after some time of leading him along, dancing out of reach, Wylla whirled and surged toward Mahler. Her march was confident and fervent and she didn't stop until she collided with him, sliding her lithe figure alongside him in a heated brush. Her ulterior motives unraveled the moment she touched him, sweeping away diabolical thoughts both good and bad and leaving only jittery nerves and drowning out the impulse to leave him.

Wylla knew better than this. She knew that he just wanted what was between her legs, not her, and that this meant nothing because he would share this with countless other women and god damnit she needed to get away from him, but her legs would not take her away. They only pressed her closer with a needy breath.

he was consumed; step dogged as broad charcoal muzzle with its peppered flush hung low to gather the breadth of wylla's endearing scent
any other moment in time, mahler would have found his own behavior outright scandalous, worthy of great reproach.
but now dark nostrils flared and he fell into his most bestial self; he surged forward to touch her, only to be rebuffed by her darting step, the flash of her proud gaze.
mahler was patient, low curling sounds of something akin to mirth audible from the depths of his chest. 
this was the dance; he followed its rounds with a persistent ache that dried his tongue.
all at once wylla had stopped. he drew to a halt, tailtip flickering as the woman approached with a suddenness that was affirming, and mahler swept close to her small frame, catching her sigh upon the edge of his jaw as lips sought a downward sweep to her clavicle.
the words that had come so easily before were cut away; season or no, this was wylla — she could never be one of legion.
and though mahler knew such sentiments were terribly unbelievable, they beat many in his chest as he sought to begin a slow burn of mouthings and nudges along her proud neck, her cheekbone.
he could not be enough; she could not fill the cloying hungry recesses of his budding self-destruction. but for a while they might both be blinded, and he longed for the emptiness to sweep over them both.

No, she chanted in the vacuum of her mind. No, no, no, don't do this, you don't want this. And it was true, in part. She'd had provocative dreams about this very moment, but those dreams involved him choosing her above all others, affirming his declaration of love with actions to back it up, and this was far removed from her fantasy. This was primal hunger at its worst and she knew she should not succumb to it, lest she become just one of many women and not the singular object of his affection.

But no matter how loudly the pragmatic part of her screamed, Wylla was reduced to pure wolf, and her nerves and body would not heed her aching heart. She whined a soft whistle when his mouth met her collar and she craned her neck, granting him access to the thrumming of her heartbeat beneath the thin skin. Fire rushed to consume her.

Wylla rubbed the side of her muzzle heatedly against the crown of Mahler's head with a jittery one-two stomp of her hind legs, and there she found the peak of his ear with impatiently clipping teeth. She sought only to snatch it playfully before moving, rubbing past him, pressing her shoulder to his and reaching on the tips of her toes to hungrily consume the thick fur of his ruff in an urgent preen.

a growl as she leant into him, her lithe frame pressed sidelong into his flesh. mahler curved his head about to groom her lower shoulder, turning at last until his muzzle hovered over her own hackles.
down rained his rougher kisses; the thin rein mahler still maintained was nigh unto breaking. 
though she was not the only one with whom he would couple, wylla stood apart by way of his feeling for her. theirs would not be contractual, nor a precaution; the bouquet of heat surged around them and mahler spun, drunken, devoured.
i love you, the tremulous plantainwood of heartstrings shuddered upon the curvature of his soul, but he could not utter it.
the truth of his love thus remained behind locked teeth; mahler raked his jaws gently over her ribcage and slanted himself against her as questing muzzle began to seek downward along her gunmetal flank.

The last of her control was swept away by the warmth of his breath on her back. It sent an electric tingle surging from the base of her skull all the way down her spine, drawing an approving rumble from her chords. She pressed her smaller body into Mahler's grizzled side and arched her back, cat-like, when he touched her. As he sought her flank, she took the opportunity to taste the coarse hairs along his side, sliding herself down the length of his body with a provocative sway of her own.

She took a moment to drink in his masculine musk when she reached his hip, then set her teeth gently to his flesh to goad him. She was getting antsy and it showed. Even if it didn't, a second begging whine might be enough to spur him on. From here she could beat her tail back and forth practically in his face in a silent invitation. She couldn't stop herself from rearranging her feet multiple times as she explored Mahler's frame body for the first time, setting her stance in anticipation to hold his weight.

I want to love you back, but this is not the way to do it, her heart murmured, but she was deaf to all reason.

the touch of her teeth flooded the gargoyle with desire; she seared into him
wylla, wylla
and a sob would have risen in his throat had not mahler released it between clenched fangs, a sigh that warmed the fur above her slender flank. gently he fit her against him, the upswing of her hips fitting into the bell-curve of his own massive body. wylla was wiry, ferocious; in mahler's grasp, the silvertipped woman was almost delicate. 
perhaps it was the season scouring away all reason, sand upon stone, rivers cutting through ageless rock; perhaps it was the hungering of his more masculine self, starved lest he be accused of becoming what he had 
created; no,
something here now, the ebbing of ash around a true ember that leapt into pooling warmth that spready honeylike to all corners of the shadowpriest. love; he pressed his lips against the round base of her ear, against her cheek, steadying himself upon hinds before finding the most gently soft passage into
love
quite nearly insensate, mahler controlled himself, rocking back onto backpaws as not to crush her with his greater weight; so different this, the beat of his heart against wylla's spine, the brilliant flare of affection that coloured all his veins with gold.

When she stood beside him, Wylla never felt like Mahler was a large man, but when he coaxed her into the curve of his body and grasped her tightly against him, she was struck—and impressed, on a more primitive level—with the size and heft of him. Her heart slammed frantically against her rib cage at the feel of strong forelimbs encircling her thin waist, the warmth of Mahler eclipsing her, and the sensation of him pressing closer and steadying himself.

The last time she'd been held in this embrace had been the product of violence, a quick and selfish tryst that left her worse for wear. Wylla was afraid it would feel the same way and would taint her impression of Mahler. Indeed, when he pressed forward and brought them together, the invasion of her body brought a hissed growl and she nearly bucked, but there was also a wash of warmth up from her belly to the point where he connected them that kept her still.

That was where the similarities with last season ended. Already there was a brilliant sensation growing, helped greatly by her affection and respect for Mahler, arguments aside. Eager for more and desperate to touch her body to every inch of him, Wylla arched her back into the curve of his belly, pressed against him with a soft gasp of pleasure, and threw back her head to try to press her face to any part of him she could reach.

undone undone undone; quite not themselves, and yet every veil and shroud lifted. nerve endings spiraling into a spiked heat as wylla seduced him onward and onward.
his scarred muzzle touched her cheek, neck curved above her own; mahler aligned himself with a backward stamp of wide paws, bracketing her more firmly in his grasp.
feral, raw; instrinsic and yet a marvel of soft gentle glimmering come to limn the instinct in the very magnitude of love.
stunned; breath came more harshly; control began to wane in the loosening musculature of his flanks.
floating, heady, thrumming;
mahler formed her name in a deepening tone that reverberated in his throat.

Wylla couldn't remember ever feeling anything so transcendent as Mahler sweeping through her veins, lighting fire to every nerve. With Raptor, it had been all business, devoid of this warmth, this feeling of unity. It took no time at all for Mahler to coax Wylla out of the fear and hesitation she'd felt before, easing the taut muscles of her back and flanks with every billowing breath he sent across her nape, every ripple of bliss he sent cascading through her.

She felt his forelimbs tighten around her hips only a second before he pulled her back harder against him, and Wylla's lips parted in a low groan as things began to really fall into place. She could feel the pleasure that raced through her veins pooling and growing, sparking like electricity, and her every breath was accompanied with a wanting whine or sigh. She arched and reached for the fur of his chin, tweaking it with urgent teeth for only a moment before he breathed her name over the back of her head.

That did something unexpected to her: she shuddered as that growing heat burst and flooded her with a sensation she couldn't describe if she wanted to, blanking out her mind and vision both for a moment. It wasn't just the physical peak, but the emotional one that filled her with adoration and, yes, that growing spark of genuine love that bid her to quietly choke Mahler's name into the alpine air while all the tension drained out of her.

he could not recall a time when such mingled breadths of feelng pulsated within him at once.
coursing waterfall fluidity, the gentle rocking of their twining forms,
her eager demeanor, her complete acceptance even of the love with which he had uttered her title;
he shifted shakily against wylla once before her body bore testament against every fibre of their beings, and his own name slipped from fluted trill.
control sundered, daylight dazzling every cardinal point, stormcrash and the lapping waves of a coming rain; he at last cried out in a hoarse breath and bound them together with a last trembling of molten heat.

Wylla hardly noticed when Mahler hitched his pelvis and tied the two of them together, even when her stomach tightened at the sound of his voice thickening with his own pleasure. She was riding the lapping waves of a feeling she never knew existed, basking in a warm effervescence she'd never before experienced, and was far removed from the worries of before. She couldn't recall ever feeling so content. She couldn't recall ever feeling so loved, nor feeling so strongly the desire to reciprocate it.

This all would have terrified her ordinarily, if she was in her right mind. Instead, she was wrapped in the giddy glee of having Mahler all to herself for just this moment, unwilling to confront the fact that this changed nothing. This would all end in tragedy and she chose to close her eyes and ears to that reality so she could bathe in the here and now. Her legs trembled with the force of standing; Wylla soon sought to guide the two of them to the floor where they might lie until nature took its course.

In the meantime, ignoring the discomfort in her backside with every movement, she sought to tuck herself uncharacteristically close to the General. She craved his attention and proximity now more than ever, and not only because of her body's seasonal demands. She found his warm hide with her slender chin and pressed her muzzle against his body, murmuring an ever-so-quiet, you're amazing.

the cold ground warmed beneath the pair; mahler draped a heavy foreleg over her lithe flank and leant into her soft sounds, her yielding caresses.
"i have long thought the same of you, vylla," the general whispered against the edge of her mouth. a kiss there; he sighed as though a great weight had been removed from him.
far beyond the physical, mahler felt no need to rebuke himself, nor bring himself away. contentment stole into him; he was happy to exist here with the savage cloudsilver until day's end.
heartswell brought a loving sensation to flush through his loins again. mahler gathered wylla close; he nosed along the gentle curve of her skull and mouthed his silent declaration against one shuddering eartip.

Mahler's mumbled affirmation made Wylla's heart flip in her chest, and for once, she accepted the flutter with a soft smile. Whatever flightiness normally seized her when anything positive came along was silenced for now. It was different than any of her dreams. Those had all been nebulous, lacking the emotional aspect, and they'd simply parted in the end. It felt so much better to just remain.

If she was able to push past the haze in her brain, she might've said something about how they'd parted ways before. Luckily for the both of them, her tongue was feeling heavy as the weight of exhaustion began to settle on her. Shhh, she hushed, pressing her nose to his cheek in a gesture of affection. Her tongue flit out to taste the corner of his mouth, and then she drew her head down to the crook of his neck, where she hoped he would allow her to rest.

Let's just rest now, she mumbled before impishly suggesting, if you planned to go again, we'll need a moment.

Can prob fade here! :D