Kintla Flatlands [m] so please don't take me for no fool

At the last moment, he dances away, slipping from his mate's embrace with a half-smile and sparkling eyes. It's easy to forget all the raging emotions of the last few minutes now, as he darts away with Kratos hot on his heels. The day somehow seems brighter, the air sweeter. He leads him on a brief, breathless chase across the open field, slowing abruptly when he tires of this part of their game and allowing his golden-eyed demon to overwhelm him.

A ploy; a trap no doubt when the chase is a short lived sprint across the meadow. Yet, Kratos dives in; tackling Zephyr and allowing breath to escape both of their lungs at impact. Enough to bruise as they collide and descend to the earth a tangle of limbs. His jaw opens, a repetitive motion of teeth and licks as they wrestle about.

The impact knocks the air out of him, and immediately he aches in the places he knows he'll bruise later — but it's a sweet ache, and welcome. He's far outmatched by Kratos in size and strength, but he makes up for it with fierce opposition. Relentless, he responds with his own bruising nips, a reckless toss of his weight shifting him briefly to the top of the pile of wolf limbs. It seems to surprise Kratos, and in the brief moment of stillness Zephyr reaches down to plant a teasing kiss on his nose — just before he finds himself unseated from his fleshy throne.

From king of the pile, he is usurped and tossed underneath the silver who takes him by surprise. Certainly Kratos had his guard down, but not enough to be thrown so easily. Zephyr has been listening in on his lessons. He’s growing stronger. Part of him worries about his needs as a guard, but the other finds it overwhelmingly attractive.
A panted breath parts his lips that still curve in that weird grin. A teasing kiss pressed to his nose, and a forearm snakes upward, pressing upon Zephyr’s chest, before it creeps lower. In one motion, Kratos flips them.
Well?

Heat surges through him as Kratos reclaims his place at the top, a feeling so unfamiliar it's almost painful for a moment. His own breath comes heavily, heart hammering in a different way than before. At the questioning sound of his mate's voice, he turns, twisting fluidly under him. Well? He echoes softly, breathless as he arches impatiently against Kratos's underside. He reaches to nip at his shoulder, teasingly starting to slide out from under him at a painfully slow pace in an effort to provoke his mate further.

His tail snaps behind him, impatience growing with the unacquainted fire that comes with it. Greed strong, and desire even stronger. The taunting response and echo are replied with instinct. Weight pressing along the spine of his mate as teeth go for the scruff, biting harsh at first and enough to break skin before he lessens the blow, unwilling to have him slide away from him yet again. A forearm tucks along his side, while the other he uses to keep balance—for certainly the tricks wouldn’t cease just yet.

A gasp slips from him as teeth meet his scruff, the feeling sharp yet only serving to further inflame his desire. He presses back into the embrace with a lust-filled growl, even as his head turns in a vain attempt to snap at the foreleg pressing against his flank. Kratos's iron grip stops him, however, and the rumble in his chest melts into a soft, breathy whine. Kratos, He murmurs, the word a quiet plea as he finally caves to his need.

Each reaction draws him in further, makes him want all the more. He presses his arm closer, tensing in the preparation of teeth as the growl fades into a breathy whine, and his name enough to spur him onward. Zephyr, his own heated tone breathy. A few lingering love bites are pressed along his neck, until he grasps a gentler hold and tucks his other arm with the sway of his hips.

Another gasp escapes him at the movement, and he tenses briefly before melting into it. He hadn't realized it could be like this; all wild flames and flying sparks, lava racing through his veins and pooling in his belly, burning in so many places at once he swears he's on fire. It's overwhelming for the boy forged of ice and stone, tempered by cold winter winds. Yet for once he does not wilt under the heat; he thrives in it. His shyness fades, and with it the relative silence he'd maintained at first. The feeling builds, the wave of rippling heat rising until it crests and breaks into an explosion of color and light, and he finds Kratos's name on his lips again. And then the world seems to blur for a few moments, and he knows only their embrace.

He shivers—so used to the consuming heat that constantly fuels him, a blessing and curse all in one. Contact other than brawls is a thing Kratos disliked from the beginning for how overheated he got, yet here it is just perfect. Zephyr is a welcome cold as heat pools.
He steals his breath away, until Zephyr’s name, too, is uttered by his lips and they fall together into a heap. This is what happiness feels like. Bliss beyond anything he’s ever experienced. A grin grows broad, a snort and a chuckle building from his chest, until he looks upon his mate and it is silenced.
Concern instead overcomes, and he reaches towards him too gently—as if Zephyr is fragile—yet the touch of his muzzle across his mate’s neck is firm.

As amazing as the feeling is, the aftermath crashes down on him in an equally terrible measure. The pleasure fades, and Zephyr is left with a roiling stomach and a cold, creeping sense of dread, like warm blankets being ripped away on a dreadfully chilly morning. That was wrong, a voice chimes from somewhere in his mind, and bile rises up his throat. He hardly feels himself flopping on the ground next to his mate, tear-filled gaze trained on the dirt as if his life depends on it. He feels the touch of Kratos's muzzle, though. The feeling grounds him. He closes his eyes, taking in a slow breath, and the tears recede. That was... really nice, but — Silver eyes flutter open, full of affection despite the sadness in them. Now that it's over, I feel... I don't know. I just want to lay with you. That would help.

The race of his heart thumps against the silver's back, a quickened pace as worry settles into his bones like a forgotten friend. His focus steels on Zephyr, reassuring him with the touch of his muzzle and champagne eyes that seek answers to silent questions.
A breath is released in a puff of relief as he settles in an attempt to get them both comfortable. Whatever afflictions haunt Zephyr he isn't certain of, but cuddle with his mate he can do. Kratos doesn't want to be far from him right now.
Okay, he answers, I'm here. And he won't be going anywhere from Zephyr's side.
Even as their coupling fades, and the afterglow soon with it, he remains with him. The silver chews upon his forearm as he talks about random shit, about anything—until they both tire and dreams call. Kratos remains on guard, forever a light sleeper, but feels at ease alongside his mate.