Duck Lake [m] Let it go, paint my body gold

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: Mild sexual themes

The character in heat referenced here can be assumed to be an NPC who will not be appearing in this thread <3
@Lestan

She set off from Kvarsheim with steps lighter than air. She would be a scout, and she wouldn't feel guilty for her absence anymore. Even though she wasn't yet healed, Reverie couldn't imagine just... lying around in one place, waiting to get better. That wouldn't help anything. She needed to be out here, in the wild, part of it.
Reverie had spent so long thinking that she was out of place here. Too soft for the wilds. But this was where she belonged, wasn't it? She was a drifter, one of the many feral and untethered things which lived in the wilderness. Warmth crept through her veins, slow at first. She didn't notice it until it became uncomfortable.
It was that scent again — that scent-feeling-pull, it was so strange! It was stronger here, around this lake, than it had been at the border of Swiftcurrent Creek. As if whoever bore the scent was lingering nearby. Nose low, she followed the trail thoughtlessly. She didn't know who she would find, or what she would do, but she knew that she had to.

that scent was what drew the mayfair masculine and reluctant from his bed in the creek. he was hunting now, despite the fact it went against him and his feelings for reverie! but jakoul had unlocked a hunger in lestan he had only seen fit to fight.
the fragrance became more, it became reverie! for a second he froze, unsure if the trail was her own, but moving to follow it eagerly, until he found her half-healed and skulking.
the scent was not hers. the mayfair was relieved but there was disappointment unbidden in him somewhere.
he moved to her gilt side with a smile.

Lestan. Was it him, truly? She looked up with eyes glassy and dark from pupils blown, lips parted slightly as if she meant to say something. Yet she was only silent.
She studied him as if seeing something unreal, from another world; or perhaps it was the other way round? Too bright, it was all too bright, him most of all. She could only look for a moment. Then she turned away like the lash of a golden whip, tail arcing in a beckoning gesture. Lestan, if it was truly him, would follow; she felt that if anything was true, if anything was real, it was this. He would know her. She looked over her shoulder only once, chin delicately tipped skyward, a look about her that was by turns feral and filled with wonder.

there was something distinctly different about reverie. lestan followed, transfixed but in a deeper method this way; her legs moved and her pelt glowed.
perhaps it was the scent of the unknown woman, perhaps it was his memory of jakoul. but neither of them truly came to mind as he pranced after reverie.
on a whim he pushed his nose into the plush hairs of her nape and inhaled deeply, his eyes shutting for a moment as ears splayed in delight to be so close!

He followed, and she knew him then. The gilded girl led him on featherfeet around the lake until it stood between them and the Creek, until suddenly he drew close. His breath was warm against her nape. Time turned soft and liquid; each second another eternity.
Her own breath shimmered in her throat and emerged as a low and longing rumble. Hunger; a formless thing, coiling in her chest, a lightning strike down her spine and — lower — ! Here and now, tethered to her like threaded sunlight, but —
But it led away from him. Her wanting growl broke off into a whine. She looked at him and then away, toward where the scent led. She was torn; she wanted him, but this feeling, this want; no, there was no sense in it, none at all. She didn't know. She pressed into his touch and hoped he would know.

the lake spread and shone and reverie seemed to expand in power and warmth before him. 
a sound in her throat, pulling the primal from him.
lestan was drymouthed and breathless and his heart raced. her sunlashed eyes moved to the place of the scent but all he could do was gather her close.
and this time his want answered her own. he so lightly kissed her face and then moved lower to her throat, to the arch of her shoulder, moving softly and wonderingly and unthinkingly.

I had to roll dice to decide how this post was going to go smh. I didn't expect this thread to go this way but now I realize I should have LMAO

Magic thick and cold in the air, a man answering a call not meant for him; it was like that morning again, the first morning. It felt like yesterday, but the memory was faded as if aged by centuries. Soft kisses from soft lips fell along her face and throat like so many snowflakes.
Was this what she sought, when she kissed him?
She touched him as if she might find the answer written on his skin. She found herself writing her own answer instead; making maps of each place she touched, scrawling little love notes along every path. His embrace held her where things such as logic and gravity failed, but the scent called to her still. She whined again, shifted, her attention drawn back to that ineffable pull just for a moment. There was no urgency in it this time, no longing look cast into the distance. It was all too bright, Lestan most of all, and she didn't think she could bear to look away from him.

dont u love that!

lestan exhaled shakily as reverie formed herself cartographer and explorer in the same experience. slowly her touches stoked him, until the hungriness was reforged and cast for her.
slowly he pulled her down to the snow, uncaring of who might see them as the glow of winter collected itself and glimmered upon them both.
and now he took that brave forging from reverie and knew her in the same slow, almost reverent ways, pushing them both toward something that felt like a fall from a high waterfall, something only she could initiate, a second act to this first screenplay.

There was nothing but them; a spotlight of clarity against a blurred and unimportant world, sinking slowly into the snow, but strangely it was only warm. She became aware of her wild pulse; his trailing touch; sharp little shivers in her thighs and his tremulous breath. A new vulnerability here, a delicate silkspun danger in his touch. She felt the tender threat of it, felt it threaten to overwhelm her.
Live in the present. It startled her in the way only the thought of one's father in the middle of second base can. Only for an instant, not even enough time to react, before she was distracted again and thought only of Lestan. She knew where this path would end, felt it in every electric pulse of his touch; in the absence of experience, she allowed their bodies to become the guides. Wherever it led them, wherever Lestan would follow her.

when lestan was overcome, when his flesh was experiencing an overload of desire and contact and want, he drew them both up and wrapped his arms around her wasp-waist, and after a moment he joined them.
a cacophony of light and sound and sensation exploded behind his eyes.
lestan mayfair was reduced to his bone and sinew and hoarse voice and the end, the end.

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: Trigger warning for, basically, gross internalized sexism

It was the aftermath which found her awareness again, a moment tired and stripped bare of every flimsy shield she held around herself. Reverie felt so terribly exposed, as if Lestan had opened her chest and laid her heart out in the winter air. She shivered and tucked her face against his chest. She felt that he would no longer want her. She had given him this part of herself too soon, too freely.
Reverie remembered her lessons, after all. Remembered this is a woman's power and men don't want easy girls, dirty girls, sluts, taught so faithfully to her in The Gilded Sea. She had thought only of Lestan in that moment, but now she thought of so many things. Too many, and there were no walls to hide her. This fear, this nakedness of her soul, she couldn't bear it! The tears started then, quiet but unrelenting. She clung to him as if she might hold him there, as if that might stop him from hating her, leaving her, thinking her disgusting.

"wow."
in the aftermath, when they had calmed, lestan continued to kiss reverie with a sort of stunned grace. their hearts beat wildly together. he wanted her again. he wanted to hear her voice.
his for the moment was a blind and questing love. lestan did not want to shatter the moment with thought or analysis.
he looked at her in the glowing light of the lake and knew beyond all doubt that he loved reverie.

He didn't leave. He didn't hate her. All he did was say wow and continue to kiss her. She calmed slowly under his affection, found the courage to return it, but the fear did not leave her. It only turned tame and placid for a moment, soothed but not gone.
Reverie blinked the last of her tears away and allowed Lestan to guide her back to the moment. It felt different now; colder, crowded. The world loomed large and unforgiving around them. But Lestan was here. Lestan wanted her. Not every moment can be beautiful, but there was an enduring sort of beauty to the simple act of choosing one another. Not forever, maybe not even until tomorrow (who knew if Lestan would grow tired of her now?) but right now, in this moment. If this was all he ever gave her, she would treasure it, and guard the memory closely.
In his embrace, briefly before the end, she'd felt lighter than ever; spun from the breeze and swept away just as quickly. She could never forget that.
I think... that must be what flying feels like, Her voice was soft and a little breathless still; it was all she could think to say. She wanted to ask if he would still look at her the same way, like she was something beautiful, but then she realized — well, he was. So she only kissed him again.

"it is," was all he managed.
lestan touched her ears, her forehead, her throat with reverence, the fine delicate pulse of blood beneath. fairy-queen, midsommar dream.
he blew breath across her neck and nestled closely, knowing he could hardly bear the thought of being parted again. wanting her a second time; wanting her endlessly.

We can fade with your post and I'll start something set a little after? <3

She felt worn-thin and sleepy in a new way, unique to this moment, but Lestan's touches stirred the warmth again. It felt different this time; familiar, blooming in a slow way that made sense to her. Reverie found herself touching him again, too. Soft, lazy, wandering. She thought she would be content just to sleep tangled with him, but if the air turned electric between them once again, she would answer the call. In that case, however, she would definitely need to sleep afterward.

<3

and so they would feel this again, this wonderment of love, the bewildering and fierce and luxuriant sensations.
and then in each other's arms they would sleep, and lestan did not think he had ever been so happy.
he dreamt of fae dancing beside a golden lake.