Blacktail Deer Plateau [m] While everything is spinning beneath til it falls like glass

Tags can be for ref or for joining! Just moving them toward the mountains

She'd stopped eating again.
It didn't make any sense, but in some way it did; Reverie no longer needed to take regular meals for @Blossom's sake, and in the absence of necessity, she quickly fell back into old habits. She hunted for her daughter, but rarely for herself. Somewhere along the way, she found it in herself to think of dancing once again.
Once, that had been all she ever wanted: to dance. How long had it been now? Weeks? Reverie still remembered her time in the Rising Sun Valley, when she'd scarcely let a day go by without dancing. So one morning, she rose with the sun, before Blossom or @Boone. She didn't go far; just far enough to avoid disturbing their sleep.
In the early light, surrounded by the beauty of the plateau, Reverie remembered what it was to dance without a single care in the world. She promised herself she would never stop, not ever again.

She did not know it, but he watched her.
He'd roused with the stirring and with the rose hue of dawnlight, blinking grogginess from his eyes and parting his jaws in a wide yawn. He threads the underside of the plateau until he finds her shadow that twirls and twists in the open grassland, bathed in warmth with the soundtrack of mourning doves behind her, and he watches with a fondness that sent heat to his belly.
And he would stay there; he would sit with his back pressed to an old spruce, and his smile would never once falter.

She felt eyes on her after a time; a familiar feeling, trailing itself warm and trembling down her skin. And she stopped and glanced over her shoulder and found Boone smiling, and her heart leapt into her throat. It burned and brightened there, all red and gold. For a moment she was uncertain.
Then she went to him, and all the hesitation fell away from her. For a heartbeat she only studied him, taking in every detail: the pretty shape of his eyes and the kindness worn into the tired lines at his mouth, the kind of rugged appeal that had always frightened her in men. But Reverie was not afraid of him. So she kissed him; boldly this time, full of fire, full of that flickering red-gold want. She thought of nothing but him.

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It all happened so fast.
In a whirlwind, Reverie moved towards him and then he tasted her upon his tongue. And as much as it frightened him, this surge of want that up until this point he hadn't been certain was reciprocated, he couldn't bring himself to pull away.
In fact, he welcomed it, this tenacity, this fire; he allowed it to swallow him as his arms snaked and searched for whatever part of her he could wrap around. She would not break beneath him, and he drank from it, but even still, she would know gentleness.
But something bit at him, a nagging worry that ate away beneath his skin, and he reaches for her face with a cup of trembling paw. Reverie, and even his voice cracks and twists, quivers with a purr of hesitation; are you-- you sure?
Because before her, others had not been, and he regretted it so. Because if they dove from this ledge, Boone was not sure he could climb back up.

All the breath was stolen from her; he said her name and Reverie struggled to recall that it was hers, blinking for a moment with eyes gone wide and hazy with desire. Yes, She murmured, then hesitated, meeting his eyes with more focus now, I - I've only been with one person before, but I -
I want this, Her lips found his jaw, feathersoft and fervent. She meant this. When Boone looked at her she felt beautiful; she felt like the only beautiful thing in the world, and when he touched her she felt glass-carved, jeweled, like something precious and so very fragile.
Reverie was nothing if not resilient. She wouldn't break in his arms, no — but he held her as if she might, and in some way it soothed the cracked and crumbling pieces of her heart.

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She wanted this.
She wanted this, and Lord above if he didn't long to reciprocate.
There are no more words that come from his mouth, only the guttural sounds of something carnal; teeth clipping at flank and tongue roving over cheek in gentle caress, and he is slow until he all but envelops her within him. He may not be the only hickory her axe has ever felled, the only church she's wept in the pews of, the only creek glided across in wild girlish lopes; the only honeysuckle to ever rest upon her tongue;
He was not her first man, but he would love her as if he would be her last.

***

When the moment comes to pass in the glow of the remnants of summer warmth and dewy wildgrass, he is careful when he pulls her into his embrace. She feels so small beneath him, so fragile, this little bloom, and the cold shock of worry shoots down his spine. Surely regret would come of this, for her; surely, surely, he had been too much.
He was always too much.
And so, as he reaches one paw to brush the lips that now taste of him, he asks; You okay?

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His teeth, his tongue; she found herself unprepared, falling to trembling pieces under him. His scent and his voice and his warmth, soft skin against skin. But it was more than that. It was shivering souls bared and brushing delicate fingertips over the scars, tracing faded words of old love letters, breathing new color into pale shadows of every promise broken. Her lips found his, low sounds in her throat spilling against his tongue.
And he lit her to flame, to scarlet and gold flickering under her skin and in all her veins, and he was hers. She whispered fervent words of affection, encouragement, voice breaking into breathless little whines until the flames consumed them both. It was only his name on her lips, then.
And she was his.

In the aftermath she felt breathless; raw; stripped of the flimsy walls she held around her and left in a blind trembling fog. Boone held her, and she tucked herself tightly against him, as if his embrace was the only safe place in the world. But her fear had finally found her. She was quiet, and perhaps Boone sensed her anxiety. Her eyes had been closed, but they flickered open when she felt his touch at her lips.
I... Reverie faltered, shivering. I'm afraid. Of this - us. She held him close even as she spoke of fear. I'm afraid that you... that you'll change your mind. And she buried her face in his fur, seeking comfort.

Change his mind?
Reverie, sweetheart, his voice is hushed and throaty, humming with oxytocin that still floods his every muscle. if I was gonna change my mind, would I have done that just now?
And perhaps it was stupid to assume, stupid to think that there weren't men out there who would love and leave so quickly. But Boone was not that; no, not at all. He'd made his bed, and he was happy to lie in it.
If anything, you'll be lucky if you can convince me to leave your li'l ass alone now, he turns the narrative to a jest, a playful — gentle — shove to her shoulder with his paw. I'm not goin' nowhere. Not if you don't want me to.
For he feared the same; he feared that she would come to her senses and he'd be left with only the fading warmth of where she used to be come tomorrow.

She'd thought, for a moment, that nothing he could say would soothe her. But somehow he did; somehow he spoke and all the worry melted away from her, and she was left only with the warm afterglow of what they'd shared. I'll never want you to leave, Reverie promised softly, and she meant it. Boone was so unlike anyone she'd met before; rough at the edges but soft, kind, beautiful in a way she'd never thought to appreciate before now. Beautiful in the way of a river running wild, in the way of sunset behind jagged snow-capped mountain peaks, in the way of tree tops dancing and bowing beneath the wind.
She kissed him and found that she wanted him again. You're wonderful, She breathed against his skin. You're perfect. Perfect, and all hers.