Duskfire Glacier [M] a place for your head

sulukinak led the newly arrived @Blackfell to a place among the shelves of ice, where many of darukaal had made their sleeping places. one in particular had been prepared for him; the hide within held a subtle sweet note, as sulukinak had rolled in the lupines of the field and then upon the furs there.
still oblivious to who this man was, except he was not loyal now to her uncle, sulukinak had questions. usually she would speak her mind; but the energy between the man and the darkuaal chieftain had left her cautious.
as they came to a stop she regarded the man, studying his face, and thought she knew him—but maybe it was better she say nothing.
you want meat? she asked instead, a little too loudly given the late hour. the sky was just beginning to bruise with dawn light.

the onyx man follows in silence. a heavy head lowered between two broad shoulders, content to swing, where brooding had begun to melt like ice upon his brow. it darkened the doorstep of his two ruby eyes.
he was pleased that no conversation was to strike between him and this woman. she was unknown to him; and he was not a man known for his pleasantries nor his humble greetings. desperately, now, he wished to be left alone. he would hunker down within this den offered and sleep until one thing or another sought to uproot him from his rest.
at the entrance of the cave, paws of both wolves slowly halt; blackfell turns eyes briefly onto the woman when she speaks, blinking for several seconds, having not fully registered what she asked. when it clicked, his brows knit and he shakes his head, a gruff no. in response.
it will bother him for the coming days: the lack of knowing. he had seen this woman before, and yet could not place it. it is as if he makes to ask, with the way his mouth twitches and he leers upon her; but then nothing. he moves, a cold shoulder, dipping his head to begin a slow lumber into the mouth of the den, his loud, agitated breathing growing with the rise and fall of heavy flanks.

the man looked hungry, but refused her offer. he looked angry too, and for that reason sulukinak wished to slip away before too long; however, she needed to know more about the saatsine and her uncle. if things had come to blows then this man would not be here. she was certain that cen would have done great harm, or his hunters would have finished the job once started.

she did not have any other way to stall; so the woman stood there, somewhat awkwardly, as if awaiting an order. in reality sulukinak was studying the heft of the man for a more primal purpose—another appetite, then.

eyes bright, owlish; if he did not want dead meat for his belly, what about live meat to share his bed? it did not strike sulukinak as an odd thing to ask. men wanted for many things, this she had learned.

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it does not take him long to notice the woman does not leave. she remains, paw over icy stone; he feels eyes burning into his backside, and blackfell does not bother to settle. he could not sleep, could not rest, when he was being stared upon. his head turns rather brashly, eyes cutting to traipse once more upon her.
her words bring him great pause. at first, confusion—visible in the way his eyes narrow upon her, the way brows scrunch. then, realization. she offers him her body; something stirs. the night is dead, the ice settled, and still that fire licks steadily at the skin beneath his hide. you wish to fuck? his voice is momentarily amused. gutted by a humor he thought might have been lost upon him as of late.
he turns. sharply. paws thudding, his nose flaring as he draws in the woman's scent. there, something he had not noticed before. his expression remains flacid, eyes of quiet nothinginess roaming her figure. he observes. he sees. he does not hate what he sees—he would have snarled at the suggestion otherwise.
but he does not move from where he is.

He is slow to understand and then suddenly, as he comprehends, there is an eruption; his voice is a blunt instrument, using a word that Sulukinak does not know but assumes to follow the trend. She does not flinch—it does not occur to her that this might be a dangerous man, given how he had been received by Faust, or that he has a clear disdain for Sun Eater.
He is healthy and strong. He is a good hunter, or else Cen would not have welcomed him in the first place. Some part of Sulukinak which she does not understand, but is growing stronger, refuses to back down.
In fact she moves, quickly as she always has, and fluid, pantherine—as if to block his way forward to the sleeping place. Their size difference is obvious; he could move her easily, swat her aside like a spider crawling too close. Or...

there comes a sharp intake of breath when she comes nearer. fast, quickly, her movements feline; a swooping head, graceful legs that draw his attention. he should feel guilt for even considering this, but there is none to be found; lost to the war that wages in his mind of shadow.
she is near and blackfell remains still for several long beats, not sparing her an inch. motionless, akin to a stoic stature. cursed and rooted to where he may remain for centuries to come. eyes flinching across her, taking in the sight she offers. the muscles of a huntress; she is not the prettiest woman he's seen, but he is not unattracted, either.
his tongue lashes out across his nose and snout, lapping generously. then, he shoves his nose into her scruff. taking three long, greedy draws of breath from the source of her hide. drinking in her scent, a shudder raking down his spine in response. his mind connects with his instincts—he should have her in his bed tonight.
an outlet. that was what she was. and he needed it, desperately, with the way he turned to a feral panting, moving to back her further into the den with his head. scenting his nose down the length of her flank, seeking out the base of her tail.

was this how it was done?
was this how nukilik had made her offerings? found the men lost in the long dark, promised meat in one form or another; warmth, a distraction from difficult days? sulukinak did not know, but in these moments she felt closer to her mother than ever before.

the man was not about to ignore the opportunity. was that a reflection upon him? was it more about her, having offered herself in this way to a stranger? questions spiraled through her mind as white noise. none of this mattered. she would get what wad wanted—he would not sleep alone, either.

but she wasn't ready for how he seemed to rush against her. his bulk was like a molten flow, and sulukinak was swept up in the momentum; his touch sparked a new feeling in her body and she could not tell if it was good, bad, ugly—or something else entirely.

before, sulukinak had been a student to her mother's madness; to her uncle's teaching—and sulukinak put herself back in to that curious, detached state as she was swallowed up, first by the glacier ice, next by the hunter man at her flank.

she does not offer him much, aside from herself. but had he expected more? not truly. she seems flighty, now; as if she is unsure. blackfell's closeness bearing down upon her, his nose nudging at her tail, nostrils flaring with the inhale of deep gusts.
thoughts of sleep now evaded. it would come, eventually; but when was unknown. now, a distraction presented itself. he could sense her apprehension—but could smell the excitement her body experienced. he could hear the patter of her heart in her chest. he thought of how loud it might be if his ear pressed flush to her.
should he be more gentle with her?
eyes move from where he loiters at her backside to her face. gaze meeting gaze, his breath fanning into a momentary pause. a lapse in his movements, before he laughs lightly. you have never done this before. he moves away then, not fully, but his stare flashes to gauge her reaction.
curious whether or not she would push him to continue.

she is not welcoming to him, not in the way he expects or anticipates, and this brings to mind his question. his voice crackles in the shared space; seemingly louder than anything.

does that matter? she counters, but her voice is soft. he would enjoy himself if he knew what to do, and she could learn. it was for one night. somehow his comment was an accusation she could not shake.

sulukinak is not a temptress. she does not have the same magic as her mother, either. she regards the man with a determined expression and presses herself backwards against his chest, knowing basically how bodies fit together. she had watched the caribou long enough to witness the rut.

teach me.

there is again a momentary guilt. guilt for what this is, for what he will do. his continued infidelity to gjalla, and yet—he cannot find himself to care. solely because he still harbors resentment towards her. this was what he deserved. this was what she deserved, too. punishment. and a reward for him.
but most of all, a source to be rid of all his frustrations. she presses back against him, a demand, and blackfell feels his blood boil. this was natural. he was a man, and he found it foolish to deny his urges. and to deny hers while he did.
there is a sound, a grunt from his mouth when he hoists himself up. great, bearish forelegs grappling with her hips, her waist. fitting into the hollow of her belly, pushing himself upon her with great force. flush with excitement, tongue caught in the cage of his clenched teeth.
when morning came, the crinkle in his brow would be gone. smoothened; his mind peaceful, lulled into silence.

to say she knew what to expect was far from the truth. it felt the most like too much, as soon as he touched her; and overwhelming thereafter, as she was consumed by his shadow and made to bear the weight of him.

the animal thrill kept her from trying to run as moment to moment, she felt herself caving in. when he was finished with her, would she be different? maybe this was how madness had seeped in to her mother.

when they parted finally, the man found the bedfurs laced with lupine, and sulukinak fled in favor of the dawn.