Moonspear and breathe in time [m]

They were complete, together. He felt it. In his current state, perhaps for all time, he believed she felt it too; all the while she resisted him, yet Lazarus only saw the fire within her. As she ducked away from him, as they became disjointed halves to a whole, he breathed her in — inhaling the scent of her heat mixed with his musk, basking in the knowledge that she belonged to him and there was nothing anyone could do to reverse that. It was a short-lived moment.

Her teeth set against him swiftly. Snapping, catching, pulling. A frenzy of grazed clips of her teeth to his chest and through his tangled fur, disheveled and matted by the contact of his body atop her own. This too Lazarus did not understand. She was filled with the spirit of a true warrior and that is all the man saw, all he felt, and he droned a note of great pleasure from the back of his throat; these were kisses, he thought, she loves me, lied his brain.

But what they had done — what she had wanted him to do — was over now. Lazarus was hazy with the aftermath of their carnal union, slipping backwards as if to invite her in to some kind of a game, not understanding that Amekaze had been wronged so greatly by him. Lazarus acted out of love — or what he'd call love, which in truth was his own lust, greed, and immense sense of self-importance.

He laughed as she fought him off. The man was too drowsy to protest her assault, so he continued to back away from her, away, away, away, until he found himself on a ledge, and was surprised. Briefly Lazarus turned to look at his rear paws as they found the edge of the mountain, and then with a tiny chuckle, his contented gaze landed upon Amekaze as if to say, dang, you got me! And then he began to slip away from her along the ridge in the manner of a peaceable lion on the prowl for sleep.