Totoka River baby, when I whisper, can you hear?

Stockholm is normally very adept at translating Seelie-speak in all it’s forms, but at the moment he’s struggling to comprehend what she’s attempting to tell him. Something about Catori… worrying… something, something. She trembles under him in response to the growl of his voice and he threads his fangs into her fur again, nibbling against her neck the way he normally would as an affectionate grooming gesture – but there is an intensity to it, pushing just a little harder against her skin, tugging just a little at her hairs. Mine.

She tips her head back to rest her cheek against his and his eyes fall closed for a moment, forcibly trying to restart the gears in his brain. He purposefully catches his own upper lip between his fangs and bites, not enough to draw blood but enough to pinch and cause pain to snap himself back from the heady rush of instinct and desire.

“Am I… am I sick?” “No.” He swallows, tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth for a moment, and he suddenly feels like he could drink the whole ocean and still be thirsty. “No, not sick. Beautiful and perfect. Will keep you safe, promise.” He needs to take her back to the island, to the den, where he can make sure her scent doesn’t attract any ne'er-do-wells from the mainland that might seek to take advantage of her if she is left unguarded. It doesn’t occur to him to do anything other than that, no matter how much he may want. She is his, he is hers, but it is not his place to–

Oh.

His muscles twitch and he gives a full-body shiver as Seelie slinks out from underneath him and rubs her body across his chest, and he lowers his head so that his chin rubs against the top of her spine as she does so. “Perfect,” he repeats, a little lower in tone this time, as she proves his point with the flawless pronunciation of his name. He draws in a deep breath, leaning in to her a little before she turns away from him suddenly and moves a few steps ahead.

“Yours,” he answers automatically and without hesitation, remaining rooted to his spot in the shallow water for a moment before slowly stepping forward after her, golden-yellow eyes fixed intently on her figure, drinking in the way the moonlight plays off her silken fur. There are words on the tip of his tongue, but he’s struggling to figure out the order they should go together in order to make a complete sentence, so instead he leans forward, brushes his muzzle to her hip ever so lightly, asking permission to continue to touch.