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

Fun fact: it is actually completely impossible for anything you write to suck. It is always wonderful and perfect, like you. ♥

His amber-yellow eyes flutter closed as Coelacanth’s breath whispers through the tufts of fur along his ears. She follows with tongue and teeth and he hums a low sound of approval and appreciation in the back of his throat. The Gampr is tempted to turn his head, bury his muzzle back into the silken fur of his mate’s neck, but he resists – for now – and remains still for her as her attention turns to the jagged line of scar tissue. Maybe someday he will have to tell her the story behind it. The past is not something Stockholm tends to linger on or give much thought. The present is so much more important. And with Undersea blossoming into not just a pack, but a family, the future is where his mind tends to wander more often than not.

His tongue snakes past his lips to wet the tip of his nose as Seelie dips her muzzle down to the hollow of his throat. With a languid stretch he tilts his head back to bare it to her all the more. Yours. And he has to suppress the desire to squirm a little as she combs the shorter fur of his chest. He is trying very very hard not to let his downstairs brain do more thinking than his upstairs brain; because Seelie may still decide that they are just going camp here and snuggle, nothing more, and that is okay, but it is easier for it to be okay if he doesn’t focus too much on how very good she smells and how very much he wants her – but, oh, she is making it rather difficult suddenly.

The muscles in his leg reflexively twitch as her nose brushes the inside of his thigh and her tongue follows the quickening line of his pulse, a wash of heat radiating under his skin like fire. He opens his eyes then so he can see her, drink in the elegant lines of her figure, the way the moonlight dances across her sleek, ink-dipped fur. Which means he is just in time to see her look up at him, cerulean meeting gold, and his heart jumps in his chest with the unseen electricity that dances like a livewire between them. She then proceeds to completely undo him with two simple words: “I want.”

And who is he to deny the world’s most beautiful creature something she wants?

He lingers momentarily, gaze locked with hers, before slowly rolling to his side to get to his feet, not even bothering to shake the sand from his fur as he moves in against her side, pressing his body to hers, his nose buried deep in the ruff of her neck. Speech evades him in this moment, desire and instinct welling up inside him as he turns his head and rubs his muzzle between her shoulder-blades, works his way down to her haunch, ghosts his teeth against the point of each of her hocks and follows with his tongue.

When she flags for him he touches his nose to her flank, asks without words one last time, and once given the permission that he seeks he covers her body with his – and they dance to a song only they can hear, sung by Mother Nature herself, a ritual deeply ingrained in their genetic code and as old as the wild itself.