Dragoncrest Cliffs i could put my teeth on your throat—i could howl against your hair (mtr.)

babymakin' time ft. @Vercingetorix (ᴗ ͜ʖ ᴗ)

Setting Late evening, Aure's cove.
Time Dated to 1/27, after her excursion & return from Diaspora
Summary Finally returning to the realm of Drageda, Aure experiences her first heat, and can think of no male better than to consummate everything with.

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Mature Content Warning

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filth & fluff. Enjoy lmao (There's romantic / character development if u squint!)

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Aure knew that Verx would be looking for her. She'd been brimming with absolute euphoria, wanted him to kiss her from her ivory crown to her travel-worn throat. But all of that missing, and the aching of her heart, had flared into something... voracious. Embracing Vonn had been a mistake, because Verx’s scent had never been more mind-numbingly delectable. In only a few heartbeats, that shadowy presence of her cheka was ruining her — and she wanted to wreathe beneath the strain of him.

Any part of her that remained listless and lethargic from travel had been snapped up by the flame of her arousal. Ever since that past evening, now seeming so long ago, she’d felt... lavacious. And then she'd scented other females on him, and the wholly-avaricious, primal surge of he’s mine tore through her. Her eyes had rolled all the way to the Celestium behind closed lashes, the bones of her neck straining with the effort to refrain from claiming him herself.

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So, frenetic with passion, she'd retreated to her cove some time ago; and undressed from her precariously-poised demeanor the same way a woman may unveil herself to the Mediterranian at eve. Aure felt so vulnerable, refracted, like her whole body was alit and she drifted through a fever dream. 

In the gloaming of her lair, her first heat unleashed itself with an insatiable shriek — gobbling at her soul, her self, her sex, and left her draped and writhing on the biting and black stone floor. She couldn't even feel the winter's cold of the obsidian beneath her, engulfed in so much burning for him. His name stumbled from her bitten-swollen lips in heavy pants; her pulse thrummed through every searing vein.

Aure cinched her ivory talons into black stone, tried to breath, voice throaty, accent rolling headily, as she began to tenderly keen for him. ”Te vreau​, dragostea. Nu mă vrei?” She didn’t even seem to be aware of what she looked like, should someone intrude. With long legs (that he loved) stretching and spine arcing deeply in vain to rid herself of this insistent need from her soulful body.

Whether she went unanswered or not didn't occur to her in the least. She would gamble her stars that he was there, looming, lingering behind her at the entrance of their cove — and utterly indulging in the sight of her. Either way, he was deliciously cruel; she cherished every heartbeat of it. Because he was "Vercingetorix, dragă," and "you are in my blood."