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

He'd heard that Aure had returned, though he hadn't been the one to greet her, if anyone had at all. A myriad of thoughts ran through his head as he sought her out, first and foremost the appearance of her brother. . .for if he was here, then she must have returned disappointed. Had they found each other already? What else had she ran into out there?

Dozens of questions on his tongue, only to be forgotten as he stopped just short of the entrance to the cove and heard her sighs, caught her scent on the wind.

Breath hitching in his throat, he padded toward her wordlessly, letting that aroma ensnare him, letting thousands of years of evolution work its heady magic. Like a dog to its master, he came, folding himself down, down, and around her. Warm. . .she was so warm.

Still not speaking, Vercingetorix pressed one forepaw gently against her throat, feeling the trip-hammer pulse against his fleshy pad. He preened at the curve of her neck, the shells of her ears, leaving brief, teasing nips along her skin. All the while, he adjusted his body to curl around her, a dark sickle, his own kind of heat beginning to rise and meld with hers.

He opened his mouth to say something cheeky and found nothing to say, left utterly speechless by her in this moment. All he could do was fix his teeth in the nape of her neck, lifting, begging her to stand on those gorgeous legs of hers and give him everything they both wanted.