Wheeling Gull Isle xxii. when the past ain't been that friendly to you but there's magick in that

Her joints liquidised as his breath expelled heavily, her ears fluttering against her nape curiously at the noise, and she feared she might crumple upon the sand. Yet, the shadow of him looming near in her periphereals held her captive, breath hitching in her throat. 

A shuddering exhale heaved from her narrow chest at his agreement, cheek growing damp as a few stray tears escaped in her exultation. 

Something shifted, charged in the air between them, the static before a lightning strike - primitive and electric. His words fell on ringing ears, still shocked giddy by the realisation that he was hers, and she was unprepared for the bite. 

Her body jerked, supressing the escape her limbs screamed for as it would only rip his teeth from her painfully, as her mate's fangs sank into the soft flesh of her neck, as easily as a knife through rubber. 

A choked whimper escaped, her frame racked by twitches in response to the tearing, searing pain that burrowed into her bones. Instinctively, the curve of her spine hunched deeper, limbs lowering, tail tucking slightly. 

Gesǣlig was left quivering, panting in relief as the barbs retracted. A strange noise, somewhere between a hiss and a gasp as Daegon's tongue rasped over the fresh wound, soothing and stinging as he cleaned it. 

She did not mind, did not regret - she had felt worse pain and it was well worth it to bear Daegon's mark. 

The noctis nymph curled into him, needing that reassurance, muzzle inching investigatingly along his throat. The same primal urge that had taken hold of her mate curled in the depths of her being, winding through her veins ignitingly as her lips brushed upwards to settle at the junction of neck and shoulder. 

Her lips pressed to his skin, kisses falling upon the fire-streaked fur of his neck like rain upon the forests of their Isle, tongue darting out to lap over her chosen spot as if to gently prep it. 

The exile's teeth cut into him - shallow yet sinking, afraid to hurt him yet certain in her marking. How painful and embarrassing it would be to do this a second time. 

Her fangs retracted slowly, tediously, reluctant to cause him any further discomfort. Her tongue rasped comfortingly over the grooves and furrows left behind, cleaning and alleviating as the sylph nestled against him - tremored by aftershocks.