Duskfire Glacier [m] Oomemē

He holds back; proceeds gently. Ayovi can feel his shaking restraint, and still a dam breaks inside and she gasps, muzzle twisting back to question him in yelping shock. She shifts beneath his weight, whining with the uncertainty of this searing new pressure that brings their bodies sharply together. Bearing it, trembling, licking her lips over and over to derail a series of cries—
Then a second sensation thrums between them and she is hyper conscious of the northman’s pushing. It’s intense, teasing that exact fire that had clawed ceaselessly to life. But he does not smother it, no; he breathes into her embers and kindles it higher and higher until the flames are leaping everywhere through her— nose, eyes, mouth. She moans, arching neck and pushing splayed ears back into the man's jaws.
Merging, parting, bending, gasping, her eyes squeeze shut, emitting the sharpest little cries of tortured bliss that finally pour cool water over that anchoring point.
Ayovi goes missing somewhere between their unspoken language and Skorpa’s swerving hips— falling down a slope of him.