Redtail Rise [m] Sīkärr

An exclamation, half laugh and half sob as they gather atop his fur and beneath her’s. Skorpa is slow, exploratory, maddeningly so, and she wonders at it. “Is this some viking custom; to bring your lover to madness?”
His lips close over her’s, caked fur rough upon her chin, but she opens her mouth willingly to his, breathing the scent of his bloodied skin, tasting his tongue. She turns her face into his, nuzzling the snout of his crooked norse nose. She presses her lips onto his eyelids, his brows, the corner of his mouth.
Afraid; she’d been so afraid of his kind. Afraid he would kill her. Afraid of being made the wife of a northman.
But now she understands she never wanted only to be a wife. She wanted a partner; a friend. Soul upon soul, and she moves instinctively, seeking release, claws digging into broad shoulders, pawtips pressing against his thighs.
Her body swells between them, a new obstacle, and Ayovi breaks into a breathy grin.
“Min— min belly.”