Moonspear [m] the suspension of disbelief

Brutal was right. One moment the stars (and everything else) were aligning, and the next she slipped from his grasp entirely. His claws caught on her fur only for a moment before he forced himself to release her.

There was a hunting, mulish look in his eyes when she turned back to him. The push and pull was aggravating, and his frustration mounted each time they seemed to grow close, only to have her draw away. It was a cruel game, in his mind, but not one he was entirely adverse to.

The look faded quickly enough under her attention, though he peeled back his lips a fraction to try and catch hers in a harmless nip.

His teeth were kinder when she returned to him more fully, tucking herself back against him, if not quite back into his embrace. Ardor cooled back to reasonable levels, he groomed her more or less chastely.

"Me too," he replied, a bit pointedly — but his tail beat the ground, and he tucked his face against her fur to nuzzle her a little more tenderly. Of course it was alright. They were only just trying these things out, and there was no need to rush things. No need except the one he felt quite insistently when he breathed in her scent, at least.

Slowly, his heartbeat began to steady — though it still skipped the odd beat whenever the wind stirred just right.