the lay of our love - M

Thistle didn’t plan on letting anyone near her other than Ragnar. She had given into the madness of her heat season one time, and she would not do so again. She would fight tooth and nail whomever dared to try that wasn’t her husband. She saw him smirk and imagined it most likely pleased him that she was intent on harming any other suitors. Thistle let loose a small playful growl as his name left her lips. She wanted to run and chase, but she controlled herself. There was a playfulness to her now, one that had not been present for some time. An excited frenzy that was apparent in the tilt of her jaw, and the flashing of her eyes.

Thistle shifted and couldn’t stop the tail wag from coming forth again. Thistle returned the note of yearning with her own frenzied whine. Thistle turned and nipped playfully at the scruff of his neck, when he reached her cheek. Another whine left her muzzle to join those already deplete in the air. Had she known he had thought of Nerian, it probably would have been a serious mood killer, and affirmed dark thoughts already present. But she didn’t so she continued on in a blissful unawareness. Thistle growled softly again at his advances down her throat and side. It was not in contempt though, but rather a feral noise of enjoyment. The haze of her instincts were starting to ply her incoherent.

Thistle shifted at the press of his nose against her thigh and nipped at the side nearer her. She tilted her tail to the side. Trailing her muzzle alongside him, she nipped and preened and licked where she could. A soft noise in her throat.