Duskfire Glacier [m] stargirl

the icefield stretched endless before him, a sea of pale blue and frostbitten silver, its surface catching the shimmer of the aurora borealis above. green and pink light danced across the night sky, rippling like silk caught in the wind. the air was crisp, sharp against his lungs, but faust had always liked the cold. it kept things quiet. honest.
he lay on a broad, flat stone, weathered smooth by time, large enough to fit two. though he occupied it alone, he was not truly alone. somewhere nearby, @Lousine lingered. he'd dug her a den.
for a long time, he didn’t move. but eventually, the press of his bladder forced him up with a low grunt. he stretched once, rolling his shoulders, then padded toward the nearest tree, its gnarled form half-buried in frost. lifting a leg, he pissed against the bark, steam curling into the cold air.
it was when he shifted his weight that he made his mistake—his paw snapped a low-hanging branch, the crack of it sharp against the stillness. his ears twitched. he stilled.
he was being watched.

lousine couldn't sleep.

she'd never been a good sleeper. it was always these incredibly vivid, bizarre dreams that kept waking her up — a smorgasbord of any and everything that could possibly haunt someone at night in an almost comical fashion. they never made sense. she always wondered if it was spirits trying to communicate with her.

she wandered off not initially in search of faust, but eventually decided it'd be best to look — or maybe she just wanted an excuse to see him. she padded over snow-clad hills until indigo cloaked them.

when she finally found him, she didn't make herself known at first. just watched. admired. from where she was, she could watch the way his hips moved when he walked, hear his heavy footsteps. she loved his body.

it's just me, she finally called out, approaching with a soft sigh. it's nice out tonight, isn't it? so many stars.

you should be in the den— faust started, his voice rough with the weight of the night, but he cut himself off before he could finish the thought.
why? why should she be in the den? because it was warm? because it was safer? because it kept her away from him? all of those things were true, and yet, here she was. and he wouldn't send her away.
with a grumble low in his chest, he turned from where he stood and padded back to the stone, settling onto its cold surface. he left space beside him, a silent offering. an invitation.
his gaze drifted upward, golden eyes tracing the vast stretch of the sky. the aurora borealis shimmered above them, dancing in slow, undulating ribbons of light. pink, green, blue—colors that never sat still, never let themselves be caught.
he exhaled slowly, watching the breath curl into the cold.
they are, he agreed at last, voice quieter now. too many to count.

she cut him off. i know, i know, i know. i... have trouble staying asleep, her gaze dropped down to her feet, but she smiled. trust me, i'd like to be resting.

she watched him move again, this time toward a large, flat rock. she followed. where he had ease, she struggled momentarily with climbing atop — when she finally made it, she collapsed with a hmph noise.

her gaze finally trailed skyward again, and she gasped loudly at what lay before her: an aurora, flickering and shimmering with its bright trail of colors, smeared atop the stars in such a way that could only be a painting from the Moon herself.

lousine squealed.

oh my goodness! i prayed for this! i prayed! her tail began to thump wildly behind her like a giddy child. i- gosh, i know you don't believe, but wow. it's incredible.

it was her sign.

her sign from Selardi that she was in the right place, with the right man.

faust watched her. watched the way she glimmered under the glow of the aurora, how her excitement made her seem lighter, brighter. like she could float right off that stone and join the stars themselves.
he huffed.
they happen every night, he said, voice rough, tempered. her giddiness was something foreign to him—like a language he’d never learned but could recognize when spoken.
but her joy… her joy was something else. it was infectious in a way that irritated him, gnawed at the edges of his control. he wasn’t meant to be surrounded by light. but here she was. stargirl.
he turned his gaze back to the sky, jaw tight.
don’t need a god to see ‘em, he muttered. but still, he watched. still, he stayed.

they happen every night. gods, he was such a downer! lousine laughed, passing him a questioning look. don't need to be a cynic to appreciate the symbolism of them.

she went quiet for a while, just watching the pulses of green and pink and purple as they shifted and morphed around them. she counted the stars enveloped in its belts.

you know the stars have souls too, according to my people, lousine finally spoke, a raspy, sleepy quality to it. her tongue unfurled in a yawn mid-sentence. they are what we turn into when we die. energy that becomes stars. and the aurora, she continued, is said to be Selardi and the spirits wishing you good luck.

she found faust once again. bravely, she reached out a dainty forepaw and brushed it against his wrist.

faust scoffed at the touch, but didn’t pull away. didn’t shake her off.
instead, he relented. a long, deep exhale, and then he was shifting, pulling her in—tucking her against the broad expanse of his chest, where she fit too well, too easily. the warmth of her pressed against him, soft and small beneath the vast, open sky.
he stared up at the shimmering aurora, its colors rippling across the heavens, and for a moment, just a moment, he let himself sink into it. into the quiet. into her.
what do i need good luck for? his voice was low, almost thoughtful, though the gruff edge never left it. he tipped his head just slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse of her in his peripheral, nestled into his hold like she belonged there.
he shouldn’t be doing this. shouldn’t be entertaining her fantasies, her warmth, her godsdamned optimism. but here he was, holding her beneath the stars, asking about good luck like it was something he could believe in.

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oh, gods.

she felt it in slow motion, that pull. she could pinpoint the exact moment her cheek made contact with his chest, the shudder that trickled down her spine, the breathy gasp. one paw raised and pressed against him, the other was held in her lap.

she was silent save for the pounding of her shaking breaths.

restraint flew to the wind.

her lips pressed to the curve of his jaw, beginning to trail a line of kisses toward his pulse point. you know what you're doing to me, faust, she whispered, voice pitched high and wavering. she mouthed at his shoulder. you know. you know exactly what i want. what would help me sleep.

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his restraint was a thin, fraying thread. and she knew it.
his head tilted back for her kisses to continue, a rare form of submission of a man from hrafnvaengr to be shown to a woman— girl.
i know, lousine. his voice was low, edged with something dangerous, something sinful. feeling the heat of her breath along his throat, the press of her lips leaving a burning path in their wake— catastrophic.
his paw skimmed her side, tempting, before it slid between her thighs. but if you think i’m the one who’s going to help you sleep— a chuckle, dark and amused, —then you’ve got the wrong idea, girl.
he shifted, pressing her back against the cool stone beneath them, letting the weight of him cage her in without touching—without giving her what she wanted. he let her feel the anticipation. let her stew in it.
i think you want anything but to go back to that den. his muzzle brushed the shell of her ear, a whisper of a tease. now, what are you going to do about it?

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is that a promise? lousine felt as if something else was taking control — a beast had been within her, waiting for so long to be stirred. and she loved it.

her skin was on fire and she all but melted. she let him touch her, the desperate little thing, plagued by what felt like an endless chase for something just out of reach. she wriggled and squirmed. she keened for him. whimpered.

cried.

please, he knew what she was asking for. tears of pure frustration and desire rolled down her cheeks and marbled the stone beneath her. խնդրում եմ:

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faust was not a gentle man.
but something about her—this girl, this creature beneath him—made him slow. made him hover over her, studying the way she writhed, the way she trembled under the weight of his presence. she was pliant, willing, a thing made of silk and warmth, and he was… gods, he was barely keeping himself in check.
his breath was rough against her throat as he traced the curve of her jaw with his nose, his lips grazing over the sensitive skin there. her voice, her whimpers, they tested the last frayed edge of his resolve, and when she whispered that plea—raw, desperate—he felt something snap inside him.
without thinking, he shifted, pressing her back against the cool stone, settling himself between her parted legs. his arms were firm, anchoring her in place, paws digging just enough to leave an imprint, a silent claim. he kissed down her collarbone, her ribs, the soft plane of her stomach, each touch intentional, each movement slow, torturous.
you don't know what you're asking for, he rasped against her skin, though he knew she did. she knew exactly. his lips curled into something almost cruel, but the way he ran his tongue along her hip was anything but.

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lousine was made of fireworks, ten thousand tiny sparks trapped within her belly.

i do, she rasped while she struggled beneath him. her lips were dry from her shallow heaving. fuck me, faust.

she watched him intently, studied every line etched into his features. the curve of his muscles. the wild ruff of his nape. she loved looking at him, loved worshiping him. she crooned and coaxed until she found she could no longer speak above high-pitched whimpers. she felt small, so so small, engulfed so entirely by want that she herself was nothing but a vessel for him, for his love.

and she wanted it. she craved it.

she would let him do whatever he wished.

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his breath ghosted over her skin, the heat of it trailing down her neck, his lips brushing, barely, against her throat. a test. a warning. a promise.
his teeth grazed her pulse, a low growl vibrating deep in his chest, and for a moment, he let himself revel in her scent, in the way she trembled beneath him. she wanted him—gods, she wanted him—but he wouldn’t give it to her. not like this.
his restraint was a fraying rope, pulled taut between want and will, and it burned in his throat when he shook his head. fangs bared over her lowerbelly, growl coming feverish.
no.
a simple word, firm, undeniable. but there was something else in the way he said it, something dark, something teasing. he would not take her, but he would not leave her wanting.
instead, his mouth traveled lower, his breath searing as he traced a path down her body, slow, unhurried. his nose skimmed along the delicate divots of her thighs, his lips ghosting over her, the hollow of her hips. he was savoring this, savoring her. tasting every inch he allowed himself.
she would not have him, but she would have this.
not until you are ready.

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no.

it hung in the air after he said it, so smooth yet so curt. lousine felt her frustration rise up into her chest and she almost yelled at him. but she didn't.

she, instead, silently accepted the offer. she didn't care. she would take anything, any relief.

she soon discovered it might be a little bit better anyway.

her dainty figure riled beneath his touch. every kiss left her skin aflame. her cries of praise got louder and rang out with nothing to bounce off of and no one to judge her except for her man.

her man. the thought swallowed her. she wanted him, wanted this, all to herself, and she knew it as soon as his lips passed her navel.

fade?

lousine’s silence in response spoke louder than her frustration, louder than any plea she might have made. she accepted, and faust, in turn, took what was given to him without question.
his touch was claiming, an unspoken assertion of his presence. there was nothing delicate in the way he explored her, no room for hesitation. each press of his lips against her skin left heat in its wake, branding her beneath the weight of his affection.
she was his. that was what her body told him, what her voice, growing breathless and unrestrained, confirmed. the world around them had no say in it—there was no audience, no outside force to temper them. only this. only them.
and as his mouth traced the path downward, her thoughts folded into themselves, consumed by the want, the need, the certainty.