Moonspear [m] the suspension of disbelief

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Treepie walked along one of the higher ridge lines as afternoon crawled toward evening and shadows crept over the mountainside. Her mind was rather full of babies at present. She couldn’t stop thinking about Towhee’s birth, a joyous memory stained a little by her conversation with Kinusi just prior. It wasn’t just her cousin’s pragmatic take that preoccupied her presently, it was also her unique predicament.

When the time came, would she be able to bear offspring? Tiuttuk paused beside a tree to answer a call of nature, the act serving as a stark reminder of the possibility that her body might betray her heart. She possessed working male anatomy, that much was obvious. What wasn’t as clear was whether she also claimed functional female parts and not just superficial pudendum.

After relieving herself, Pie bit her lip and cast her eyes over the neighboring glen. Not for the first time, she contemplated the merits of—“fuck around and find out” was a rather crass way to put it, yet it was apt. She huffed a dry laugh at the thought, her mind creeping in @Kindle’s direction now even as she reminded herself that that was far too intimate an act to do with someone she barely knew.

First things first then, she muttered under her breath, abruptly calling out to him before Pie could second-guess herself.

Two seconds later, she remembered the call from last night and muttered under her breath again. It was very likely Kindle had joined the others to go hunting. Her pounding heart sank a little in her chest, though there was a measure of relief too. As much as Tiuttuk wanted to start the ball rolling and find some answers, she was also deeply anxious about what she might discover about herself during such explorations.

Fortunately or unfortunately, Kindle had returned home after the initial meet-and-greet, though he'd not yet ventured far into the mountains. He'd only wanted to be close by in case he was called for — though, admittedly, he'd imagined it would be Haedwig in need of some minor assistance, and not a voice that made his stomach flip.

He was quiet for a moment, but soon lifted himself from his dozing and howled in response: On my way.

He began the climb, more sure-footed now than he had been just a few weeks before. The mountain took some getting used to, but already, Kindle could see the appeal. If part of that appeal was a strange wolf he didn't know how to categorize — well. No one had to know that but Kindle himself.

He'd been doing his best not to reckon with it. Not out of fear or distaste, but for the simple fact that he hadn't enough information, and did not know how to go about asking for it. Somehow, Treepie seemed like both the first and last place he ought to go looking. But here they were.

He was only slightly out of breath when he drew near to her, barking a greeting rather than speaking a hello to disguise this.

She nearly rolled an ankle when an answering howl bounced off the nearby crags. Treepie sucked in a breath and planted her feet, supposing she should stay put since Kindle was en route. She doubled back toward a ledge she’d just passed with a fairly breathtaking view of the glen’s treetops sprawling away toward the east. It was so high up the mountain, she could actually see the tip of its shadow spearing across the colorful canopy.

It wasn’t long before Kindle joined her, offering a breathy bark by way of greeting. Pie slanted her muzzle slightly downward toward her chest as she gazed at him, welcoming him nearer with perfectly sychronized twitches of her lips and tail. She just hoped he wouldn’t hear the somewhat erratic pounding of her heart when he came closer.

Thanks for coming. I bet you’re wondering why you’re here. I was just thinking… I’d like to get to know you better.

There was probably an obvious inference in this statement. Pie flushed, her cheeks tinging a warm pink beneath her fur. But she didn’t drop her eyes or lose her cool even as she told herself, Don’t get ahead of yourself. There was no reason to get worked up over a conversation. They weren’t going to do anything today—or possibly ever—and maybe if she repeated that to herself a few times, it would ease the tingle low in her belly.

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Kindle felt dumb when he realized he hadn't really wondered. Now he was wondering, though, even as Treepie answered the question unasked. His throat felt dry, and he stared at her for a moment, a charged silence stretching between them.

"I'd like for us to get to know each other," he replied, slowly, intending to answer the words at their face value. But that was not how he'd taken them.

Oh, he thought to himself, we're gonna fuck.

He came a little closer, carefully cataloguing her scent. There was a buzzing in his ears and under his skin that kept him from hearing any beating of her heart, even with his superb ears. But he could see other signs of her nerves, and it amplified his eagerness along with plenty of nerves of his own.

"How do you wanna start?" he asked her. "Question for question?" He'd even let her go first.

She was not prepared for the vehemence of his response. It wasn’t just the quiet emphasis of his words, it was the intent way he looked at her as he came closer. Treepie stiffened instinctively, then coaxed herself to relax. It helped that he posed a question that struck her as kind of odd in an endearing way.

That sounds very transactional, she pointed out lightly. Nonetheless, she pondered his proposition before adding, I guess I don’t mind riffing on Twenty Questions.

Would he start or did he want her to pose the first question? Tiuttuk tried to think of what to ask. There were so many things she didn’t know about him, though in truth, something about his present vibe invited her to cut to the chase. She shouldn’t bother with fluff or platitudes but ask what was really on her mind.

Noticing a bit of crust in the corner of one golden eye, she abruptly observed, You have a sleepy winker. Did I wake you? Then, realizing what she’d done, she puffed, That wasn’t intended to be one of my twenty. Sorry. Who’s starting?

Mature Content Warning

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The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: holy misunderstanding, batman (Kindle says some more suggestive things

Kindle shrugged.

"I'm open to suggestions," he told her despite her professing to be fine with his method. Then she asked him something else, and with his mind on on a single track already, he had to gape at her in shock.

"Beg your pardon," he said, scandalized and delighted and offended all at once. "It's just regular — give it a goddamn moment, will ya?"

He shifted his weight, feeling off-kilter and frenetic.

"What about yours?" he asked her, forcing the words out of his mouth despite his reluctance to draw attention to her "winker" (what??). He figured if she'd brought it up, it was fair game.

But of course, she hadn't brought it up at all. He was just dumb, sorry.

She heard a telltale swooping noise in the distance but didn’t so much as turn her head to spy Wyvern dipping among the surrounding peaks. Pie was too busy staring uncomprehendingly at Kindle, mouth slightly ajar as she tried to make sense of his riposte. He seemed unduly embarrassed by her comment, though there was an impish gleam in his (crusty) eye.

Do I have one too? she asked, swiping at the corner of her eye, pulling down the lower lid.

Treepie didn’t feel anything. She checked the other eye and supposed there was a tiny speck of rheum, which she dabbed away with a toe and then wiped on a nearby patch of grass. All the while, she wasn’t sure just why there was so much contention in the air surrounding the presence of eye boogers.

Okay, practice round over, she joshed with a slight tinge of nerves. Ladies first, she decided aloud in the next breath before saying, We talked about other people’s romances before. That wasn’t a question. But what about you? Have you ever had any romantic entanglements? And that was technically two.

This next question nearly had him hollering, Yes, yes you fucking do! It's all I've thought about for fucking weeks! It was her own checks that knocked the wind from his sails — and the air from his lungs. His relief at her not understanding his own misunderstanding was likely palpable, so he was eager to hurry the conversation along.

Except to the next question, maybe.

Kindle had never thought himself a coward in the past, though, and he wasn't about to start now. He forced down his embarrassment and replied, bluntly,

"No. Not really, anyway." He braved a little smile. "If you don't count me'n'my cousin promising to marry each other when we were about four months old. I've been out roving with my older cousins, too — but I was shy back then. Nothin' came of it."

He returned the question: "What about you?"

He didn’t seem to mind her double shot. If his face was anything to go by, Kindle appeared relieved. Pie wondered if he’d really been that embarrassed about crust in his eye. Maybe it was mean of her but she had a feeling she was going to tease him about this at some point.

His answer surprised her somewhat, though she couldn’t say why. One of her upper canines sank into her lip as this information digested. They could be one another’s firsts. But then he flipped the question back on her and Tiuttuk suddenly remembered—as a great shadow passed over her spirit—that she had thought herself in love before.

It was difficult to think about that era. Not only did it hurt her head (literally), she was so removed from it that her own past felt like it belonged to somebody else. All the same, Tiuttuk could now distinctly remember how she’d felt about Sobeille. The hit to the head hadn’t been what ripped that feeling out by the root; it was the moments leading up to it that had severed her feelings for the woman.

She shifted uncomfortably. She’d thought she’d been in love at the time. Should she admit to it? She couldn’t shake the feeling that that piece of her history didn’t really belong to her. But Tiuttuk quickly decided she did not want to lie to Kindle, particularly if there was any chance of something blossoming between them. She didn’t want to poison their roots by planting them in mistruths.

I thought I loved someone, once, but in hindsight… I don’t really think that’s what it was, she shared in a quiet voice. And we were never together or anything like that. I’ve never been with anyone… and I don’t just mean in that way. She blushed again. I’ve never been courted. Or kissed. But I’d really like to be, someday.

She’d pretty much already told him that much, so that wasn’t news. But the way she looked him in the eye as she said it now—that was new. Treepie diverted her gaze a beat later, not wanting to leer, but there was no mistaking the sentiment behind that glimpse of electric yellow.

If not for her obvious discomfort, Kindle might've thought their experiences were the same. And he had kissed someone, actually, but it'd been his cousin and they'd only been playacting something they didn't understand. Not like he understood it now, with Treepie's scent like smoke in his lungs and them standing there on the mountain, but in each other's eyes.

He didn't mention that to her now, when she was as good as asking him to kiss her. To court her. To do other untypable things. He was full of this guilty feeling that he shouldn't, because maybe he wanted this for all the wrong reasons, and it would surely spell disaster for the pack if things fell apart.

His mouth formed the words and he was startled by the huskiness of his voice, "Tell me what courtin's like." He supposed she meant for him to do these things in order. He supposed maybe they both meant for that, though there was a part of him that suspected (hoped) it wouldn't happen that way.

Her mouth opened, then closed. She was tempted to point out that it wasn’t a question, but it wasn’t even his turn. And Treepie certainly wasn’t opposed to letting the conversation flow organically. That wasn’t what stumped her, in any case. She realized she wasn’t entirely sure what courting entailed. There must be some stock answer, though she supposed they could also sort of… make it up as they went along.

I think there are traditions on my family’s side, she thought aloud, thinking specifically of the words “bride price,” but I don’t really want all that pomp and circumstance. Don’t get me wrong! I love the thought of big romantic gestures, a ceremonial wedding and all of that—for others. It’s just not me.

That didn’t answer his question though. Pie licked her lips, thinking hard as she tried to ignore the fluttering in her chest.

I want to be won over but I also want to do the winning over. It should be… It took her a moment to come up with the right word. Equitable. And, in my mind, it should be about spending time together and trying to figure out whether we’re compatible in all the ways that matter.

Her eyes flashed to his again before sliding away. Now Firefly Glen was in full gloom, the sun having fully sunk behind the mountain range. This late in the year, there were no insects to lend their glow to the night, not that they would be visible from all the way up here. But the nearly full moon silvered the wilderness from its perch low on the horizon.

She spoke in the direction of the moon now as she said, More than anything, I want someone who’s into me… and who I’m into just as much. Does that make any sense?

Kindle's family had traditions, too, though he was incapable of recalling them right then. He waited almost impatiently to hear what sort of hoops he would have to jump through, but Treepie was evasive in her answer. No actionable items were given to him, and he was quickly reaching a point where action was the only thing he might be capable of.

Talk of courting and commitment was, apparently, something he found incredibly compelling. But that compulsion had just about took.

Kindle stepped forward again, carefully lessening the distance between them from conversational to intimate.

"I think we should kiss," he stated, watching her intently. All the things she'd said hadn't quite gone in one ear and out the other, but certainly, they'd not taken up residence in his head.

When her gaze returned to a more earthen plane, she found Kindle much nearer than before. Her breath caught in her throat, partly out of sheer surprise. Up close like this, she could see varying shades of gold in his eyes, even a few scattered speckles… and, of course, the bit of crust.

Her heart skipped a beat when he spoke, his breath washing warm over her face and sending her whiskers atwitch. Treepie’s eyes widened. They were five simple words, yet they said so much. Kindle wasn’t just putting out vibes now, he had voiced his intent, which told Pie that her growing attraction was mutual.

She wanted to agree—better yet, she wanted to give him permission, or just lean in herself—but then Mev made an appearance. It picked up on the thread of her thoughts prior to Kindle’s summoning, reminding her quite loudly that there was something crucial she ought to share with Kindle before they took things anything further.

I want to, she said in a hushed voice, eyes tracking back and forth across his handsome face, her own eyes tightening, but there’s something you should know about me first.

Her reaction felt like tacit permission, and Kindle was ready to press his luck. If she wanted to feel wanted, well, he was in hot pursuit. He leaned a millimeter closer, only to be stopped in his tracks by a minute shift in her expression.

The answer shift in his own was much more apparent. His eyes lost only a little of the haze that had come over them, but his brows lifted in a dubious, speaking look. It said, Girl, I know. But he kept the thought silent, not least because she'd asked to be addressed as woman if he couldn't be bothered to use her name.

He waited, not quite patiently, but respectfully. As respectfully, at least, as he could be without giving back an inch of the personal space he'd stolen from her.

"Tell me," he invited.

She almost pulled back, though she overruled her own impulse. If the information she was about to share pushed him away, then Kindle could retreat. It would hurt her, of course it would, but Pie would just have to accept that. She would have no choice. She had made it pretty evident she wasn’t in the business of forcing anyone’s hand when it came to this.

Steadying herself with a deep breath, she came right out with it: I was born with both male and female genitalia. Two complete sets, she could only hope. I mean, it’s impossible to tell what’s going on internally but going by outward appearances, I am both. She paused, then firmly stated, I am a woman. But I happen to have some extra parts.

Her heart was in her throat now, making it a little difficult to speak. She supposed it was Kindle’s turn now anyway, though there was one last thing she wanted to add to that bombshell.

I want you to be honest with yourself, she rushed to tack on, and with me. No matter how you feel about it, I want you to tell the truth.

Though his brows jumped at her explanation, it was more just a reaction to the word genitalia, which he found childishly amusing, given the current situation. The rest of it came as no particular shock, even as she forced him once again to contemplate her interior design, and whether or not it was child-proof or child-friendly.

In truth? Kindle was only mostly sure than men couldn't get pregnant. Y'know — your garden variety men, like him, who had just the usual equipment (as far as they were aware and, to be honest, as far as they cared to know.) But he was suddenly questioning: What would he say if she asked him to carry their children? The idea made him dizzy, ill-equipped as he was to contemplate it right then.

Honesty, honestly, was nearly impossible in that moment.

But, "I'm not blind, Treepie," was not any kind of lie, and even as he spoke, he pressed into the scant space between them to brush his muzzle against hers. He was unprepared for the electric zing! that shot through him, which briefly blacked his vision in all the agony of a first romance.

He said four simple words which were once again more than the sum of their parts. He knew. Treepie’s lips parted, as another thought came hot on the heels of that one: was it far more obvious than she’d realized? She felt a flicker of foolishness, though that was quickly erased by the touch of Kindle’s muzzle as it brushed her own. He knew and it wasn’t stopping him.

Treepie breathed in sharply, though she did not feel anything deeper than the sensation of his whiskers tickling. It was actually mildly unpleasant, though a breathy titter escaped her. Taking matters into her own hands, she pressed back, flattening his whiskers and touching her lips to the corner of his mouth. She felt a little excited by her own boldness, though if she was meant to feel anything else, well…

If only he was a woman, Mev decided to blurt in the back of her head just then. You know, that could work out really well for you if you just… But Treepie refused to listen to that horrid little voice, even going so far as to shake her head in refusal to acknowledge it. This, of course, knocked her snout against Kindle’s in a way that wasn’t only unpleasant but mildly painful.

Shit, she blurted. Sorry. Without thinking, she brought up a paw to cup the spot on his muzzle she’d knocked. Sorry, she repeated, the gesture becoming more of a caress as she held onto Kindle’s face, her own throbbing dully.

Their eyes locked and, for no reason at all—especially now that she’d muffled Mev—a great sadness swept through her. Treepie could feel it trying to contort her facial muscles, though she resisted. In fact, she did more than that: she fought back against it. She leaned in and placed a delicate kiss on the patch of flesh likely bruising beneath Kindle’s soft fur.

The moment didn't last. Treepie made a move he was sure would turn into a bite to his face — he'd seen enough of that happening to his cousins — but he wasn't fast enough to move out of the way. Thankfully(?) it was just her blunt but still hard muzzle knocking against his own.

Kindle reeled back with a hissed, "Watch it!" that spoke more of his surprise than his reproach.

He settled down, casting her a suspicious look that melted away as her paw touched his face. She laid a sweet kiss against the growing bruise that hurt more than it soothed — but he suppressed the flinch that the pressure tried to evoke and smiled instead. A little thinly, but he did appreciate the gesture.

"I'm gonna have to knock points off for that," he informed her, his mind whirring in the wake of his first kiss. The knock to the head had cooled some of his ardor. There was enough space in his mind now to wonder how it'd been for her.

She felt a twinge of guilt despite the bantering tone. Treepie’s toes flexed and she let her paw slowly fall away from Kindle’s face. It clenched into a fist before she relaxed it and set it on the ground, letting it take her weight.

Can we try again? she ventured after a beat. Or maybe… Pie added haltingly, her tongue pressing into her cheek as she mulled something. What if we started with a cuddle? Is that lame?

The question made his heart sink. Somehow, Kindle thought that he hadn't earned many points with that kiss, either. Maybe just because it'd been his first — but it'd knocked his socks off, and she didn't seem quite so affected.

Not in the same way, anyway.

So, even though he would really like to try again, he easily agreed to the second suggestion.

"Only one way to find out," he told her in his usual dry humor. He didn't really know how to cuddle, either, except for what he'd seen his cousins get up to, and, y'know, how his mama had cuddled him when he was small. So he started there, circling once before stretching out on the ledge. "The view is nice, anyway," he told her, admiring her figure against the stars just for a heartbeat before jerking his chin. "Make yourself comfy?" he suggested.

She coughed a laugh at his retort. If it was lame, it didn’t seem to matter to him. Treepie watched as he backed up a step—she was surprised by the urge to snatch him closer again—and circled. Kindle soon dropped to the ground in a casual sprawl. Tiuttuk started to move closer when his remark hit her ears. He wasn’t looking at the view, he was looking at her.

Emboldened by this, Pie padded to stand over Kindle, then slung herself down beside him. She tucked herself in quite closely, pressing their bodies together from shoulder to hip. She swept her tail over his for good measure, then angled her face toward his. They were so close, it wasn’t possible to look one another in the eye—at least, not without leaning away, which she didn’t want to do—but that was fine, because she had an idea.

After a brief and hesitant pause, Tiuttuk thrust her head into the space beneath Kindle’s chin. She moved slowly, careful not to knock him around again. Her cheek pressed against the soft fur where his throat met his chest. She could hear his heartbeat, feel the rhythm of his breathing. His bristled chin tickled the top of her head. It was warm here in this pocket.

This is nice, she purled into that cozy space where their scents mingled. Very nice, Pie amended.

Cuddling, he decided, was not at all lame. The lame part was how, like this, Treepie would certainly be able to feel and hear how violently his heart was pounding.

"It is," he agreed, but he felt even lamer when his voice cracked even on those two little words. He shifted a little to make a better cushion for her to lean against, lifting his chin and tucking her down a little tighter, so that it was a little more like an embrace, but still also a restful repose.

His whole body felt simultaneously numb and aflame. But something else was seeping through him: a warm lethargy that made him shiver, just a little, as it ran its fingers down his spine.

"Definitely not lame," he huffed, looking out at the stars in blind wonder. This was, perhaps, the best feeling he'd ever felt.

They both maneuvered and shifted a little to get more comfortable, Treepie insistently keeping her cheek pressed to his fluttering hearbeat throughout. She felt a little tingle when Kindle readily agreed with her whispered assessment, then declared this snuggle session not lame. She pressed a grin into the muscles of his chest, then decided to press a little kiss over his heart, because why not?

Your heart’s beating so fast, she observed in a lightly teasing tone. Don’t worry, I’m sure mine is too. Pie paused, then added, Not only is cuddling not lame, it’s apparently quite titillating.

She muffled a laugh in the soft fur over his breastbone, then let her voice trail off into a happy hum. Treepie decided she would linger there until his heartbeat—and her own—steadied somewhat.

She had to call him out. He didn't appreciate it, and responded with a jab of his own: "Maybe I'm just worried you're gonna smack me again," he teased, purposefully misrepresenting the previous incident.

But his appreciation for the moment was undeniable. He pressed his nose tentatively to the smooth fur at the back of her neck, breathing in a smell that was subtly different from the one that rolls off of her, than the one that she left behind on the borders. Stronger and deeper, with a musk that was pleasing to a base and secret part of him.

He felt differently about her, suddenly. Something new was unfolding inside of him, creating a space where — for now — only Treepie resided. It was a space much like the one he held for the mountain itself: possessive, protective, territorial.

He was at that age, after all.

"I like this," he told her, his voice coming out in a shaky sigh. And then, more firmly, "I like you."

He didn't know what was next, or even what this moment meant. Was this courting? It felt more like canoodling, but things seemed different here than he'd learned back in his homeland. He supposed it would be up to Treepie.

*edits and slaps the “m” tag on the OP*

The sensation of Kindle’s breath on the back of her neck wiped Treepie’s mind clean of all thought. She arched toward the touch of his nose, feeling a sudden desire for him to take the loose fold of skin at her nape and bite it—and not just bite it, but hold onto it as he tugged her into the embrace of his arms and claimed her.

A rash of heat broke over her body, searing from the tips of her ears down the back of her neck and fanning across her spine. She felt a corresponding heat deep in her core and a telling stir in the bowl of her pelvis. Treepie breathed in sharply, reflexively resisting and trying to tamp down on her own excitement. And then she remembered: Kindle didn’t mind.

“I like this,” he said as if to corroborate this realization. “I like you.”

Me too, Pie said, squirming in a not entirely unpleasant way. I like it—and you—a lot, she confessed in a breathy rush as hot blood rushed too. I’m… She simultaneously wanted to avoid calling attention to her state and show Kindle just how much she was enjoying herself. I’m… hot and bothered, she admitted, still carefully concealing any physical evidence of this.

It seemed a good middle ground, for now, as her eyes sought his. Hers were wide, the pupils huge. If they were doorways to the soul, hers were wide open to Kindle in this moment. Tiuttuk trembled a little, feeling a strange mixture of excited and extremely vulnerable.