put your ring back on honey-tits, you haven't had enough porridge this morning (mtr.)

~~Andraste~~

His name bedded down within her ears, curled into the silken sheets of her mind. Cruel — Wintersbane was so cruel in his amusement. Her eyes were so heavy, as if she’d only just woken to ravishment. She kneaded her talons into pebbly soil, cinched them as if half-heartedly trying to remain tethered to the Wilds, rather than losing herself to the North of her upbringing.

”Perhaps I will tell ze heavens who made me writhe today. Who I begged to make me see stars.” Her breath turned shivery, talking herself into an irrevocable, foul-tongued arousal; her gauzy eyes unfocused as the molten of this moment pawed at her belly, her thighs, her sex. But still, she reveled in restraint, ”Or, perhaps I will keep it to myself.”

With those words, she drew herself up, peering down at him with a deep, deep lust that nearly made the stars of her irises go dark. And they stayed like that, with the ivory of her breast arching into his great, ashen shoulder; tasting the embers of another’s breath as her stilted, pale body veered into his; a breathy, coarse moan murmuring with each terse exhale. Felt his other, coiled forearm pressing burning at her ribs; all this as her body clenched around nothing. Wanted him to feel it; wanted him to claim her languid and deep.

When the heat consumed her, she would choose Vercingetorix — she would always choose him, the way she’d always chosen, trusted to have her virginity ridden by him. He was who she loved; what she burned with for Wintersbane was engulfed, incomparable to the immense inferno she would incessantly give herself to her iubit with; would always give herself with. Yet, here, at this very moment, she had the chance to return to her North; the North that was her, that was Wintersbane.

She had never taken pleasure for herself, before; had never held sway of the next moment, like the opportunity she’d once been given in that apothecary. Yet again, here it was: the last time she would ever be unengaged, unmated
by body and soul. What held her back from this, still? Nerves? Inexperience? Loyalty, even though both men were most certainly indulging themselves in the season? So why shouldn’t she? Why shouldn’t she visit the North, just one last time, before she finally bound herself by the sea? Why should she always be so fearful of her own wants?

With one last, faltering flutter of lashes, her frost-limned spirit wound about his; and she found herself wounding her white throat about his own, too, her shoulder leaping into his mouth. "P-please, wh-what should I d-do?" not so lost to lust to forget her manners; ground her cheekbone into the juncture between his great shoulders and bent neck. ”W-want you,” but I’m so in love with another, but it’s the season, and I want you to devour me—An airy, throaty noise left her at the sting of teeth, and she only pressed that sensitive sweet-spot of hers further into his fangs.

Because even with a man here, knelt before her, once again allowing her to reign over him, it... it was too good to be true. How could she be wanted enough? Was she even wanted? Aure was independent, as free from the tethers of her making as any young adult could be. But when it came to love, to lust... what were you to do, when you had no idea how to step into someone’s bed? Or heart? This was where her expertise sorely lacked, and she pressed a whine of uncertain longing into Wintersbane’s ruff as her body waited, impatiently, for her choice. Her decision.