Moonspear blood [m]oon rising

He did not answer her immediately with a resounding yes, though he was attentive toward her physically. His administrations she leant into, and were it not her season she might have walked away at his lack of answer alone; but it was, and her judgment, sharp though it usually was, happened to be clouded. His reservations were legitimate ones; ones she also wanted to tear apart, ground up. Questions, questions—there should have only been his answer, and then she could seek to uncover what she desired to! His teeth and tongue against her lobes sent sparks helter skelter down her person, though she acknowledged his words. 

Here, she succinctly said. This was where they would begin; but who was to say where they would end? All beginnings must start somewhere, she mused. It seemed fitting that her—their—own might start upon the very place she was born. She stood taller, feeling suited and ready for the task. She was more than a phoenix burning in its final evolution; it was a fire that would not reduce her to ash, but make her greater. Hydra was ever ready to heed her own calling. 

Her nose pressed appeasingly against his chin, and another warm breath came to caress his chin. What do you say? she pressed again, only ever expecting one answer and craving to hear it from him before she gave herself away to him, body and soul. She did heed her mothers words; this was what would make her certain, this was what would assauge all of her doubts. She knew this was not something he took lightly, else she would have heard yes by now... and despite her frustration with that, appreciation was what she felt more of.