Kintla Flatlands [m] so please don't take me for no fool

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The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: implied sex (fade to black)

Set on the 10th, directly after this — set at the patch of unknown between Silvertip & the Hot Springs

@Zephyr whips away, like the wind, he storms and trails away from Neverwinter. Kratos is hot on his trail, and when they are far enough, he finally breaks the silence;
What was that about? He keeps from swearing, tries to steel himself and know that this is a serious conversation—one that obviously affects his mate quite a lot, too.

If anyone else had followed, they would have been met with teeth long before the border scent faded behind them. But he recognizes the sound of Kratos's gait, the quiet strength of his presence, so he allows it. As they get further from Neverwinter Forest, he finds comfort in it. Enough that by the time his mate breaks the silence, he feels calm enough to answer. I... can't deal with kids, He admits after a moment, slowing to a stop and turning to look at Kratos. It brings back bad memories. He starts to say more about it, then stops and looks away for a moment, irritation rising in him again. And Mal — that kid looked like him. There have been other people in heat around, too, I've smelled it. What if more new people show up with spotted little gremlins?

The disgust that Zephyr has for children seems to go deeper than the “gross gremlin demonic fart machine”—Kratos doesn’t know for sure, but the expression is different than others that expressed their dislike of the creatures. He halts, a tad late, but enough space that if his mate chooses to bite his nose off he has a smidge warning.
Did you think he wouldn’t have kids? Or that no one would? That’s what most people do, they pop out kids as if their life depends on it. Pup making factories are what makes an empire strong. They brainwash em from the moment they can think pass food, shitting and screaming.

He frowns at Kratos's words, and his gaze drops again as he takes it in. Most people? The idea is depressing, especially when he thinks about those he knows and cares for. He can't help wondering if that's meant to be his own fate, too — or if he'll ever get away from children entirely without living as a hermit. I don't know. I never thought about it. I didn't spend much time living with a pack before this. Do you — is that what you want, too? He voices the thought in the same instant it occurs to him, ears falling slightly. He'd thought himself unable before. Seeing Cupid had proven him wrong — but that doesn't mean he can bring himself to choose the same fate, even for Kratos.

The answer he gets is unexpected, in ways that Zephyr never thought about his own situation, Kratos hadn’t thought about his new one much either. Labelled quickly as a “no” from assumption instead of expanding into actual thought.
I don’t know. He echoes. Once thought that it was how things just were. I’d end up with a handful of bastards spread across the realm, none of them knowing who I was—just like how I was. A repeat in history, following in dear dad’s footsteps without ever knowing the man for himself.
Then I met you. And his world changed. Everything thrown upside down and shifted in ways that frightened and thrilled Kratos.

The response he receives is confusing and exhilarating in equal measures. It's the kind of confession he craves, in truth, though he hadn't known it before now; the admission of his presence being important in such decisions, different, life-changing in the way Kratos's has been for him. Still, it leaves too much uncertain about the current subject to be as comforting as he'd like.
What if... being with me means you can't have kids? What if I can't give you that? He turns away, suddenly unable to face Kratos. And then it slips out. I killed my sister. He sucks in a breath, heart immediately starting to race. The force and suddenness of it leaves him lightheaded for a moment. When he continues, his voice is a little less level than before. There's still a strange detached quality to it, though, almost as if he's talking about something that happened to someone else. I was too young to realize it at first. She was a newborn, and I was a few months old and... jealous. Everyone freaked out, and I realized I fucked up, so I ran.

So far, it’s been well worth the differences and changes—each positive in ways and less negative. Kratos willing allowed his wings to be clipped, and it is all for the man who stands before him. Still, he thinks Zephyr doesn’t understand the weight of how much Kratos has done for him. Likely never would, and yet, he is fine with accepting that.
Doesn’t matter, he shrugs. Don’t need kids. They may have been in his plan, but you see how he was never truly involved with their lives? That’d been the plan, and Kratos never saw himself a true dad type. He’d be shit at it, too protective and likely to fly off the handle if anyone stared at them weird.
But it is a beat later that it rushes out, just exactly why Zephyr is so against them. It isn’t as Kratos thought, and he takes in a breath—holding it in until the silver coywolf finishes.
Do you regret it?

The relief he feels at Kratos's answer is quickly drowned by his own guilt and self-hatred — but ultimately, it is a weight lifted from him. His focus is consumed in the next moment by his mate's question, however. Yeah, He answers without hesitation, remembering how that night had changed his life. He'd never even gotten to truly meet his younger siblings, so he can't say whether he regrets that his sister is dead — but he knows he regrets it for the consequences it'd had for him and his family.

The answer comes quickly—there is no hesitation and it shows proof of Zephyr’s growth. Of how he went from murdering a child on accident in a fit of jealous rage to regretting the event ever happened. If he knew what he was doing, would he have stopped?
Kratos shifts, trying to get Zephyr to look at him directly before he says it; Then you won’t do it again. Sure, there is no guarantee, but Kratos believes in him, even if Zephyr doesn’t.
You’re not the same person that you were. You didn’t kill i—her on purpose. Not the way Kratos has. And if all else fails, I’ll be there to help you. To stop him, from going through with anything he might regret.

Zephyr looks back when Kratos shifts, silver eyes finding him and lingering this time as he listens. He makes it sound so simple. So certain. Zephyr doesn't feel that confidence, but he tries to believe it, spurred by the promise of help and the small amount of hope it brings. Thank you, He settles for a simple response, deciding not to voice his doubts for now. Instead, he shifts the focus to the other half of the problem at hand. I wish Mal had told me he planned on having kids, though. What if he does that with everyone? After he... He manages to keep himself from finishing the sentence, but his expression falls into one of disgust and dismay before he can stop it. Ugh.

That’s Kratos’ take on everything; start over, try again. It’s the same as when Zephyr spoke about his family, and his whole suggestion had been to give it another shot and try his own take at it. He hadn’t been wrong then, and so far it hasn’t shot him in the foot.
Yet, the subject shifts. Kratos isn’t certain he likes it either. His pale gold eyes narrow in suspicion.
After he what.

His ears drop at the sound of Kratos's voice, and he realizes he doesn't have an easy way out of this. He doesn't want to lie, either, though. He... it was that day you left. When I met that girl in heat, and came back to the forest, He takes in a breath, noting distantly that his heart hasn't stopped racing. I didn't know what it was. He explained, and then we — it was before I knew you were upset. He wishes he could flee. Between his racing heart and racing thoughts, he feels like he might explode at any moment. And honestly, it might be a more welcome fate than dealing with the aftermath of this revelation.

His nostrils flare, alarm bells ringing high at the longer Zephyr tries to get to the point—but it all makes sense, clicks together, and Kratos thought he’d been pissed about the girl… it’d been easier to accept since he didn’t have to stare at her face every day. Mal is different. Mal is his superior in terms of pack pecking order.
His fur rises, ruffled and spiker than usual.
He learns what heartbreak feels like for a second time, as he stares at Zephyr. His lips ripple, as he tries to seal his emotions. But he can’t hide the hurt in his watery eyes.
Kratos had been glossed over—hell, maybe he hadn’t even been a thought on Zephyr’s mind the way he’d been when he first smelt the scent.
He barks a weak, watery laugh under his breath.

Kratos's silence is deafening, but the expression he wears is far worse. At the laugh, Zephyr feels his own heart drop into his stomach and shatter there, into a million tiny shards that seem to dig into his flesh and leave him painfully nauseous. Helplessness consumes him. I don't want him. I just wanted to... see what it was like, It doesn't sound good enough, even to him, but he has to try. I want you. I chose to be your mate. He'd thought that was good enough... but maybe not.

His jaw clicks shut again, and he lets the silence stretch. What can he say? This happened behind his back before they’d gotten together—would they have, if he knew? Kratos can’t think, overwhelmed suddenly, as if he’s been skinned raw.
Why not me then, why didn’t you ask me— nor hell, even Phillip—the punk is easy to bully over and maybe he could have eventually gotten over the curiosity thing as two friends jerking it off, but… not with Mal. Not like this.
Ha, maybe Kratos has an inferiority complex he didn’t know about—or really want to admit. But Mal is better than he is in every way, and it shows.

The question, at least, is something he can answer. His pride stings, but he feels he owes Kratos honesty, so he doesn't hesitate to give it. I didn't know you were interested. I never thought about stuff like that until then. I didn't really think about being mates with anyone until we talked about it, either, His eyes suddenly sting with tears, and he turns away again and takes a few steps, overwhelmed himself. The conversation has been too revealing for his comfort, too stressful. He feels exposed and ugly, and he wishes he could sink into the ground and disappear. But he keeps talking. I never had time to think about any of it until recently, and I didn't think anyone would want me anyway.

You never asked, he points out—although knows the blame isn’t on Zephyr’s shoulders either, not when he could have easily reacted, but he’d been playing things careful, waiting and allowing his own feelings to develop rather than rush hastily in. He regrets that, more than he could imagine. If he rushed in, maybe they wouldn’t be here, and maybe he ought to not feel as deeply as he does.
He sucks in a breath, giving a look that is as apologetic as it may get from Kratos.
He wanted you, obviously, enough that things explored deeper, enough that Mal whisked Zephyr who’d been fine with traveling as lone wolves into a pack, where chaos has since reigned and their trio is now a duo—everything bad that could have happened has, except one of them dying for sure.
I want you. Another fact he thought obvious, but maybe that’s Kratos’ problem; he never voices it until it’s much too late.

His eyes close briefly at the first words, face still turned away from Kratos, and he contemplates leaving. Only for a moment, but the thought is there; he could run and never look back, leave behind all of this hurt. The idea tempts him more than he'll ever admit. But he stays where he is.
He thinks he has a response when his mate points out that Mal had wanted him — it'd only been the scent, after all — but whatever words he'd had prepared are quickly forgotten as Kratos continues. I want you. Even in the middle of all this, the effect on him is undeniable. A shiver rolls down his spine, and without thinking he looks up and says, I'm yours, His ears flush, cheeks following suit as he registers his own outburst. He turns back toward Kratos abruptly, moving into his personal space without an ounce of forethought and seeking to press his nose to his mate's cheek. I want you, too. Only you, can't you see that?

Both of them could walk away, snip the ties and burn bridges just like that. They nearly had before, and certainly if their arguments continued to thrive so hotly between them, it would be for the better— Kratos knows he’d never get over it, he doesn’t have to experience further heartbreak and agony to do so.
Deep down he knows nothing can be done for the past, and he can ache and hold a grudge for the rest of his life, but nothing could turn back time. He’d wanted to do so, so badly, one other time during his short life—to the point he begged, to the point he’d try anything to forget. But now, he tries to mend in his own weird way, in his proof that Zephyr isn’t unlovable, unwanted, or anything less than perfect in his pale gold eyes that still brim with unshed tears.
“I’m yours.”
Zephyr turns to him, invading space that’s been his ever since their second meeting. A cold nose is pressed to his cheek, and a passionate growl grows in his chest. His own teeth clip at Zephyr’s scruff, tucking just underneath the silver coywolf’s large ear. Be mine. He wants, oh so badly, for that to be true.
But it cannot be, not unless Zephyr makes a choice;
Come with me, leave the Forest behind. Or… stay there. Without him.

He melts under the feeling of teeth against his scruff, the rumbling sound of Kratos's growl. Their conversation has left him worn, fragile, defeated in some ways; the affection is desperately needed, borderline intoxicating at this point. He lets out a heavy breath as words fill the air again, leaning closer. Be mine, he says, and the rest somehow seems less important.
It doesn't even occur to him to refuse, though a million thoughts run through his mind all at once. I'll go with you, He says, voice growing slightly shaky as he continues. Promise you won't leave me.

Selfish, he knows it is, but it is the only way to save what they have. Already he feels the strain, and he doesn’t want to lose Zephyr—not again, the near misses too much for his heart to handle.
I can’t stay there— He explains in a rush. It is enough that the silver is willing to go with him, but he wonders if this, too, would be one of Zephyr’s regrets.
He wonders if he will come to regret this promise, too, but he sinks into it—drunk on wanting to feel important in some way to him. I promise I won’t leave you.

The promise is enough for now. His muzzle dips, nose moving through Kratos's fur, and he nips at his neck gently. The scent of him is comforting, familiar by now. He whines softly, betraying the lingering undertone of desire in his actions. His next nip is aimed slightly higher, ears folding slowly as he seeks something more from Kratos. He doesn't know how to ask, nor does he know how seduction works — that much is likely obvious in his uncertainty, the way he hesitates before each touch as if he might cut the wrong cord and set the bomb off at any moment.

Alas, it is far off; Kratos is a walking, talking bomb—pull one wire wrong and he’d certainly react as violently as a bomb. Fortunately, Zephyr knows how to handle him; has had him wrapped around his finger since day one.
The way the silver lures him, only he could do. Kratos presses into each hesitant touch, supplying his own administrations with less shy undertones and more upfront; rough and needy and displaying how much he truly adores him.
He nips possessively, adding kisses as he goes along the silver’s neck, edging closer towards his slender shoulders and back towards his ear.

The rejection he half-expects never comes; Kratos doesn't seem to mind his inexperience, or if he does, it doesn't show. Zephyr's confidence grows as the affection is returned, teeth harsh against his mate's skin as his desire kindles fully. Some kisses of his own are scattered throughout, too, but he finds himself craving something different than what his first encounter had offered. He wants passion and heat, a fire that only Kratos can sustain against his own iciness. The experience is new, but his wants are unmistakable to him now that he's had a taste of it.

Mine. Mine. Mine.
The verse sings, striking cords harsh and off-key, yet so beautifully put within the hum of Zephyr’s own. He drives forth, greedy in his passions as he noses along with a rumble sounding in his throat.
Just as he strikes pass, to step a closer, the ghost glides from his grasp. At first, his heart sinks, and then, he recognizes the mischief in silver eyes. Wicked grin creeps across his face, Kratos powers after.