[m] water that i crave

@Nerian

Night had fallen quicker than Ragnar had anticipated, having taken a pause in his patrol to take a kill to his new slave, Nightshade whether the woman ate it or not Ragnar never lingered long enough to say. He didn't care either way beyond not wanting her to stare and hoping that if she did not accept his gift of food that she at least took from the caches. He would not have her go hungry while she was within the ranks of his pack. After he had dropped the kill off at her location he had headed back to finish up his sector of patrol, pausing along the invisible scent marker to refresh it before he altered his course and headed inland, towards the heart of the ancient forest of his pack, his goal not the Jarl den but instead the stretch of beach the Bay provided them with. He enjoyed watching the waves during the night, the ocean tide higher but someone more calming under the moonlight's sweet beams. With Thistle back in the den he was feeling that things were beginning to calm down for him, at least as far as his love life was concerned. Perhaps they weren't, but he was enjoying the consideration that they were, nevertheless.

He looked forward to Nerian's second heat season with great anticipation, hoping to have winter children, as Odinn had told him he would. Ragnar's trust and reverence for the All-Father was a force to be reckoned with, and he believed that the image of tiny versions of himself and his Priestess Wife playing in the snow alongside his older, adopted children would prove to be true. Odinn had not steered him wrong thus far; and come summer Thistle, too, would bear him children. The amount of space between each litter was planned out in Ragnar's mind though if mother nature decided to indulge him was a different matter entirely. Large paws carried him to the shore line, platinum fur illuminated in the moonlight, allowing the tide to crash against the sands of the beach and splash up against his long legs, spiking the shortened fur the waves found there. He had never feared the sea, instead drew great comfort from it. It reminded him of Odinn's Cove, and filled him with an ache of nostalgia that he was not sufficiently able to quench.

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sorry got caught up editing Nerian's Profile, told you I was procrastinating right?

Nerian wandered the pack lands, unable to sleep. She had met up with Jalooke and it turns out Jalooke was pregnant, they had probably been in heat at around the same time. But Nerian had chosen to go off and hide and sulk after her utter rejection. The only thing that had stopped her from running away that day was her freedom, she had wanted to cleanse her soul of that title and be done with it all.

Yet she stuck around and she had been rewarded for it. However she felt her reward came at a cost to another wolf. She felt so guilty, and worse after Thistle had gotten hurt. She wasn't sure whom she loved more Thistle or Ragnar, or did she love them equally or if loving one meant she wasn't allowed to love the other.

Just like before she found herself at the beach, where she usually ended up when she wanted to be alone and possibly meditate, But now it was the place where she and Ragnar had became Husband and Wife. She remembered how reserved she felt and yet how slow and tender he had been. Standing here in this spot her body began to glow like it remembered, like it had just happened.

Nerian closed her eyes and listened to the sea, her temple had been near to the ocean when she closed her eyes she could picture herself home again with the wolves she grew up around, among the waves she could hear the voices of the wolves whom depended on her for sunday service. Her eyes snapped open with a sharp intake a breath.

A wolf came into focus along the shore, she tipped her head and stared at it without realizing her feet now propelled her toward it.

Rangar! She breathed, unable to find her voice having just been tormented by a vision only to be greeted with the sight of either her savior...or her devil, this she was still unsure of.

Nerian came up beside him and ran her cheek gently along his neck just below his chin and sat beside him so her side touched his; her drier fur sliding along his dampness pulling it into her own pelt.

Ragnar was proud of what he had built here, proud of the effort put into it by the members of his pack, of his family, for they were all family now even if it was only by the bond they shared with one another. It was a little confusing making a distinction of his pack family and his wives and children, deciding in that moment that when speaking of his wives and children he would call them fjölskylda speaking the word family in his native tongue to make the distinction that he, otherwise, had a hard time making with his limit of knowledge when it came to the common tongue. Eitri had seen to it that he was bilingual in them but it was Nerian that had assisted him in refining it, despite that she also spoke in his native tongue as well; living in the Teekon Wilds and being forced to speak the common tongue day in and day out also helped but it made him ache for his own language too, not regretting his decision to teach it to Thistle and his children as well. It allowed him to speak it freely for even if his children were not perfect at speaking yet, they at least understood him.

He had not noticed his Priestess Wife at first, surprisingly, his attention too focused on the moonlight shimmering upon the ever moving waves out in the distance of the sea, as far as Ragnar could see. Ragnar had heard the sound of approaching footfalls, heavy as they shifted and disturbed the sand under foot, and turned his eyes towards her, catching the barely sound of his name leaving her lips on a breath. Her rush to greet him was a bit of a surprise to the Viking, who greeted her with a smile, and a soft Hello beautiful, as she drew nearer to him, the touch of her nose against his neck electrifying the nerve endings that were located there. Ragnar drew in a soft, ragged breath as she settled beside him, her body pressed against his. It wasn't as if it was the first time he'd ever felt a woman's body, nor even the first time he had felt hers but still there was a novelty to it, a newness to allowing himself to be this close to Nerian always, and a newness to her allowance of it. He would spend many lifetimes making it up to Thistle for allowing him to have both of them, for once breaking his validation that the Gods gave with one hand and took with the other. I am damp my love, Ragnar spoke to her with a soft chuckle though he made no effort to move away from her.

He wished to look at her but their position did not allow him that leisure and so he inclined his muzzle as best he could to lick her ear, and nip gently at the tip of her ear before smoothing his tongue over the velveteen fur of it once more before he bent down and peppered kisses along her jaw and lips, letting out a soft whine of delight.

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I never realized how hard it was to play a female character, to put myself in the shoes of a woman so to speak... forgive me, I am learning as Nerian is

As am I now... Nerian lifted her jaw line into his kisses and closed her eyes, The smell of the ocean and the smell of Ragnar both those things enthralled her. When she was close him she could find no fault in him, though he claimed he was a man of many faults as many as the gods at the very least. She could find no reason to be mad at or be angry with this Viking, the heathen, her husband...

Wife... was a new title and one acceptable to her god except by those like her whom had taken an oath. She took a new oath that day. and thought she would never again be Priestess Nerian she could at least be accepted by god as Wife Nerian, Cleric Nerian. A step down from the pedestal she had once chosen to stand upon. She had been told her god allowed that, so she was content her god was, if not happy, then accepting of her choices. If she had a temple she would pray upon this, but right now even these thoughts ebbed from her mind

Ragnar's expert nibbles turned her legs to rubber she could barely hold her own weight up her body felt warm and was that dizzy or tingly. Nerian was overcome with the need to see into his eyes, the eyes that could bore into her soul even when they were nearly worlds apart.

The lithe female shifted away from him and ducked herself under his chin pressing herself against his chest before she stood and backed up a single step; in doing so now she faced him.

Nerian touched her cheek to his her tongue reaching out it flick to barest tips of the hair below his ear tasting him while leaving herself wanting for more. Nerian opened her grey eyes and looked into his Caribbean Blue ones. She didn't speak she just enjoyed the feeling and electric air between them.

Nerian did not seem to be perturbed by the fact that his fur was damp and sticky with salt water speaking that she, too, was now damp from being in contact with him. It was the only thing she spoke to him, leaning into his touches and kisses only to pull away from him, creating a vacuum of ocean breeze where the heat of her body had once been. It wasn't cool, not remotely, but he felt the absence of her body against his all the same. The length of her body trailed against his chest and for a wild moment, with a palpitation of anticipation in his heart, and a thrill of burning embers sparking to life in his loins he thought that she might have been insinuating intimacy. However, that seemed not to be the case when she took a wide step backwards. He lowered his gaze so that their eyes met when his Priestess Wife stood to face him.

The space was not long lived as she drew closer and he felt the warmth of her tongue glide barely against the fur at the base of his scarred ear, a thrill of adrenaline and desire surging through him. It was a tease of a touch and it drove the Scandinavian mad. A low growl of desire rumbled in the strong column of Ragnar's throat as he moved closer to her, until they were chest to chest, a slight hitch in his breath. He desired her whether she was in heat or not but he was impatient for her second cycle to hit, wanting her with a desperation that partially terrified him to allow him to plant his seed. She had spoken of hiding from him and he knew that if she did he would hunt her down. He wanted to see her beautiful body round with his children; his children and no one else's. He wanted the satisfaction of knowing with no doubt that the children belonged to him. Odinn had promised it to him and Ragnar knew the All-Father to be a deity of his word. He had yet to lie so far.

When they parted, her grey eyes holding his gaze of Caribbean Ice, the Viking's pupils dilated with his desire for her. Nerian, The Viking purled to his Priestess wife softly, the sound meant for her ears only. I hope that one day our Gods can become friends, He whispered into her ear, tail brushing against his haunches as he lowered his muzzle a slight bit to run his tongue over her ear. I want to name our youngest son Athelstan in honor of your God and religion. He had no particular reason why aside from that Tokio wanted it to happen merely that he knew that it was going to happen.

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Nerian looked into his eyes, searching for something, anything that told her this was a cruel joke, but all she saw was love and respect, an earnest desire to please her. None had ever looked at her like this. No one had ever looked at her the way Ragnar looked at her now.

She shivered when his tongue touched her ear, a breath hitching in her throat. Vaguely she wondered how her ear could be so connected with every nerve that fired in her body right now. How could such a simple touch engulf her in a fire so consuming.

Nerian nodded agreeing to the name she would not deny Ragnar the honor of naming the children even if she did not like the names. This one though pulled at her heart strings. Do not decide now whom shall have the honor of that name. When you look upon the pups no matter the timing of their birth you will know which name belongs to whom. Nerian was glad for her insight there it seemed she was getting wiser. Or at the very least uncovering the wisdom she already had. Ragnar I have the prayer you requested of me I heard my god speak it to me just moments ago

Glory be to the Father,
and to the Son,
and to the Holy Spirit.
As it was in the beginning,
is now,
and ever shall be,
world without end.

Amen

She knew that this prayer would mean something entirely different to Ragnar then it did to her congregation but it fit and eventually she might explain to the pup the origin of the prayer and why. She had opened up to Ragnar about her Vision, though she left declined to speak of the details of the actual vision, since it had been very, very far from an inspiring vision. She hoped Ragnar would accept the prayer for what it was.

Never before had Ragnar ever considered giving his children names that were not Norse; even his stolen son — the Amazon — bore the name of the god Týr. Yet, here Ragnar was suggesting that a son be named Athelstan in the honor of a people he could not understand and a God he did not believe in. In that moment Ragnar realized the hypocrisy in which he had shrouded himself in. Still, Thistle had not been religious when they had first met, and her choice to covert to his religion had been exactly that: her choice. Ragnar hadn't forced her just as he would not force Nerian. He wanted only to soothe his Priestess Wife's worries, if there were any. She had never been very forthcoming about her concerns even when Ragnar assured her that she could be. Ok, Ragnar conceded when she spoke that he didn't need to decide the honor of the name that when the time came he would know which one of his sons would become Athelstan. The scarred Scandinavian was quiet when she spoke the prayer to him, still except for his breath which stirred from his lips when he exhaled.

How easily he was able to understand the prayer, meaning him, their sons and Odinn though the part of a world without end did not make sense to him if only because he anticipated the end of the world. It's name in which he shared: Ragnarök. He understood it but in a way that made sense to him, that tied it into his Paganism effortlessly. Ragnar wasn't ignorant and knew that it meant something much more and different to her than it did to him. He was a curious man and could not help but ask her, What does that prayer mean to you?. Ragnar did not understand the odd way in which she prayed, but he was willing to try to understand, as he had always been. It was a novelty to him, and he yearned to make sense of it, but he wanted to understand so that he could understand her more than anything.

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How was it that this wolf, this Male, her mate and husband could turn her into a puddle in one instant and make her want to tear out all her fur the next.

Nerian decided to go the tactical route and hope he would be satiated by that. She had hoped a vision would have spurred his interested more then the prayer. But Ragnar was ever the inquisitive one and he always did the opposite of what you think he might do. So this line of inquiry should not have been wholly unexpected.

Well it is a prayer known to all christens usually one of the first prayers to be taught. It is spoken when temple begins and when temple ends there are a few forms of it but this form is the most well known. I have known this prayer to give peace to many who were in many different places in life. It gives me some peace of mind now. It just fits... Nerian's lips parted and she panted feeling winded by her speech

Nerian closed the gap between them and pressed her shoulder against his. Curving her head so that her lips grazed his ear as she spoke, being sure he hear her over the ever insistent waves that lapped against their bodies It does mean a lot to me that you would name one of our sons Athelstan she allowed the waves to help thrust her body closer even still to his, her slighter form was getting buffeted by the water more then he. Ever was Ragnar the stone she clung to for direction and support. The tide must have been coming toward shore in it's relentless journey back and forth

Nerian began to explain the history of the prayer, and Ragnar's lips rose at the corners in his trademark smirk. It was typical of Nerian to answer him but not answer him, as well. In a way it almost frustrated him, but it also intrigued him because he had no idea, nor could come to any plausible conclusion as to why she did it. Other than she was afraid to tell him things but even so he had assumed, which was perhaps his downfall in that specific area, that she knew that she could tell him anything. Perhaps he needed to stop assuming that his wives knew these things. That prayer gives you peace? Ragnar inquired, as a rhetorical question, understand that he was merely mimicked what she had just spoken to him. Peace from what? He inquired in a soft murmur, leaning forth to brush his muzzle against hers, eyes of caribbean ice staring into hers. With his wives looking into their eyes held different connotations than it did for his other subordinates, naturally. He understood that they were not challenging him. Only, they wanted to know that he was paying them attention. Indeed, his Priestess wife had his rapt and undivided attention at that moment.

He afforded her so much attention that he had nearly forgotten where they were, had nearly forgotten the repetitive splash of the waves that crashed around their bodies, spraying their dampened fur with sticky salt water. He pressed his lips against the junction between her shoulder blades when she drew nearer so that they were shoulder to shoulder, a small gasp breaching his lips when he felt her lips graze his scarred ear. The pain receptors were damaged in it each sensation, pain or pleasure, coming across as sickly sweet. Even so, Ragnar did not mind. I thought that you might, my love, He had wanted to let Nerian know that he was willing to share with her God, just as her and Thistle were willing to share him with one another. You are so beautiful, The Viking murmured into her fur, nipping at the junction of her shoulders, smoothing his tongue over the area that he had nibbled at. The best part that she was his, finally. Not as his slave but as a free woman, as his second wife. Odinn had planned this from the day Ragnar had stolen her from her home, he could see it now. It had been Fate just as his love with Thistle had been Fate.

The Norns knew and who was he to challenge the Norns, what Odinn wanted.

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Nerian exhaled, she wasn't sure if it actually gave her peace anymore or soothed her like it once did and lately she wasn't sure if any prayers were effecting her they they used to. Nothing meant the same anymore. She had changed so much her entire outlook was different, and she was ashamed to admit it.

Her eyes softened under Ragnar's allowing her to relax under his gaze she set away anymore thoughts of God or the Gods she wanted what was in this moment. The skin below her damp pelt trembled from his touch as much as it did the cold. Nerian found she liked the response she got from touching his ear but she didn't try again instead she tucked her head around his neck giving him her version of a hug drawing his scent in.

Naive in the ways of love she didn't really understand the body position she needed to be in to ask him to claim her like he had before, and she felt shy still about asking. Nerian brushed her shoulder along the length of his body and headed for the drier shore allowing her tail to graze under his chin. Once her feet kissed the un-sodden earth she stopped and looked up the the stars her ears tipped backwards hoping to hear Ragnar follow her.

Ragnar had not seemed to mind but she remembered now that she had broken his revere and perhaps he wanted to be alone she wouldn't begrudge him that, two wives, children and a pack did take up a fair amount of time leaving little for himself. Suddenly she wanted to apologize for intruding on such valuable time for him.

Nerian did not respond to his inquiries and though it was something Ragnar had begun to expect from her he could not help but feel a little annoyed. It had been a simple question, as far as he had been concerned, though it occurred to him mere moments later that perhaps she was not telling him with a purpose. Perhaps her response would have angered him and he was so tired of being angry these days. He only wanted to enjoy this moment with her. The scarred Scandinavian gave a soft shiver when she moved to higher ground, pausing only to her tail could tease under his chin. It wasn't a cool night and the water felt good, soaking into his fur and cooling the heated skin beneath that had, frankly, nothing to do with the heat in the air. For a moment he watched the elegant sashay of his Priestess Wives' hips as she ascended to dryer earth, drinking in her beauty in the same way that the moon drank in the sun's light.

It did not take long for Ragnar to follow, having forgotten that he had came to the sea for some peace in the chaotic spinning of his world. He thought that he understood what she was asking him for, that he understood what the wanton tease of her tail beneath his chin was implying. He could have been mistaken, of course, but he knew women enough, he thought, to be able to tell — then again Nerian wasn't yet used to asking for what she wanted of him as a woman. Or perhaps, the Viking considered, she was embarrassed. Shy. If you do not know how to tell me with your body you can tell me what you want with your words, you know, Ragnar murmured to her sincerely hesitating by her flank, wanting to move the last few inches so that he was in the primal spot for taking her. He was not sure that he had read her body language correctly, however, and so did not take the steps to insinuate it.

He leaned in to plant a nip at her hip teasingly, before he drew back gauging her reaction. To see if she would accept him or reject him.

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Should mark this one Rated [.M.] for Mature,

Nerian looked over her shoulder at him, her lips parted just slightly as if she were going to speak but no words came out. She wanted to ask but her inexperience got the better of her, nothing in her life had even prepared her for being a wife nothing prepared her for the duties she had to take on. In fact everything in her life had prepared her for just the opposite.

Nerian unconciously and yet instinctively shifted her weight onto the hind leg closest to Ragnar and now even she understood what it is that her body wanted. She wanted no more more questions no more talk, all she wanted was him when Ragnar was so close there was nothing on this earth she could fear.



" Hvaða orð myndir þú hafa mig að nota? " Nerian's voice was soft but the curve of lips told him she might have taken that the wrong way, indeed she felt slightly scolded like a pup with the words he used and yet treated like the female she was as his muzzle brushed her flank.

Nerian exhaled and peeked at Ragnar from below her heavy lidded sultry expression, With him she couldn't hide her emotions the neutral mask she wore around everyone else just did not exist most especially when she was overcome with emotions she had never experienced to that depth before.

Her voice getting husky, laden with something just slightly more then desire" Vinsamlegast... " Perhaps not the best use or asking but she was running out of intelligent words to use. In this moment the priestess version of Nerian abandoned her and walked away with a 'to hell with you' and the Wife that Nerian was becoming this new version that ever so slowly was blossoming opened herself to him in every sense of being. Her tail moved, arching just slightly to the right her hips moved closer to his chest, her breathing hitched as she reached behind her to caress his muzzle with her tongue, tasting him and the tang of salt that clung to him.

Added. ;P So I'm going to say it's safe to assume that everything past this OOC note is mature and to read at your own discretion. :-)

Ragnar's eyes of Caribbean ice studied her, his Priestess with the longing that he had felt the first time he had laid eyes upon her in her home pack when he and his Berserkers had raided it. It was a look heavy leaden with curiosity, deviousness, and desire. As it had that fateful night his head canted to the side in a manner resembling Huginn and Munnin when they were observant, watching with a coy smirk tugging at the edges of his lips as his Priestess Wife's lips parted as if she intended to speak but the silence between them remained unbroken. A soft chuckle slipped from between Ragnar's lips when she inquired to him in Norse. Ég var að stríða, He crooned to her in a tone made softer so that it was hardly more than a husky whisper. Telling me you want me doesn't hurt, either. He spoke to her in English, despite that he knew that she did want him though. He understood she was inexperienced and that absolutely nothing in her life had ever prepared her for this, except for maybe her natural instincts. So, Ragnar drew in a conclusive breath. Do you want me, Priestess? The Viking teased her, using what had easily became his pet name for her. She had told him not to call her that and yet, Ragnar couldn't help himself. He did not use it in the same manner he had called her it in the beginning. It was turned into a word of affection rather than one of scorn as it had first been. Even then, it had only been spoken in the first months of her enslavement to him out of scorn because he had been slighted by her continued rejections towards him.

Her plea was nearly Ragnar's undoing, but as far as he was concerned he hadn't been given the adequate permission that he sought and so therefore he could do nothing further to alleviate the building tension between them. The fire pooling in his stomach, spreading with an aching slowness towards his loins did not hinder Ragnar's patience. He had enough experience with the fairer sex to know that waiting was well worth it, in the end. As he waited for her to move, he felt a slight shiver of the ocean breeze as it moved through his damp fur, a cool kiss against the heat of his skin beneath, having nearly forgotten everything else. In that moment nothing mattered but Nerian, not that they were both still damp from standing in the salt water, not that the night was cool. It was as if the world had melted away and all that remained was the two of them. Her tail moved for him and she back up so that her hips were nearly flush against his chest. Ragnar's black, leathery nostrils flared, drinking in her scent. Her body was pure from the scent of heat but it did not lessen the platinum and scarred Northerner's desire for her any. Nerian inclined her neck, the feel of her tongue sliding across his muzzle was momentarily distracting to the Jarl; for a stretch of moments Ragnar stood there, unmoving, relishing in the feel of her kisses. Unintentionally building the tension before he moved his head towards her spine, not in rejection of her ministrations but to rake his teeth through the coarse fur along the curve of her spine once in both a warning to alert her to what he was about to do, and as a small measure of preperation.

In a swift, singular movement the Jarl pushed himself onto his hind legs and drew his Priestess Wife nearer, forelegs hugging her abdomen gently but with enough pressure to keep him stable, as the curve of her spine moved against his underside. The majority of his weight shifted quickly to his hind legs, and for a moment he fought to find a comfortable balance against her body much smaller than his, hind paws burrowing into the sand beneath them. He let out a soft breath, fanning against the fur at the nape of her neck as his hips moved towards hers and their bodies joined.

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