Bitterroot Valley and i saw nothing here but you

The dragon takes this time to savor what he has; what he could lose, in a blink of an eye. Seeds of a plant planned in Zephyr’s mind by his own words could very well be the silver’s undoing—yet cradled instead within his embrace, the dragon finds comfort in stone and ice.
He nuzzles, brushing broad strokes over Zephyr’s neck with his muzzle.
“He doesn’t matter. None of it matters but you.”
Pointed fur stands upon end, a visible shudder courses from nose to tail tip— Kratos has the urge to bite him, to mark him, for it to scream that he’s his to the world; no one else could ever have him. He is perfect, and this perfection looks back at him with wants and matters.
Zephyr has made him feel important before, but the weight of this knocks it out of the park and sends it flying. The magnitude overwhelming to the dragon who’s sought against the tides to find this feeling.
He pulls him close, suffocatingly so, and if tears are shed they are at least their secret.

He feels the shudder more than he sees it, and it echoes down his own spine in response as Kratos pulls him closer. A faint gasp slips from him, an automatic response to the intensity of his own feelings. For a few seconds, he's still and quiet, soaking in the moment and allowing Kratos his own. But soon something shifts. Warmth sparks in his veins, the kind always inspired by spars with his mate. Immediately restless, he aims a few stinging nips at the sensitive parts of Kratos's neck, adding a few kisses to further clarify his intent.

The display of emotion does not feel weak in the way it often does to Kratos. For once, he accepts them; though tucked away the tears are, he allows the inferno to engulf him. The nips are teasing at first, barely a sting before the electricity starts at the sensitive pokes that Zephyr gives. He knows by now just where to prod. Kratos leans into each, near wishing the fleeting touches would inflict deeper, more. Unable to resist the temptation, he bites back at him. The flames coil low.

It doesn't take much to light the flame of his mate's desire, to his pleasure. He whines softly in response to the returned affection, and his own attentions become more intense, demanding. Each nip is a little harsher, each kiss a little more fervent. It's easy to get lost in it; by now, not a single thought for their prior conversation still lurks in his mind.

It affects him more than usual; of course Zephyr has one on him regardless, able to spur intensities that none other have. Each touch leaves him wanting, leaves him needing. Skin tingling hyperaware of even the breaths that his mate takes. Kratos nuzzles, nipping and enjoying each kiss and bite that grows heated by the second. Wearing thin on patience, he slides forth, head aligned with his shoulders as he semi-circles—a nip first behind a large ear, then to the shoulder, top of his spine, and then, to Zephyr’s hip.

His own patience runs out around the same time Kratos starts to circle; he's relieved for that. Still, the relief doesn't stop his heart from skipping the way it always does when he senses his mate behind him. The feeling of teeth against his hip sends a jolt through him, back arching as a needy moan slips past his lips. Anddd here's where we fade to black. Bye y'all.