Wild Berry Meadow yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red,

for @Euros <3

Mature Content Warning

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The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: swearing and non-explicit sexual themes

He starts to explore the areas around his home with more purpose, intent on memorizing the land the way he had in the Valley. The meadow is a place he's passed through plenty of times, but never with watchful eyes. The grass here is soft under his paws even with the onset of winter, the aura peaceful. He can't help thinking Phillip would like it here. The dark boy would fit far more in this scene than the wraith, at least. He halts, gaze turning skyward, assessing the height of the sun. Midday, now; he'll have to start heading back soon. The thought is a good one.

The sun sits in a harbor of clouds in the sky -- noon, even at it’s highest, when its heat should burden the backs of voyagers, it cowers in dismayed subservience to the changing weather. Not even the birds sang, now; they, too, drove to more temperate, nurturing pastures to avoid the acrid clutches of the cold. The only song which echoed across the even terrain was silence -- a vacuous absence of sound which seemed cacophonous as it traveled with the heightened acoustics of the season, so loud even it hummed against his gnarled ears. His advent to the Teekon preserve was to unearth the whereabouts of his siblings, moreso his sister, as she had been the only source of steadiness in his life he had grown to rely upon. At some point, they had departed -- been untangled by the capricious tides of life, tugged on an opposite wave to embark, if only briefly, different avenues of existence. Though her presence was something he could not live without. Her companionship made him feel somewhat grounded -- he was yet unawares as to why every second felt as though he were trying to swim in a typhoon -- but having her close seemed to, for whatever reason, stop all that. Still the waters in which he desperately desired to stay afloat. A small sigh exhaled from his mauve lips, as he paused in the meadow. He focused on the verdure swaying erratically beneath his large paws, and slowly, he closed his eyes as he endeavored to calm the disquiet in his chest. Electra -- his heart echoed, then suddenly -- what was this? His nose twitched, teased by the dullness of her scent. His head whipped around, gaze snapping open as his voice rose above the wintry silence -- “Electr-- !” He is stopped by a mirage of silvery fur as realization catches his words in his teeth, “oh, I-- I’m sorry, I thought you were... someone else,” he said, meekly, his eyes downcasting in disappointment and a tinge of embarrassment.

He takes note of the dark boy sometime before the stranger notices him, attention caught by light footsteps across the grass. He turns silently, gaze impassive and studying. At first glance, he's reminded of Alessia; the sharpness of feature, the dark fur, those blood-hued eyes he could never forget. He is far taller than the wraith's late mother, however, slim in a way the dead woman had never been. Still, there's a familiarity to him that reminds him of —
"Electr —"
His head tilts at the outburst, and the stranger finally notices him. The meek explanation falls on deaf ears; the wheels are already spinning in Zephyr's mind, too fast for him to keep track. After a moment, he says, Electra. You're looking for Electra, aren't you? He takes a step forward, posture neutral, bordering passive. I'm Zephyr — her brother. If he's wrong, then he'll be incredibly surprised. It's all too big a coincidence to just be some random encounter. This has to be another of his surprise siblings — and he's incredibly attractive.

The recognition in his voice was gossamer silk which quelled the quaking in his spirit. He said her name with such a resoluteness that his gaze could not help but flutter upward, a sheen of hope sparkling in those pools of sanguine wine. “Yes, I am,” he replied, swiftly, the optimistic lilt in his soft voice hard to miss, “how do you know her?!”
 
The answer which coolly wept from his mouth swallowed his elation into a sludge of sorrow.
 
The oily tendrils snagged his heart as that name was spoken -- Zephyr. His gaze leaned under saddened brows. “She.. spoke of you,” he whispered, a paw slowly tugging him closer, “mom… Allesia.”
 
She had never divulged the entirety of the frayed tale between them -- but he didn’t need to know. The anguish that gripped her face as she spoke of him told a story she would never have to tell. “My name is Euros,” he offered, though fell silent, weighed down by the storm of grief which greedily feasted upon any syllable he could possibly hope to utter. Part of him also feared the reaction of Zephyr. What feelings did he have of her -- and would those feelings be poured instead on to him in a display of ire and teeth? If his upbringing was any indication of the way Zephyr may have been treated, too, he could find no blame in such a retaliation.
 
He stared at him, stilled, patient, the frigid breeze threading through his fur, causing a race of shivers to slither down his spine.
 

A storm of emotions from the boy, bright at first yet quickly dimmed to deep thunderous grey-purples. Grief. His words are secondary to the emotions rolling off of him like dark clouds, though they register somewhere in the mix. Enough to know he's right, to learn the enchanting boy's name. Euros, He repeats, stepping even closer, into his personal space now. His voice drops even lower, barely above a whisper. You're upset. It isn't a question. He reaches out to touch him, to press his nose to the boy's cheek, then further, drawing his muzzle past his ear and then down into his scruff if the touch is allowed, embracing him as if that might chase away the grief coloring the air around him.

You’re upset.
 
“I-” Though his words choke upon the precipice of his lips, surrendered under the sudden touch afforded by the sterling phantom. It was velvety, a tender allotment of physical touch that made his muscles transmogrify to stone in a brief moment of shock. It was entirely reflexive, blossomed under the silent distress he had caused himself by expecting some type of vengeance to be carved across his flesh like scars in granite. Though it did not come.
 
As he grasped the clarity of the situation, he almost instantly fell into subservience, acquiescing under the slight affection he was afforded. His muzzle brushed along his shoulder, weaving a pathway along the athletic sinew of his body to rest at the crest of his nape, pillowed by the cushion of soft mauve furs. With his body pressed against him, he could not help but notice how diminutive Zephyr was.
 
A soft smile crept along his mouth, his gaze cast to the floor in shame. “I’m sorry,” he said, quietly, “here you are comforting me, when I should be comforting you.”
 
He lowered his head, coming to rest his chin softly across the argent pelage of his spine, his skull tilting so that his cheek pressed against his skin and he may peak at him from the side.
 
“Alessia-”
 
“HeINoUS BItcH,” a throaty snarl gurgled from his throat in a stranger's voice.
 
“- she didn’t… say much… about what happened between you, but she looked very sad. I don’t know if that brings you comfort,” he continued, unaware of the transient shift.

Euros goes rigid for a moment under his touch, and Zephyr prepares to withdraw — but it only lasts a moment. Then the boy melts into him, ruddy silken warmth draped over his shoulders, and the wraith relaxes too. He sighs softly, feeling a familiar spark of heat in his belly, a ruby streak of lightning at the core of him. The wrongness of it doesn't register in this moment, especially when Euros starts to speak, drawing his muzzle further over his back. He shivers, barely registering the words.
The snarl, however — that startles him. It doesn't show, of course. The wraith remains as stoic as ever through the outburst, only silently shocked by it; outwardly, the moment passes. He half wonders if he'd imagined it. Or perhaps it'd been one of the Daedra — one he hasn't heard yet. Regardless, he responds as if it hadn't happened. I — it's okay. I'm over it. There are... things you don't know about. Things that happened recently, Things he doesn't want to talk about, not with the heat coiling and writhing within him. We can talk about it at home later. And with that, he presses closer, preening a little now, selfishly wanting nothing but this embrace. Nothing else really matters — it never does, in moments like this.

His eyes fall softly closed as he fully relinquishes to the comfort he finds those silvery tresses. He had not known affection so easily in his life, and his flesh — as well as his heart — pined for the consolatory pleasure that navigated through his muscles and released those inebriating chemicals his brain thirsted for. A sense of serenity veiled over the world, and it became muddied as reality began to fade into the back of his consciousness — lights, sounds, swallowed up in the complete placidity of such a simple action.
 
Despite his glacial pelage, Zephyr was warm; it blushed against his cheek and across his shoulder where their bodies met, and he, too, found a contented sigh exhale across the tangle of fur his head rested upon. Even as his corporeal existence seemed to suspend in the limbo of satisfaction, however, a scent slowly began to creep into his nose. It was undeniably saccharine, alike wine pouring over his tongue — and his mind began to swim.
 
Zephyr’s words begin to fade, even as they spark the chords of reassurance in his chest.

Home...
 
“Quite the little whore, aren’t you?” He hissed, ruby eyes widening. His ears curled upward, the facade of horns more prominent, as his teeth bared in a cruel, humored grin. In a flash of stained enamels, he plunged ravening dentition into the nape of his neck, his mouth swallowing up a partition of flesh and fat; a satisfying pop reverberating in his mouth as sanguine liquid pooled around his canines and swam into the creases of his gums and tongue.

His eyes rolled backwards, a predatory, voracious moan bubbling through the blood which wept eagerly into his throat, followed by a rippling snarl which screamed — more.

The tone of the encounter changes in an instant, a hiss coloring the air dark scarlet and muddy green. The wraith tenses at the words, about to speak —
Teeth in his flesh, an arc of lightning through his scruff. He gasps slightly, warm blood welling into his fur, and shifts, ready to tear away from Euros. But the moan stops him. Zephyr shivers and goes still, held in place by the ripple of desire rising back up within him in response. Euros, He says, unsure how he intends to finish the sentence. He never does. Instead he nips harshly at the other boy's neck in return, urging him on despite all his instincts screaming against the act. He ignores the urge to flee in favor of the pursuit of pleasure — as usual.

MATURE WARNING

The nip is reprimanded by a sharp hiss, his flesh snaking over sportive bones as though shrugging off the irritation. His teeth slowly unfurl from the delicate, pierced skin, relishing in the way his canines slid out from underneath the epidermis — the gentle tug of resistance, as though the flesh agonized in his abandonment and instead endeavored to suck him deeper.

Freed jowls now hung agape, slathering unabashedly, that stygian grin curling into his angular cheekbones casting the illusion that his face may crack in his depraved delight.
 
He steps softly around Zephyr, head low and predatory as he stalked voraciously to his opposite side, the gentle patter of blood breaking the silence as it swam through the wrinkles of his lips and peppered the ground. His nose rose, caressing the crest of his ear, warm breath tainted with the scent of copper brushing over sensitive hairs — “Will your cunt taste as sweet as your blood?” he offers softly, before a commanding growl gurgles through his throat.
 
“Open your mouth,” he commands, before his words nearly roll as a satisfied purr, “let me see that pretty tongue.”