Duskfire Glacier [m] good taste is for people who can't afford sapphires

Mature Content Warning

This thread has been marked as mature. By reading and/or participating in this thread, you acknowledge that you are of age or have permission from your parents to do so.

The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: Description of heat, sexual innuendo.

Thread is forward dated one week, for April 24.

Lane had been a traveler her whole life, and so she was familiar with the itchy feeling in her paws that meant it was time to move on. She hadn’t intended to impose on the Glacier wolves’ hospitality for so long. She had enjoyed Iana’s company as well as that of the other resident caregivers. There was still more to learn, and Lane would be back soon to continue where she and Iana had left off. The professional connections she’d made here were important to her, and Iana’s friendship even moreso.

Yes, itchy paws were normal. But an itchy tail—more specifically, the underside of her tail—now that was new for Lane. Maybe itch wasn’t the right word for it exactly. Whatever it was, it made Lane want to move. Walk. Run. Pace. Straight lines, circles, it didn’t matter, as long as she was moving. Giddy energy swirled in her stomach, propelling her forward with purposeful strides. She sought out @Wintersbane, intending to inform him of her departure and thank him for his hospitality.  

Perhaps she would offer to carry a message to Moonglow for him, if he so desired. 

Moonglow. Huh. Lane hadn’t quite realized how much she wanted to get back to Moonglow—not until the thought voiced itself, almost intrusively so. In all honesty though, the image of Moonglow that popped into her head wasn’t of the territory itself, so much as the wolves that inhabited it. Okay, it was actually just one wolf who came to mind, mostly…

Zane. You know, her fiancé in Moonglow. Did he still want to do that whole marriage thing?  She should ask. She was feeling a lot keener on the idea today, weirdly enough. Would he hold it against her that she’d kind of just run off without saying goodbye? She hoped not. If he was still sore about it, Lane could think of a few ways to make it up to him….

surely, wintersbane thinks as he peers up from his patrol along the trees of the glacier's woodlands, if gods existed, they adored torturing him. he had never been religious — unless one was counting his second time in blackfeather woods when he'd taken to the dark woods' gods with a passion inspired by the passion that relmyna had breathed to life within him. but it has been so long since he'd thought of them — of mephala that they had become more like a phase instead of a way of life.

but ...that wasn't true was it?

did the night mother not use sex to her advantage? 

did he not give into temptation year after year, possibly siring but never actually fathering —

he realizes, abruptly, what has guided these thoughts as lane emerges from the trees; a ghosting siren seeking his path. he recognizes the scent that wafts from her and reacts upon instinct alone as he turns to face her. a soft rumble passes betwixt his lips — a crooning greeting.

Lane spanned the length of the woodlands swiftly, and no sooner had she emerged from the trees than did the Tundrian's silhouette meet her gaze. He was still at a distance, but Lane knew it was the man she sought-- there was none other within the borders of Duskfire Glacier who cut a figure quite like him.

The gypsy padded toward him, and as she did so he turned to face her. His glacial gaze held her, captivated her... electrified her. After only a brief hesitation, she continued to advance, enticed forward by his sighing undertone. She returned to him a lilting hum, not half so much a growl as it was a purr.

The rest of the distance was closed in silence, and Lane stood before the Alpha with a steady, appraising gaze and an obvious disinclination to speak first, despite having been the one who initially pursued the meeting.

the feverkissed king is frozen in a moment; torn between every instinct screaming at him — and his historical inclination to listen to them without resistance — and the last thinning shreds of restraint; those things that he sometimes made him a gentleman. trying to convince himself that he was alpha and that he had responsibilities to exercise restraint were weak; thin. feeble lies. his position encouraged him. his desire to father children and not just sire them had been the driving force behind duskfire, after all.

she gives a lilting hum; a purr and he feels that chain of strained resistance shatter.

lane...? a croon of her name is given, whiskey steeped in smoke; unsure if he let it leave his lips as a statement or a question; or the hope of an invitation ( perhaps all three ).

Although she had approached the Tundrian with the intention of announcing her departure, the longer she beheld the strapping brawler, the more she felt her resolve for this determination slipping away-- with the same swiftness as did her thoughts of Zane. 

Lane swished her tail in an effort to dispel some nervous energy, and the movement would serve to deliver her chemical enticement with elevated potency, although this effect would to continue to be unknown to her. 

Her name eased from his lips like a bewitchment. She did not speak in return; she did not wish to shatter the spell hanging over them. As a function of her youth, Lane had no past disappointments to bridle her desires, and so did she did not hesitate. Her movement was as slight as it was sudden: she reared up, her paws only clearing the ground by a hair. Upon landing, her stance fell into a crouch. 

Her every muscle was tensed, quivering, keenly prepared for his next movement. Would he accept her unspoken invitation?

wintersbane has no desire to resist, despite that there is some rational, responsible corner of his mind that tells him that he should at least consider it. yet, in this regard he has never listened to it before — why start now? in everything, instinct was always the stronger pull and it was drawing him towards lane as if she were a siren in command of the riptide he was caught in. he lets out another rumble; of desire, of passion lit with a spark that became a fire slowly spreading thru him.

he draws near and nearer still, circling her in a slow, tight circle; asking silent permission with a playful nip to her hip. a last chance to chase him away.

His rumbling growl wove into the spell, providing the harmony to Lane's desire and bolstering the overall affect. He drew in closer, circling, and Lane remained motionless in her crouch save a few small flicks of her tail. As his circle progressed around her shoulder and toward her rear, the fur on her scruff rose. The nip landed on her rump and she whirled, meeting the man nose-to-nose. 

Her own nose quivered, and she straightened up, perhaps enjoying a little too much the singular moment for which she had the alpha under her thumb. She performed a little hop to the side, to see if he would emulate her movement. She was the principal here, and she would lead the man in this pas de deax. 

Lane dashed into the woods, initiating a short chase, drawing the man toward a more private location. She expected him to match her every movement, launching into flight alongside her. He would be the pull to her push, and eventually--when she was winded, and convinced of the ardor of his pursuit-- she would grant him the prize he craved.

the tundrian gives chase — launching himself into flight after her; following her into the woods where she leads him.

he is slower; because he is bigger, because he is still working on strengthening the muscles of his scarred leg; godmarked. even so, he is not far behind. 

in the shade of the wood, their breathing heavy; wintersbane lets out another crooning noise and with her permission takes her into his arms and claims his prize; cherishing and worshipping in the only way he knew how.