Panther Park [m] i thought that i would hurt myself

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*channels Beth Dutton* @Arktos

The troublesome spirit remained, and the rays of her heat intensified, drawing River to yet another occupied area in search of any willing bachelors she could steal for an hour or two. Her appetite could not be slaked. She just wanted more, and more, and more! Again and again and again, again, again! New and old and tender and rough!

She wanted to devour all of the men: break them open, empty them of everything, and then pick her teeth with their shattered bones.

Except, not all men.

A weakling approached her. He may have looked handsome to some, with his dashing white fur and tall, tall ears but to her he appeared thin, and his timidness disgusted her. She snapped at him, snarling, chasing him until he repeatedly yelped his surrender and had to run full tilt to keep his precious fur out of her jaws.

River stopped and snorted, satisfied that he would not come back, then she squatted to mark the spot where none without a spine could stand.

love me some beth dutton. <3

he'd came out here for a reason, leaving the borders of his land to be tended to by the hands but god above he couldn't remember it. purpose skittered off like a coltish stallion, easily spooked; where something more maligned nested. there was only that tantalizing scent that draws him in like a moth to flame, unwittingly feeding the malformed beast eager to indulge in primal urges in favor of ignoring logic.

she was captivating, even if arktos' first impression is of her squatting to piss; a challenge in the putrid scent that lingers, tainted as it was by the intoxicating perfume emitting from every fiber of her fur.

fuck, she was beautiful.

if that was his testosterone talking, pumping thru his blood stream with more vigor or not, he didn't know. didn't care.

he lets out a low rumble to announce his presence and his intentions: he would have her, even if it killed him.

Another challenger approached – and this one was a stallion.

No self-respecting she-wolf would turn down reaching into those jeans genes for her offspring. Except perhaps those in a committed relationship (but hell, maybe even then, too). This goldburned bull of a wolf stirred her very core. Where she may have felt compelled to force a lesser wolf to prove their worth, she knew no such tests were needed here.

River burned instantly, unrelentingly for him; a fire that only intensified at his cocksure approach, her body tensing at the sight of his golden banner lifted – a flag she wanted to see planted firmly in claim of her.

She swept forward to receive him just as bravely, just as eagerly, just as greedily, just as roughly. She needed no words for this voltaic dance, only him – his body to ravish, his heart to lick clean of all previous thought or attachment. All of it temporary, until the ecstasy waned.

there were no thoughts in his mind: not really. what urges him forth as she approaches just enthusiastically as he did her was instinct. oh, he might very well reap what he sowed as he took her to bed but he was only thinking with one portion of his body: and not the one with common sense.

and if arktos was a decent man before ground zero, he knows he wasn't in the here and now. a decent man wouldn't take a woman who was not his wife to bed. a decent man would put up boundaries that arktos is actively tearing down.

when they reach one another, he is brazen as he reaches out to touch her cheek fur, to taste; looking to grow more intoxicated by being in this unbearably close proximity to her. achingly close, but not close enough.

you are a saint for waiting for me! <3

By now, her third encounter, River knew exactly what she wanted from this virile Adonis. Where days prior she might have played coquettish theater until they were both fit to burst, she was in no mood to dally now. The virago returned his touch fiercely, expectantly, as if she had been waiting a millennia for his embrace.

* * *

By the end of their entanglement, she lie breathless and panting on her side, mouth curved with the same satisfaction of the cat who ate the canary. The bitch positively glowed, engulfed still by his claim. Silver eyes appraised the potential father in comfortable silence from her prone position, debating to herself if his name was worth asking for before thieving away into the night.

in the aftermath, when he sobers from the intoxication of her scent and her body against his, when the primal instincts die back to dull, he gives her space when he is able. her satisfied grin is a boon to his ego, and he can't help but admire her as she basks in the afterglow.

he wonders how many other man got and would get the opportunity.

if she was willing to take him, a complete stranger, to her bed, arktos does doubt he was the first nor would he be the last.

he will not fill the silence between them with useless words, or any words at all; does not feel the need to. neither would he linger; already he plans his route back, knowing he must wash the scents that cling to him off his fur and skin.