Moonstone Quarry [M] Do you dare to tame my fire?

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: Wolf lovin’

It was sudden. 

Unexpected.

Yet the signs had been there if only Fleur had been paying more attention to her body than…well, Solharr’s absence and how deeply she had fallen into the darkest depths of her sadness. Thankfully, he had remedied that by returning to the pack—to her. Their reunion had started bumpy, yet the power that blazed within each other, for each other, smoothed all the rough and worn edges, leaving only a trail of scorched passion in its wake.

It was this passion she now sought—she wanted a relief only @Solharr could give her, the only one she would even allow the honor.  He was to be her husband and her body knew it; her core was aflame, heavy, and she felt restless. It was not quite the same as when she would adventure beyond the Quarry. It was much more…primal. 

An ancient need of worship.

Her den grew too small, her breath came in quick puffs. She exited, attempting to inhale deeply, searching. A keening whine emitted from her, disappointed that she did not see the one who could rid her of this…turmoil.

With a frustrated growl, she lifted her head to the skies and called for her mate: 

I need you.

!!

he had felt it before the wind brought her cry to him.
something restless in the air. something sacred in the marrow. a tug in his chest, not of duty, but of bond—one forged beneath blood-scented stone and the moon's pale eye. he had given her his name, and she had filled his bones with light.
when her call came, solharr was already moving.
through the quarry paths carved by time and footfall, his stride was not hurried but purposeful, like the tide that always finds the shore. when he saw her—his fleur, radiant even in unrest—he did not speak.
his breath left him like a vow.
he came to her, closing the distance with reverent certainty, and lowered his head until their brows met once more, as they had the day they chose one another. a shared breath, grounding. steadying.
i am here, he murmured, his voice a deep hush, filled with the thunder of devotion. his muzzle traced along her cheek, a motion both calming and possessive. whatever burns in you, i will carry.
and he did not wait for permission. she had called, and so he came—not as harrow, not as hárkonungr, but as solharr. the man she had tethered with the fire of her soul.
his.

All she could hear were waves crashing around in her skull, the storm within her rumbled for release. It drowned out all thought; everything but the desperate want. A need she had not dared to act upon—at least, not since she could remember, but even then she could not fathom giving herself to anyone else. No one had been worthy—not until him. Not until the steady rhythm of Solharr’s presence danced its way into her heart.

And he had come, her storm breaking in the calm wake of his arrival. 

Her voice was small, strained. Nervous. Solharr…please.

Her body trembled, now with a heat that unfurled in waves as he drew near. She ached—deep, bone-deep—for him. An ocean of wildfire lived beneath her skin, fierce and hungry, and only his touch could name it, claim it, let it burn the way it was meant to.

Fleur did not suppress the noise that left her at his touch, at his words, nor did she shy away. She wanted him to hear her, to see and to feel the way his nearness provoked this side of her. He would never need her permission, not when his name was on her lips in a soft, reverent plea.

Then, she felt it—doubt and fear—crawling along her spine. Not of him—never of him. No, it had to do with the aftermath, when the fire stopped its burning to leave ashes to fall and settle. What if something rose from those ashes? What if their love brought forth tiny paws and little cries? Did he want that?

Did she?

If this were any other time, she would have laughed at the tiniest flicker of doubt in what she wanted out of life with Solharr at her side. She wanted everything. Her answer was yes—she may have even spoken the word aloud, softly, only to be carried away by the gods’ wind-song.

The feral woman had no use for words, now. Her scent, the quickness in the rise and fall of her chest, the way she positioned herself for him, and the dark seduction in her eyes as her gaze bore into his spoke everything that words could never convey:

I am yours and you are mine.

he came to her like dusk over the mountain—inevitable, hushed, and holy.
the quarry breathed around them, but his world had shrunk to the storm in her eyes. her voice, a whisper trembled through the stillness, cracked him open like spring cracks the ice: solharr… please.
the plea struck deeper than a spear.
he said nothing at first, only looked at her—truly looked. the wind tousled her fur, her chest heaved, and the glow in her eyes was not fear, no—invocation. she was wind-born flame and dusk-drenched fire, and he had never wanted more in all his long, lonesome life than to worship where she burned.
he stepped closer. pressed into her side. his mouth found the soft curve of her shoulder, trailed upward as if following the path of stars. when he finally spoke, it was low, coarse with the weight of everything he meant:
i have warred, and i have wandered. but this— his brow touched hers, their breaths braided, —this is the only altar i kneel at now.
his nose brushed her cheek. her trembling stirred something ancient in him, something not even the quarry’s stone could contain. he felt it in the marrow: the seed of a future. the haunting thought of tiny cries. little paws. the weight of fatherhood. of legacy. and still—
if you carry the dawn, i will carry the night. if you carry life, i will carry you.
his voice was thunder wrapped in velvet. his body curved to hers like a vow.
his lips brushed her temple, her jaw, her ear.
he gave her no more words, only the answer she had already called into being—his body, wrapped in hers, a prayer made flesh.

Teeny bit of PP to help set the scene after the fade, hope that’s okay!

if you carry the dawn, 

i will carry the night. 

if you carry life,

i will carry you

Nothing more was needed for her to surrender, utterly and completely, her soul devastated and stitched back together so deliciously in his worship. He gave and she took, greedily, hungrily; she gave and he took, for this karnal act was theirs, and theirs alone. 

Their coming together was another melting, a death of what once was to what will be, like a phoenix rising from the ashes left behind in the infernal destruction of a Sun God and his wildflower. 

God-song blew around them, a melody of blessings raining down to solidify what she so desperately wanted to be true:

Home. Family. Hers.

LATER. . .

The fire had settled within her, satisfied and sated, enough so that she had been able to think a little clearer and with a little less desperation. 

Her belly had rumbled, embarrassingly loud, a new want in the pit of it—a want for sustenance. She had voiced it, he had provided, and now they both laid within their den amongst the many furs, an exhaustion washing over them both.

His heartbeat a steady lullaby as she rested against his chest, a paw softly disturbing his fur in lazy circles. She was silent, only the sounds of their breathing echoed around them now. 

Cuddling into him tighter, she let loose a contented sigh, a smile hidden from him in the depths of his fur as she breathed him in. There was a shyness now, so different than the Fleur she had been, the one that openly begged him to bend her to his will.

She huffed a soft beat of laughter, warming the fur she pressed herself into, the sound of it muffled.

always good with me!

he smiled into her fur.
the sound of her laughter—small, secret, warmed by contentment—stirred something primal in him, a need not of flesh but of keeping. of holding close. of anchoring this moment so it would not drift with the seasons.
solharr did not speak yet. he only shifted, careful not to jostle her, only enough to bury his chin in her crown. his paw draped over her middle, broad and steady, fingers splayed like a man guarding something sacred. the silence between them stretched long and golden.
and then, finally:
you laugh like spring, he murmured, voice a gravelled hush. and i would not stop it for all the stillness in the world.
his eyes closed. he let her warmth soak into him, let her scent pull him deeper into that quiet place where the gods had no dominion. here, they seemed to whisper, this is love, not war. this is your altar now.
a breath, shared.
you are fed. you are full. a pause. do you know how long i’ve waited to say that?
another kiss, this time to her temple. long. lingering. almost awed.
and i… his chest rose and fell beneath her, thick with a hush that carried the weight of so much unspoken truth.
i am yours, even now, even quiet.
his paw curled over her belly. not in search. not in claim. just—there.

Fleur felt him shift, her body moving in tandem with his as though made from the same cloth, connected body and soul. The weight of him pressing down onto her crown and the heavy paw that splayed across her belly only solidified the rightness in what they had just shared—what they will continue to share for she could never be done with the Hárkonungr.

She turned her head enough to eye his paw, wondering what it would be like for him to feel the movements of his offspring that she could potentially carry for him. What it might feel like for her to feel little bodies rolling inside her womb. Could there be but little sparks igniting within her at this very moment? 

The thought was both terrifying and exciting.

His words washed over her, her eyes closing shut to soak in the press of his lips to her temple before she lifted from him, smoke-filled eyes gazing into his. The fire still burned within her, and if he continued on this way, they may never leave this den.

Fleur stretched her neck, touching her nose to his in a playful boop. I, too, have longed for your words—for us. This. A deep intake of breath, a further settling of her soul, as she spoke, again, You are who my soul has been trying to find. Not my past, not my memories. It was always you.

Then, her fire sparked, lighting up her sun-kissed eyes. Her muzzle grazed his as her body pressed further into him, lips a hair’s breadth from his ear to whisper, You are mine, Solharr Kaldrhjarta, as I am yours, with every breath I have and beyond that. 

She placed her own paw on top of his, pressing down firmly. The gods have blessed us, my love; I know it. I heard their songs, I felt their power—our love has ignited a future and I will carry it here, for there is nothing else in this world that would bring me the greatest joy.

his golden eye, bright as struck brass, searched hers. his muzzle brushed the crown of her head, then lingered at her cheek, a reverent hush falling over his chest. fleur. seiðkona. wife of my heart. the words were not loud. they did not need to be. they were vows.
his paw pressed beneath hers—firm, anchoring—like stone settling into earth. may the gods keep their hands from you. from us. a low hum stirred in his chest, not threat but promise. i will carry you, if the time comes. i will feed you from my own kill. build fire with my own breath. you will not want, nor our children.
his ear flicked as her breath whispered past it. his tail curled protectively along her back, drawing her closer.
we will live, fleur. we will endure. as man and wife, as heart and hearth. i will give our love a name, and the world will know it.

Fleur hummed as her name and titles, now and forever coveted, fell from his lips to bleed and thrum in her veins, pouring into her heart, into the deepest parts of her essence.

From this moment, there was no going back to being the lost-at-sea, wayward girl; no, this was to be her reckoning, her ascension, her coming home. And, Solharr: he was her beacon, the light that will forever guide her to safer shores; he was the coast in which her ship would dock during the toughest of storms. 

But, what can she offer him? She didn’t have any skills to speak of, her past is non-existent at this point, so what did she even have? Her love, of course, that was a given; if love could move mountains, she would bend the world and even the gods to her will if that meant she could give Solharr all that he ever wanted. 

Maybe one day she could—maybe the love of the Sun God she rested upon will unleash a power long forgotten? Maybe that power was locked away by the Sea God who washed her ashore here? She snorted, amused by her thoughts.

The press of his paw deepened into the fur of her belly, both anchoring and scorching, the fire within her chest whirled to meet it, threatening to unleash once more. Her thoughts turned to him, his words beckoning her back to reality. For a man who once claimed to be of little words now spoke many, and each one called her closer, begging her nearness. 

She pressed a kiss to his lips, scorching him in return, her brow pressing to his. The gods wouldn’t dare touch me, touch us, not when I shall carry your blood in my womb. You are a king, a god among wolves and our children, with your blood in their veins, will be their demise should they try. 

Settling into him, she deflated with a contented sigh, the fire within slowly dying. She yawned, her words stretching with it as she spoke. I cannot wait to scream that name from the highest peak. But, for now? I want to dream with you.

sorry for the late reply <3!

his eyes closed to the press of her kiss, the heat of her vow settling deep in his chest where flame and frost met and did not war. he held her as if she were bone of his bone, fire of his forge—his wife, yes, but also the song he had long forgotten how to sing. she had reminded him. she had returned it to him.
then let us dream, he murmured, voice a rasp of coal and velvet. let the stars mark our sleep and the mountains carry our name. solharr and fleur. fire and flower.
his muzzle brushed her brow once more, reverent. a hush fell over the den, sacred in its quiet, sacred in its closeness.
and when the dawn comes, we will rise again. as king and queen. as blood and breath. as gods, if they dare call us otherwise.
his paw held her still, pressed to her belly. warm. unwavering.
he would dream of her tonight. and in the dream, she would carry stars.

fade here?