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    COTY

    Assailant -- Year 226

    QOTY

    "But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura


    [mature]  The veil of deception; Femur
    #1
    Don't be afraid when the night wolves cry,
    feast on their bones, suck the marrow dry.
    For what seems like the hundredth time Longclaw glances over his shoulder. He’s not sure when the erratic behavior began, (was it the moment he told her the truth, or the moment he fed his impluses with her blood?) but it takes hold of him all the same now. A few paces forward and then with the snap of his neck his eyes are roving hungrily for her shape behind him. The ghost never disappears. The habit, however, gets old and soon begins to tire the elasticity in his shoulders. He’s more than likely one step away from a pounding headache before sensibility sharpens his mind and has him halting, waiting, for the cloudy girl to join him at his shoulder.

    “I keep thinking that I’ll look back and you’ll be gone.” He mutters, partially irate at the fact that something like 'a mare leaving him' would be the cause of so much paranoia. “She’s not just some mare.” He thinks suddenly, watching her move while a mixture of tempestuous desire and fierce affection assault both his body and mind. The confliction of his wants and needs brings up an ancient feeling - Guilt.

    So black a heart could never understand that emotion, but if there ever was a creature to sneak past the rotting mass in his chest, to peer beyond the cluttered web of lies and selfish mannerisms, it would be her; his ghost-girl. “And yet, here you stay.” The young man murmured ponderously with newfound reverence, aware that above all he had only told her the truth of his curse. She, hidden thing that she was, knew something of the secret his father had pushed upon him; knew it and chose him all the same. (She’d chosen death, he’d given her life … are they equal now or denying the inevitable?

    Without ease he tears jade eyes from the pleasing openness of her face to stare with forlorn strife over the wide channel of seawater between the Field and Tephra. “If you truly have no fear …”  He lilts, absently, as if to give her one last moment to consider the choices she’s about to make. The blue devil knows what lies upon that shore, waiting for her: Ajatar, perhaps Marigold soon too. More of that sickness he wishes (and, oh! How sharply the wish penetrates his sad, shuddering heart now!) were not of his making. 

    But this is him, this is his life now, for better or worse. Fate tempted him in the shape of someone he trusted, and fucked him in the form of a blue-white flame. Longclaw never had a choice, but he would die before he took that option away from her. 

    For the millionth time, his head jerks back to search for her.
    Longclaw


    @[Femur]
    [Image: sScEgld.png]
    #2
    I love the way you rake my skin, I feel the hate you place inside.
    Femur is a little unnerved by the way he keeps looking back at her, as if he doesn’t trust that she will still be there. No one has ever kept such a close eye on her before and she can see the ire at himself darkening his sharp gaze. She does not blame him, it must hurt like hell to keep craning around to see if she follows as she swore she would but she’ll not break a vow - not to him, never to him. Her promise is as good as the breath in her lungs and as he slows to a stop, she comes up to his shoulder as he mutters darkly about her leaving him. Femur’s fanged mouth gapes open for a minute before she regains her composure. It never occurred to her that she could ever do that or would ever want to. The thought of parting from him is painful to think of at the very least. She would rather sacrifice an ear or a leg than stray from his side.

    Neither of them asked for this. She knows that. Can feel it in the marrow of her bones that neither of them asked for this happen but Fate is a cruel bitch and she brought them together, let him taste the life’s blood from her throat and Femur could not ever imagine just walking away from him now. That same tempestuous desire and fierce affection fills her - floods her, keeps her anchored to the earth and not once does she consider cloaking herself in her familiar invisibility. How can she? He’s seen her, more of her than anyone else and Femur would have it no other way now. What she does not feel as he does, is the guilt nor can she guess that it is something that plagues him, ancient and tangled up in his making.

    “I won’t.” she assures him with a brief touch of her nose to his neck. Femur adores the way her fangs slide through his blue fur when her mouth touches him. His smell roots her to his side and she breathes it in, wanting the scent of him to replace the air in her lungs. He reminds her of the blue hour of dusk, peaceful but quick to usher in a tide of night that darkens the land and she knows there is darkness in him - that is part of the allure, but she likes this tame-dusk part of him that makes him say something as profound and stupid as “And yet, here you stay.” Femur smiles at him, what can she say? She promised to come, took that promise to heart and trusted him beyond all reason despite knowing that she trusted even the way he could look at her with death in his eyes and on his mind - her death, no less.

    That too, was part of the allure.
    He brought her to life as much as he threatened to snatch back that life he had given her. There was some thrill in that, she knew, but something else - that thing of secrets and knowing, that they shared together. He saw her for what she was and she knew the truth of him and despite that, she still chose him and somehow, he chose to let her in just that tiniest bit. Femur was not stupid enough to think this would be all sunshine and rainbows; both of them preferred bones and shadows, sharp teeth and barbed sentences, but together, they turned those things into something else - a language that only him and her could speak. Even death can love what it should not, and she saw as much whenever she looked at him and still, she dogged his heels as if nothing more than a diligent pet.

    Both of them knew she was anything but a pet.
    She might be obedient for the moment, but she was as tempestuous as a storm when it suited her. Except now, he stops looking at her face and looks at the channel of seawater that spits and churns before them. “No fear,” she echoes with a laugh as her own gaze narrows on the water. Once, she might have given it just the smallest pause of hesitation because of the things she had encountered long ago by the River but he is beside her and makes her bolder. She is further emboldened by the quick jerk of his herd as he looks for her again. “I’m right here,” she murmurs, steadfast and in fact, taking a stride forward until she is ankle-deep in the surf. Sand sucks at her feet and she is not overly fond of the shifting nature of it underfoot but she endures it because she must - she made her choice.

    “Lead on,” she tells him in a rather commanding tone that is Femur but also not like Femur. There is challenge in it because she must goad him to do what he does best - command, lead, and she’ll follow just as she promised. True to her own fractitious nature, Femur flashes him a fanged grin and jerks her head towards the opposing shore. “Come,” she cajoles just a little softer now, a little more like his ghost-girl in the wood and she turns her head back to him, black eyes expectant.
    Femur
    #3
    Don't be afraid when the night wolves cry,
    feast on their bones, suck the marrow dry.
    “Come,” she cajoles, and without hesitation he does. Femur had seen his mask slip, (that was never allowed, never allowed) and with fingers deftly sweet had readjusted the disguise using no more than two words. Lead on he must, one foot in front of the other until the two of them are bobbing heads above the waves and only then does he look again; this time with a charming, sharp grin. “Imagine us as true ghosts.” He muses to her as the cool water rolls over his shoulders. From his vantage point they could be mistaken for bodiless wisps. “The havoc we could wreak.” Longclaw chuckles.

    Oh, someday they will be. Ghosts, that is - someday they will be. When that day comes he has no doubt that his spirit will find her, bound together as they already are. Longclaw’s boyish inclinations and wishes will come true and, once the curse has rotted everything that holds him together, he will become stardust. Ashes to ashes, after all.

    Nothing in this world or any other lasts for very long but it cannot stop the ants from moving, building, making more of themselves. Immortality shackles the few and in more ways than one, Longclaw would not seek it out for his own use - death is now the only, final comfort he has against the baying dogs who chase away his humanity. They will hunt it down; that sliver of goodness within him, and they will feast on it’s light and suck the marrow dry from his bones until only the curse remains.

    With a shudder that clenches his chest tight, Longclaw pulls himself up the soft incline of Tephra shoreline and thinks, “Lupei’s death had not been a murder after all. Closer to a mercy killing, really.” It’s the first time since the exchange of power that he’s thought as such; with the new revelation he can rationalize the death of his grandsire and put the past to rest. For good. “I’ve seen this shore dozens of times now,” The young stallion exhales, winded from physical exertion and soaked clean through, “but I have to say that seeing you here makes it refreshingly exciting again.”

    His eyes had been pointed starboard, trained on the Volcano that thrust like a smoking fist into the clear, afternoon sky, and now they slide down the hillside of green, over the tops of jungle vegetation, across the warm spattering of sand where saltwater pools in muddy tracks beneath them to where her fine hooves wait motionless for instruction. Slowly, (he enjoys taking his time, they have all the time in the world now) his hungry gaze fills her in piece by piece beginning with the round bulge of her fetlock.

    Every haloed line of her body is filled with crushed gold, interrupted only by ashen patches of white and the overcast shadows that naturally give her dimension, shape. The corner of her elbow distracts him, sends him following the dark swell of her girth and back to where it disappears underneath her stifle. He pauses there; Longclaw needs a moment to quiet the short gasps of breath that quicken his pulse. Blinking, practically vibrating, he tears himself free from desire, lust, and turns once again to hasten his eyes over the swoop of her neck to the point of her pretty little nose.

    The glare of sunlight on her exposed fang nearly rips his black heart from his chest. “Come close, I need you.” He demands, though he makes no move to take her himself. He could silence those hellhounds with touch; for now their ravenous bellies would be filled with her adoration. Outside of them the tropical scenery remains inviting, bright: Nature continues despite the horrible things happening around her. “Should I take you to the depths of the island, where you can find new haunting grounds? Or maybe to a cavern hewn from lava itself? I’m at your disposal today.” He tells her calmly enough once the threat has passed.

    It sounds nice, but Longclaw has mastered the art of the hoax. She has the option of choice, his golden specter, but all options inevitably tie them together. “What a joy,” He thinks, “to come home and see her waiting for me on the shore.”
    Longclaw


    @[Femur]
    [Image: sScEgld.png]
    #4
    I love the way you rake my skin, I feel the hate you place inside.
    There is a dynamic of submission and dominance here that is almost palpable on her tongue. One minute, she barks out an order to him and he is obedient to it which sends a sharp thrill coursing down her spine as she gives herself over to the waves and her own quick submission as she hands the reins of her life back over to him. From what she has glimpsed in the scant time that he allowed his iron grip on his control to slip, she can surmise the importance of the facade of dominance that he must maintain and she allows him this much because it is important to him, and thus to her.

    It never occurs to her, as he flashes her a sharp grin that she finds utterly charming just as he knew it would be, that this is odd how she submits to him so suddenly as if she had been born to do just that. Even ghosts have their limitations, and she’s dead set on haunting him for the rest of their natural born lives. Though what about them or this is natural? Especially as he tells her rather casually to imagine themselves as true spirits chained to no flesh or place, and she can envision the havoc they’d cause - can taste that too, on her tongue underneath the bits of brine that make their way in her mouth whenever she smiles at him above the sea they swim through.

    Femur does not fear the curse in him.
    Things like that always leave enough for room for the tiniest shred of something good to remain even if that good is the fanged grin of his ghost-girl as she goads him on. If he feeds the curse often enough, she thinks he can master it to the point of managing it. Even if in the end, she succumbs to it. Ashes to ashes and dust to dust. She’ll join him in that same miasma of nothingness that spits out souls and gives them flesh and shape. Something in them was unshatterable, and quite plainly, just meant to be. Otherwise, he’d not have let his mask slip nor would she had gone so readily with him let alone let him taste the way her pulse skipped and sped up beneath his teeth.

    For a moment, she hangs back in the water where it is only belly-deep. This gives her an opportunity to admire the iridescent blue of his skin and the roan that runs through it despite the fact that it is damp from their swim. He is muscled, light and lean, but she can see the stallion that he’ll become when he is in his prime and there are traces of fierceness in the way that he moves from the turn of his head to the flick of an ear. “Does it now?” she calls with a chuckle, as she joins him at last, scooting up that slight slope of shoreline to brush against his side with her own. Femur is just as soaked and winded as he is, but she smiles despite it because his gaze finds her flesh and burns it with desire wherever it lands.

    Burns might not be the most accurate description, it felt like he branded her with his hot needy look.

    His desire gathered speed and steamrolled right over her to the point that she had to stifle a gasp or two of her own in that moment. She felt the air grow hot and heavy between them but that did not stop her from obeying him when he demanded her to come closer. Femur felt a strange itch beneath her skin to mark him as much as he had done with more than just the way his eyes had traveled all over her, picking her out of shadow and obscurity just as he had back in the Forest. She longed to rub her scent so deep into his blue fur that he’d never get rid of it; she also longed to sink her fangs into the tenderest points of his flesh so that the two pinpricks would scar over and he’d know just exactly who those little love-bites came from - her, and only her.

    Longclaw’s need matches hers; she comes without hesitation and plants herself steadfast at his side so that their shoulders touch. He grows calm - speaks with that same calm and it spreads to her, quiets the desire that fades into the background just like the sound of the shore does as she takes her first full measure of Tephra and considers his offer. “Hm...” she muses aloud, liking the prospect of the lava cave but curious at the same time about his favorite part of the vast cindery island.

    “What if you showed me a place that is yours and yours alone?”
    She’d expect no less of him to have a sanctum amidst all of this in which to haunt by his lonesome and it is that place that she attaches the most importance to. Femur will discover haunts of her own as she awaits his return each time he leaves her side and this island to do what it is that he does best which she assumes is wreaking havoc in his own way along with doing whatever it is that allows him to remain here as more than just a passing guest.
    Femur


    @[Longclaw] <333
    #5

    LONGCLAW

    -I close my eyes, ignore the smoke-

    Mark him? Mark him? Why, for his ghost-girl he would plunge the knife directly through his belly, draw it up towards his chest and let the gleaming viscera spool out onto the very beach they stand upon.

    Bleed and bleed some more, he’d drain himself if it would satisfy her. This useless pile of flesh, this waste of bone matter and muscle - it meant nothing if she wasn’t there to press her own bodily temple against his, much like she does right now. Longclaw can’t help but to pull his head aside, where she rests so perfectly in the curve of his shoulder, so that he might press a fanged kiss to her waiting forehead.

    The thrum of Femur’s voice reverberates through her ivory-patched skin, (his wisp is thinking) and the action rouses a half-hearted grin from his lips. “That place is within you.” He teases, knowing it to be true regardless of his black humor. His nose, (like blue, crushed velvet) draws a lazy circle about the circumference of her flat crown before gliding softly down the length of her nose. He tips his chin to the side, continues on his featherlite journey from her quivering nostrils back up, along the silken fur of her beautiful face until he halts at her cheek.

    Another kiss, this one hungrier than the last.

    “For us to get there,” He breathes, grinding flat molars together in the back of his mouth, “we would first have to travel here -” He says, lowering his mouth to the shadowy dip of her throat. Quickly, that same mouth drags down the convex of her pretty neck to stop just above the tender rise of her fluttering chest. “- and only then could I begin to peel back the layers.”

    He pauses; the wanton heat of his tongue flicks from between his pointed teeth to stroke the apex of her narrow breast.

    That is mine and mine alone. Understand?” He asks, pulling away from beneath her to catch the glint of her obsidian gaze. “Never forget.” He thinks. To feel apart from her was more than enough; rendered free of his grasp, he doubts he would be able to resist hunting her down. “Never leave me.”

    Longclaw smiles. “I do, however, have the perfect place for us, should it suit you.” He presses, unable to stifle the pride at the unspoken thought of them sharing a home. He draws close again, tugs lightly at the overwash of pale mane attached to her, and then turns West. “A yellow meranti - the core has long rotted out, but her position in the land made for a perfect den once I dug between her roots.”

    “Come with me.” He urges, slipping into his wolf skin before bounding ahead into the dense foliage. They’ll cross only one steaming river, make their way through vine and tangled branch. The glossy leaves of this tropical place grow ever taller, but as they continue one treetop seems to strike out above the rest. It’s there that his den waits; damp and strewn over with litter from misuse.

    When at last they reach the foot of his home, nothing seems out of the ordinary. The tree itself is cluttered at her base with other saplings, fighting for every ray of sun that might come glancing down from above. In fact, it would seem as if the tree was intact - impenetrable and unapproachable. Longclaw though, he simply noses past the overhang of wide banana leaves and seems to disappear right into the trunk of the massive growth.

    Clever wolf - he’d found the rotted core behind these leaves while sniffing out a family of delicious pheasant, and after some digging to widen the base, made it his own. “Coming?” He calls out to her, just a voice without a face.



    @[Femur] Thank you for your patience <3
    [Image: sScEgld.png]
    #6
    I love the way you rake my skin, I feel the hate you place inside.
    She prefers his viscera to remain intact and the blood hot in his veins rather than cooling on the earth or on her blissful upturned face that receives the kiss from his fanged mouth against her forehead like a benediction. There is time enough for predation upon one another later, to feast and feed on each other’s flesh and blood and emotion. So too, is there time enough later to make pledges of faith from their dark hearts for the rest of their lifetime together. Femur believes that they have forever for all of this. To her, it makes no difference if neither of them is immortal - some things transcend the mortal coil that they’ll eventually slough off to go some place else, together.

    The depth of emotion that she feels for him is a tether that nothing but a god or death can attempt to undo. It is shocking to realize that she would go to the ends of the earth for him and back, if that’s what it took. But so too, does she realize that he’d not ask this of her ever because she is there, tucked into his side as much as she can get without actually climbing into his skin so that their bones fit snugly together beneath all that iridescent and speckled blue. Her mother neglected to mention to her that this is what love feels like, but she understands that some things are meant to be discovered for one’s self and not just gleaned of from talk while at the milk-heavy teat.

    She likes his humor, dark and delicious as it spins around her beginning with that half-hearted grin of his. The breath goes out of her for the precious seconds it take for his lips to skim like velvet over her face from crown to nostril and back up again. She’d forget to breathe time and time again just to feel like that, because it struck her as a form of worship. The kiss on her cheek arouses an answering hunger inside her that combusts into a hot hot flame like his eyes had done once, back in the forest. He is not finished though and she groans deep inside herself as she becomes his altar and his mouth awakens small spots of heat wherever it touches, coming to rest on her narrow breast where her heart thumps like a frightened (it is not, but that is the pace it maintains) rabbit.

    Longclaw’s voice heats her ears as much as his mouth heats her skin.
    She burns for him, in places that she never knew she could burn in without actual spontaneous combustion. The flick of his tongue is almost too much for her and she stifles a cry that is mixed full of desire and desperation. Her eyes have glossed over with a new kind of fever and her brain is fogged with a special kind of fuzz so that all she can do is nod her head in response to his demand. Femur understands, better than he realizes and can only murmur her sole answer to him - “Yours.” Forever, and ever. She believes that forever is theirs’ for the taking.

    Besides, they put the stars to shame with the feeling in their hearts. She knows that to be true because everything is pale and paltry in comparison to when she is with him. He makes the world brighter, not that it had been all that dark but he brings a new perspective to the way she looks at things when their skins touch. Gives new meaning to her life to open her eyes and look, like a wolf that tastes the thrill of the hunt for the first time. Femur tastes, longs for more and bounces on her feet beneath his talk of us, den, and the tug on her pale hair.

    She turns westward a second after him;
    “Come with me.” Femur can only meet his urgent tone with a snort as he slips his stallion-skin for that of the wolf. She has never been this close to him during the transformation and if she had blinked, she might have missed it altogether as he bounds on ahead of her, quick on his paws. One steaming river, some vines and branches later, she finds herself immersed in the thick of a tropical jungle that makes her horse-skin sweat. It is amazing to discover it is hotter here as if they’d ventured inside the very mouth of the volcano, but the heat is more sultry and sluggish against her skin than burning. She decides that she likes it in an instant, wolf and mare, it suits the two of them like their own hot hearts.

    The tree is tall and massive in her girth from what Femur can make out of the sweltering murk. It competes with lesser saplings but still manages to dwarf most of them, and by the time she looks from the tree to Longclaw, he is gone! Vanished! “Coming?” he calls out to her, a disembodied voice that floats to her from somewhere behind the banana leaves. Femur cannot help the chuckle that escapes her fanged mouth as she pokes first just her head in between the wide leaves and can barely make out his wolf shape in the back of the den. “Is there room enough for me?” Her face is coy and deceptive as it feigns an expression of awe and disbelief (because he is a clever beast and because she doubts even her pony-sized butt will fit in there), but there is just a hint of a smirk about her lips. Clever wolf, indeed.
    Femur


    @[Longclaw] omg she lubbers him! lol
    #7

    LONGCLAW

    -I close my eyes, ignore the smoke-

    He can see the faint outline of her soft nose as it thrusts into the damp, dark opening of his den. Cooped into the back corner, Longclaw crouches and watches her with sharpened eyes, rising to meet her intrusion with the bump of his plush head against hers. “Hardly enough room for me.” He scoffs. The point of the matter is that she knows; she can find him here if nowhere else. The western shore had been given to his charge and it would stay that way, only now he had someone to share that watch with. Someone he … trusted.

    He pushes against her once more, eager to wriggle loose from the earth and out into the damp open. When Longclaw finds that he’s free to slink beneath glossy leaves and over wide roots, he meanders away to change himself - the wolf skin felt as if it no longer suited him. He hardly wore it anymore and besides; there’s a different sort of hunger that’s been building inside of him for quite some time. Up he rises, the strange criss-cross of Tephra vegetation brushed aside from expanding shoulders and hips as he fills out. Between the trunks he slithers back - back to the comfort of her smell, her touch.

    “Will I ever know your name?” He asks, parting strange tree limbs to step alongside her. He’s a man possessed now - the intent flickers to life when he turns to look at her.

    They’re alone, he likes it this way. In the Forest they had been alone too - he remembers - but the idea that at any given time someone or something could happen along was not a risk he had been willing to bet on.

    Now he has something moldeable. A setting: Tephra, late afternoon. The hush of the jungle is not that at all; an assortment of wild calls and strange cries drown out most other creatures. No one has followed them, or thought to interrupt their journey. Both know the corner of this Island is devoid of their kind. Just Longclaw and Femur. Despite this, his focus is dead on. The strange blue stallion is close to motionless while he hovers. “I can’t keep calling you my ghost-girl all the time, you know.”

    But he could. In fact, it rouses the softest of smirks and also sets him into motion. He strikes out slowly, jerking forward to simultaneously press his wicked lips against the soft dip of her withers and to glide along her side with an air of almost … rugged affection. The earlier intent of his gaze has spread throughout and he feels as if his own flame is alive inside of him. It thrums with hot aggression in his chest, he presses against the rise of her hips a bit harder as white fangs slide out from underneath his upper lip.

    “I could call you … oh, I don’t know,” Longclaw teases, easing to a sudden halt once his whiskers can feel the apex of her tail, “my mate.” the words roll, low and vibrating against her skin. It feels right to call her that, as if the word clicked more pieces of an intricate puzzle together. The claim emboldens him and his nose dives over the crest of her buttocks, down to the slender, golden gaskin of her hind leg. His jaw slacks, the rush of his tongue as it hotly presses against her thrills him beyond words and he tugs, gently, to spread her stance.

    Femur smells … so lovely. It hardly surprises him that he twines around her so quickly, arching a shimmering blue neck over the curve of her belly while his chest presses wantonly against her. “Tell me your name, please.” He asks once more, curving a single leg around to brush against her rich, yellow fetlock.

    “Tell me yes.”



    @[Femur]
    [Image: sScEgld.png]
    #8
    I love the way you rake my skin, I feel the hate you place inside.
    It’s dark in his den, darker than she thought it could possibly be as her head pokes through only to be met by the bump of his plush wolf’s head against her own. Wolf and horse, she ought to fear him but finds there is no fear in her because it is him. He scoffs and she snorts in response, masking the giggle that rises up in her throat as he pushes against her with more force and insistence. Oh he wants out now does he? Femur moves back until her head and shoulders have come loose of the big leaves and clinging vines. He comes not a moment after her, quick to burst out of his den and disappear into the tropical vegetation so that she cannot see him no matter how hard she tries to look through the dense green gloom.

    She never doubted that he’d leave her be for very long; never imagined he could leave her for a great length of time that would cause heartache and hurt. No, not as he comes slinking back in his familiar blue horse shape and the smile matches the look on her face - one of pure satisfaction. He pins her there with his stare; a stare that would make others squirm but she holds fast to her stillness and stares back at him, feeling that hunger build between them, reaching out to her across the air. The air is electric and charged as he asks if he will ever know her name. Femur can only smile at that, fanged and enamoured of the way he looks so thoroughly possessed with her, by her, about her.

    It is how she feels about him but she can hardly think about that now.
    They are alone, quite alone and she is content with that knowledge and how it rests inside her like a stone. No one to hear the noise they’ll make; it’d just be lost in the cries and calls of the animals that inhabit this corner of the world they’ve allowed him into, and now by proxy, her. Will he make her scream? The mere thought of it makes her heart quicken and leap; he could, she knows he could! But she thinks it would be screams of passion, not horror that fly from her lips amidst breath and spit. He looks like a flame, blue and long just standing there, hovering… oh but he talks and pulls a laugh from her that shakes loose from her belly. “But you could!” she assures him in the same breath, at once breathless from the laughter and the sound of him caressing the insides of her ears.

    Oh stars! Bones! Gods!
    He is on her in a heartbeat but her heart has stopped. That might be too dramatic, even for her, but it feels like she is trapped in the center of a whirlwind of blue flesh and his intoxicating smell. She can feel his mouth and skin on her, gliding towards the back of her but she is not concerned with what can happen next - she ends only where he begins, and they are a continuation of one another, his skin or hers, they’re there together. Her breath comes shuddering out of her at least when his wicked mouth moves over her rump and down her back leg, giving just the gentlest but forceful of tugs that makes her obey him, splaying herself further to him.

    “My mate,” he’d said and she has no objections to that. She is his, forever and more, as much as he is hers. The simple tantalizing admission has stunned her and her brain short circuits, sparking each time he touches her. She likes him this way, bold and impassioned to the point that she is driven to need him more than grass or water. He has become like air to her, necessary for the continuation of her being and at last, she cleaves to him and plants her own fanged mouth against his neck, feeling her own hunger mount within. “Mine, mate.” she echoes, bursts of words mixed with breath as her mouth climbs to his ear and a fang slides against the curve of it with such wicked beautiful intent.

    He twines himself about her, more sinuous than a wolf or a horse has the right to be, and she is struck dumb by the desire that escalates in her. “Femur.” she murmurs, because he has asked her not once, but more than that, and she has not given him this one thing that he had asked for. It was not the asking that undid her, but the blue leg that brushes against her golden fetlock and the weight of him against her that makes her give him whatever he wants. He could ask her to fetch the moon and Femur would find a way to climb a ladder of bones into the night sky and haul it down in her teeth for him, just to light his dark dark den.

    How can I say no?
    That is the last thought he leaves her with as her face buries itself in his shimmering blue neck and his scent overcomes her.
    Femur


    @[Longclaw] he makes her all love-dumb! haha
    #9

    LONGCLAW

    -I close my eyes, ignore the smoke-

    “Femur” She tells him. Femur, like the slender club of bone that locks into place at the hip. Longclaw moves himself there with the thought so that he might trail dark whiskers over the flat, shining circumference of her thigh. Golden, new - like a bright coin and all his for the taking.

    His ear still twitches from the ghosting words of her hungry claim. In the twining rays of shadow and light, beastlike he roves across her body. At first he cannot help the way his mouth opens and presses into her, (a man of great thirst longing for that first drop) but sensibility, time, space … they all desert him in this hour. Heavy lips turn to aggressive moans; Longclaw closes his eyes against the radiant vision of her pressed so closely and empties himself of needless thoughts.

    There will be nothing to disturb them, not even in his own mind.

    In this moment, (in the moments he knows will come later) Femur commands his attention and he is more than willing to cast aside every other base desire so that she might fill him with only one: the ardor for her, and her alone.

    Longclaw opens his eyes. In the curve of his neck, Femur cradles herself. He has never been a wordsmith, never wanted to express himself through feelings where action could suffice, so silently he disentangles himself to draw back. “Femur, you complete me.” He wants to say, but his blue shoulder is skimming atop the ridges of her ribs. “Femur, you enthrall me.” He wishes he could whisper, but instead his chest is thrust suddenly against the cascade of her ivory tail and his neck is pulled taught, sharp teeth taking liberties with the patterned croup she presents to him.(I want you, I need you, I will take you)

    A step backwards and then his plush nose dives with authority into the warm, dark valley between her buttocks. He needs her unencumbered by her lovely assets and Longclaw has never been one to ask politely, but he brushes her tail aside with the flick of his fine head and leaves his tongue free to trail across the skin beneath. “So unequivocally stunning.” He surmises, reveling in the taste of Femur’s body.

    She is … perfect.

    “Mine.” He cements, rising comfortably to pull himself up and over her. There’s the familiar feel of his erection brushing against her legs at first, (it must all be smooth, one steady action) and he clenches his gut to draw it upright and guide it between her warm, butterscotch thighs. The sensation of parting her dark vulva, of entering a place so forbidden and yet made for him overtakes the iridescent beast. Longclaw shudders with satisfaction and plunges into the depths of Femur’s willing body as a crooning snarl rips along his throat.

    He could stay here, like this, forever. Both legs wrapped possessively around her slender stomach, where the bulge of his muscled forearms can fit puzzle-like into the gilded dip of her triceps. His neck, curled around her own and heaving gasps of unspoken pleasure with every rocking motion he attempts. She is his glimmering madonna, an ethereal being that envelops him and drives him mad with longing; He is her velvet demon, unable to release the taloned grasp over her soul even as he cloaks her with his own weight and pushes his wants into her.

    His navy hindquarters tremble and lock, Longclaw is far from finished so he grasps the height of her crested neck between his jaws and re-positions. Now, he can withdraw slowly, pleasantly; unsheath himself with infuriating precision so as to build her desire. He does so without the need to grip her harshly, his mouth is limp again as he pulls his length free incrementally, bit by bit, before insertion again. “I want to know you, let me learn you, all of you.” He thinks, numb to the outside.

    “God, Femur …” He groans as he pulls free to the very tip; her body resists, naturally, gripping the flesh of his tool as mud sucks in a stuck boot. They become one. Longclaw pauses;

    And then he is rage, fire, and predator as he thrusts roughly back against her. His teeth clack together and then spread wide, flying down to grab her arched neck as he slams into her with one fatal move. They have been building, growing, and now he’ll force her to new heights until they’re spiraling among the stars, god help him. He can’t help himself, she twists him to madness and he loves it, every second. The heated tempo builds in speed; Claw is wild and he breaks in waves against her, heaving and thrusting and fucking her like a possessed thing.

    It’s only when he goes blind, (when the harsh, ragged cry of “Femur!” drowns out the other noises they’re making) only then does he release command of his own body. Together, she serves to expand and fill every empty space inside of himself until he is near to bursting from the want. He tastes blood, her blood, and then the want is too much.

    Longclaw expunges himself inside of her. The crescendo of pulsating spasms can be felt between both and he relaxes, goes utterly limp atop her while his seed continues. The day has left them behind in their own little world; dusk is already coloring their sky with dark intentions. Wearily, finally, he slides free of her and lands with an unexpected thump, the stain of sweat coloring him close to black. Dry with salt and stuck to his neck, his mane breaks free with a loose shake and then, achingly, he eases forward to offer her support.

    He says nothing, only presses a feverish kiss to her nose where it lingers before being withdrawn. His head rises and curls over the crown of her own, pulling her wordlessly to him in a silent embrace. The world around them grows quiet; the sky darkens further. At last, he breaks the stillness with his own low, rumbling voice. “You’re the only thing that matters to me now.” Longclaw tells her, certain in his actions. She had given him more than Marigold ever could, had shown him what coupling with a real woman was like, (what it was meant to be) and he refuses to go back down the ladder.



    @[Femur] Here is your long-awaited smut novel <3 I hope it was worth the ridiculous wait xD
    [Image: sScEgld.png]
    #10
    I love the way you rake my skin, I feel the hate you place inside.
    Maiden.
    Femur has never felt the penetrating touch that could rob her of her maidenhood. She has never conceived of the concept though what stallions and mares do together is not something that has never crossed her mind. It never occurred to her that she could partake in it, just as she never imagined she would meet someone like him. He sank his claws in her soul and his teeth in her heart, deep enough to know that she could never (nor would she ever!) escape him. But this is the last that she will be a maiden, pure as the newly driven snow that fails to fall in Tephra most of the time.

    Mother.
    But that is not what he will leave her as either. Their coupling occurs out of season. Nature rebels against it and his seed refuses to take place in her womb, leaving it as barren as the fields before the first frost set in. Femur will not mind this. Fate still has plans to make a mother out of her unbeknownst to either of them at the time that this coupling takes place.

    Crone.
    There will come a time when she might be this.
    Riddled with arthritis, age, and a swayed back. But there is too much time between now and then. Too much, as he clings to her with hot lips that tell more of his hunger than his murmurs do. She will always remember this, even as things start to fall from her mind, lost to the shambles of time but this - this is unforgettable. Her first time. With him. Even an old crone will think back to that and remember, saliva on her lips alongside a smile.

    Princess to a fallen kingdom, it is befitting that the flaming wolf is the one to take her. To push her across an unfamiliar threshold that promises pain and pleasure, the two woven together so tight that she’ll not be able to tell one from the other. It had been foretold the moment she laid claim to him first by that simple uncontestable utterance that proclaimed him as both her mate and hers’. Even now, her tongue swells fat with pride and passion as he rounds her hip and lingers there. He ignites her, fuel to the fire, and she cannot find the room to let out all the thoughts trapped in her fanged mouth because he is so deliciously distracting.

    First, he trails his whiskers over her skin which evokes a girlish giggle from her lips because it tickles!
    Femur cannot help herself in these moments. It feels like she is growing more combustible the longer his lips linger in the folds of her fur. Her want of him - for him - has grown singular and sharpened, much like the hitch of breath in her throat as he makes her forget that there are things like time and a world beyond the two of them. His mouth and his moans drown out all else. She can feel herself emptying out before him as his desire fills her up and renders her into a new creature, a resplendent beast of exploration and potential sex - it is all there, in the soft curving lines of her that give way beneath his mouth.

    But the maiden is stupefied when he pulls back!
    The loss of him is sudden, sharp, and it cuts her to the core. She flings him a look of pure desperation that fades the moment his blue shoulder finds her ribs encased in fur the colors of snow and gold. The moment of desperation is replaced with sudden excitement the moment his chest meets her buttocks and the pale tail that lays between him and the fulfilment of his hunger. He has gone savage so quick! It pulls a gasp from her mouth and leaves a moist ache in her loins that she has never experienced before. His teeth dance hard and fast over her croup and she swears the earth is starting to move beneath her feet from these little claiming bites alone.

    Suddenly, his nose stabs between her buttocks and her tail is shoved aside though she had begun to lift it out of the way. Femur had not anticipated this, though! His tongue licks a tantalizing path across her skin that makes her knees go weak the same time a mewling pathetic cry escapes her fanged mouth. That cry holds all the power of her need in it. She needs him, more of him - in her, on her, him and her until she has no idea where one stops and the other begins.

    Longclaw answers her; rears up and over her and she can feel the nudge of his erection against her legs, thick and full but there is no time to be terrified for in one perfect thrust, he stops all sense of time and even her heart.

    When her heart starts back up, it is to the sound of his crooning snarl in her ears and the hot sudden rush of pain that lanced through her then dims as it tips over into the realm of pleasure. Satisfaction is a shadow that climbs up beside him and seems to ride her back in the rhythmic rocking that takes place as she gives every splayed inch of herself to him. Femur has opened like a flower beneath his unbridled and throbbing pleasure. Each gasp, each thrust makes her slick in her own want and need of him, makes her grasp him like a glove that milks him for all he’s worth in those moments as she meets him somewhere on the other side of thought, where it has all become sensation and nothing more.

    Femur forgets that she has a brain.
    She is the slap of his flesh on hers, the grunt and moan of their sex as it quiets the jungle around them. There is the grasp of his jaws on her neck and a moment of repositioning that allows him greater control, greater depth of penetration that sends her pulse hurtling into the stars. She even sees stars behind her eyelids! Bursts of them that stun her as much as each slow precise stroke of him does. He is masterful at this! Withdrawing bit by bit until she cannot stand it and longs to scream for him to bury himself fully inside of her, where he belongs.

    Her flesh knows what to do even as he is almost out of her; it pulls at him, coaxing him to come back with a vigor and not wanting to give even this little bit of him up as he groans her name. He has become her god, and she has become his goddess and a lazy smile haunts her lips as she cranes her head to look back at him just this once, coy as he rests atop her in position with his member ready to strike like a snake and drive itself back into the dark wet warm heart of her.

    Femur cries out;
    His thrust took her not by surprise but the sharp rough slam of it has struck deep inside her that her mind shatters into madness. He keeps this pace up; builds it into a song of pleasure that reaches a crescendo inside her and scatters the pieces of her decimated brain to farflung corners of the universe. Somehow, they are among the stars, fucking as much as they are flying and Femur cannot get enough of it. She almost misses his ragged cry because she has flown so far out of control the moment her climax took her that she is spiraling up and down through the hazy happy aftermath of orgasm.

    He empties himself into her and she has become a vessel for his seed. Meant to be filled up and she is, even as he relaxes on top of her and she has yet to come back to herself, still blind and deaf to all but the earthquakes that continue to rumble in her skin. It is the loss of him as he slides from her back and the thump of his hooves on the ground that make her jerk her head up and regain consciousness. Femur falls back down into herself from somewhere amidst galaxies of pleasure that had opened their nebulae to her like she opened herself to him - no, she did not open herself, he took but he also gave, and both lovemaking and fucking had left her sore and satisfied from soul to skin and back again.

    Femur can feel him kiss her nose and it registers in the back of her brain as he pulls her closer to him in an embrace she does not fight to get free of. She’d never fight to be free of him holding her like that, or holding her still beneath him as he thrusts and claims her because that is what he had done, she realizes. He claimed her as no other can and she is still reeling from the pleasant shock of it to her system, still quaking as she nestles into him. She can feel the soreness creeping in, edging out the pleasure as exhaustion follows hot on its heels. Femur longs to sleep like a foal, legs tucked beneath her and chin curled around to her shoulder.

    She also longs to bathe herself, to ease the soreness despite the fact that she wears the sweat, blood, and the seed that runs down her legs as badges of honor and pride. “I must look a mess,” she mumbles more to herself than to him as his confession sharpens her focus and rights her topsy-turvy brain. Her looks had never concerned her before but she feels a certain amount of decorum is called for now, a chance to tidy up her skin and press it to him once more, again and around until he smells of her and she smells of him. No end and no beginning, just them.

    “You are the only thing that ever mattered to me,” she confides to him, pulling her head from beneath his to look him straight in the eye. Femur did not understand the truth of what she told him, just that she felt the rightness of the statement echoing around inside of her, gallivanting on the heels of her still settle pleasure and sometimes fanning it, like the hot embers of a fire, back to flame. She hadn’t known it until just then, had her suspicions of course, but he was the thing that completed her and made her feel whole. The moment he speared her maidenhood with his throbbing cock, was the moment of her unmaking as he made her into something shiny and new - his, always his, irrevocably his.

    Femur could taste nothing but him, think of nothing but him, and feel nothing but the emptiness of him not being inside her and filling her up. She was her own soul housed in her own flesh, she knew that much still, but she felt changed in the aftermath. Older, but not diminished. Somehow brightened for having had him inside her. He belonged there, she thought, nestling up beneath his head again so that her ear rested against his chest and she could hear his heart beating inside it, beating itself into her brain over and over until her own heartbeat matched the pace of his, slow and measured, sure of itself.

    She never knew love could be like this.
    It was extraordinary!
    Femur


    @[Longclaw] oh. my. god. that was a deliciously wicked read! i tried for smut but my brain took a wrong turn there and gave you something else that was novel-length and all over the place much like i imagine femur's head was because she was so oversexed and pleased as punch with it lol. <3




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