"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
12-07-2017, 10:54 AM (This post was last modified: 12-21-2017, 03:28 PM by Femur.)
I love the way you rake my skin, I feel the hate you place inside.
Femur wakens;
She is not quick to blink the sleep from her eyes. Is trying to savor the sensation of the dream that is something between floating weightlessly and gasping for air. Like drowning and orgasming at the same time. It felt a little like flying and she went up, up and up through the air and the clouds until she was on a level with the stars then she hurtled forward with the speed and grace of a comet until smashing up against a brilliant barrier of stardust. Beyond it lay a nebula of blue and purple that seethed and writhed as if with a life all its own. Mesmerized, she could not look away even as she began to fall back into herself from a very great height.
When she woke, she was alone as usual - he had his patrols to do and she never accompanied him on these. He’d slip away and slip into his wolf shape and the shadows would take him from her sight until she was left with the afterimage of blue burned against her retinas - like staring too long at a flame, and she’d stare long after to make sure he’d gone for sure. But after a few moments of gathered thought and repeated breath, she’d find herself and hoist herself up from the ground to feel a strange itch lick along her bones.
It seemed to be a remnant of the dream and she thought maybe she had tiny comets racing through her bloodstream. If so, it was the kind of disease she’d love to have - fireballs singing through every artery and vein. Really, it was just how on fire and restless she felt. Which was something she resolved to remedy as soon as possible so she sought the shore as she often did and noticed the tide was high which meant a challenging swim to get to the other side. She met that challenge head on and flung herself into the fierce waves that sought to fling her back upon the shore she ached to leave behind.
Femur ground her teeth together, the tip of her fangs mashing into the corners of her bottom lip and drawing tiny beads of blood to the surface of her skin. The tide took them away, as if these minute offerings could calm the sea’s rage and indeed it seemed to do as the waves delivered her upon that opposing shore with a much gentler grace than before. She was swept up and carried then deposited upon shaking legs onto the sand that grew firmer and firmer the farther from the sea she stepped. But where to go from here? That was the question that pawed at her soul and her brain as her black gaze cast about for some sign of what next.
Then she began walking, still not sure of the direction but somehow guided or shunted forth by bursts of warm wind that blew smells into her nostrils - smells of babies and despair that caused her to snort back in distaste. This isn’t what she had come here for but the moment she caught sight of it, she knew her purpose. Divined it from the glimpse of blue roan and purple that moaned and shuddered in the grass just ahead of her. Whatever it was looked like it was dying as she crept close, turning invisible at the last possible moment before the thing could catch sight of her.
It was a colt!
Left alone!
The shock ripped through her --
Not because it was alone or small enough to stomp the brains out of with her hooves but because it looked in her direction as if it knew. Seemed to pin her there with a stare that she knew, the green of it too familiar to discount - his eyes, Longclaw’s. She had known he’d had others beneath him, had tastes that needed to be sated and she did not begrudge him this one bit as she looked upon this colt that could only be his from the blue of his speckled skin to the green of his eyes that swam inside her skull and knocked around, looking to get further inside her until she could not get the colt out of her mind.
She sniffed the air; any scent of a mother had long since cooled and gone stale.
How could a mother leave her child like that? Curled up, unprotected, expossed to the elements like an offering…
Take him.
Came the whisper into her brain. Loud enough to shock her out of her invisible state though it seemed not to matter, he knew she was there though how he knew, she did not know. He seemed hyper aware, perhaps because he was alone? Perhaps because he knew that if he stayed like this, he’d be no better than a meal for the wolves if wolves were the first thing to find him. Other terrors lurked about, could make him into piecemeal for the worms and the dirt at their feet.
Take him.
Femur looked warily around her, saw no mare in the vicinity of the colt that might impede her from her task at hand. (The longer she stared at him, the longer she saw the nebula in her dream - purple and blue, blue and purple, stars bursting in her brain that made her do what she did - take him! Take him! Take him!) So the overo stole over the grass towards him, lowered her head to his purple-tipped ear and whatever she said to him went unchallenged, made him get up and cling to her side, swaying from his want of milk and mothering.
With a nip from her teeth that meant they had no time here in this place to linger lest his mother discovered him at her side, she hastened him off and led him back to the shoreline. The sea still roared but had drawn back a bit, enough so that she shunted him forth and harried him across the lowering tide until she had to drag him up onto the sands of Tephra with her teeth snagged tight in his mane. “Get up.” she said, no love lost there though it had eaten a wormhole into her heart the moment she’d seen him and realized he was Claw’s, that he was her last night’s dream come to fruition and form in a way that she had not expected.
“Get up.” she implores him, gentler now as the colt struggles to his feet and shakes the salt and sea off his skin. Femur does not shake these things from her skin - the hot air will dry her, stiffening her fur that neither the fingers of the wind nor the teeth of her mate can comb through but she has no care for that, not as the colt looks at her with his green eyes and she herds him onward, towards the wolf’s den in the meranti tree. She’ll hide him there, until Claw comes back from his daily patrols then reveal to him her dream - the child that did not take in her belly but another’s, the child that is now theirs, for Femur has stolen him from the place in which he lay, awaiting his mother.
Even now, she is certain that mother is becoming but a memory as the colt looks back at her over his thin speckled blue shoulder with the beginnings of trust in his gaze. The only thought she has left in her brain is this, he looks like a wildling. Unbeknownst to her, Femur has just named their newfound (stolen!) son.
Femur
@[Longclaw] didn't come out as I had planned but it's better than nothing! <3
Ah, if he had known. (If he only had a fresh pelt for every time he’s thought that) If it were anyone but Femur.
If, if, if.
He should’ve slept in. Guard duty be damned, he should’ve slept in and spent the morning comforting her, (his spirit girl had shivered in her sleep, even murmured wordless pleas in her dreams) but instead he had adhered to the life they’d both come to see as normal. He, early to rise and head off for his duty, had found that these days, wearing the wolfskin and patrolling the shores only reminded him of the warm, golden mate he’d left behind. It was becoming increasingly harder for Longclaw to not hurry along the edge of Tephra only to skitter back to Femur and this day proves much the same.
Still, the sun is broiling and the humidity of the land is rising steadily when he deems his work finished. Fast as he might like to be and crafty as he might have become in speeding even that process along, (ah, the fire was as good as second sight for him) he still manages to miss her leaving by the time he returns to their cozy grove. “It’s enough to make a sane animal rabid.” Claw mutters aloud, filtering the stale perfume of her wanton body through converted nostrils. “What was that she-devil up to now?”
He can only imagine. It’s fuel enough for him to occupy himself in other matters; He hunts, for the first time in quite a while, and satiates an ancient hunger with healthy red meat. Wild pigs have mastered the art of swimming and some have ended up here over time. Longclaw considers it a personal obligation to keep their population in check. “Not to mention they’re delicious.” He mulls with a wicked grin, pink tongue rolling over bloodied whiskers.
Half the morning spent and belly full, his attention flickers back to Femur and, with an irritated shake of his head, Claw rises on paws to pad through the forest and down to the beach for a swim. He trades appearances, eases slowly into the warm currents, lets the salt and the brine clean all traces of mess or fat from his coat and then, wades back to shore with the intention of hunting her down.
But something stops him. The closer he edges to the woodland of his favorite little island the more her scent begins to wash over him. Tipping fanged lips up, Longclaw flares his nostrils and jerks aside to make tracks for where she’s hiding. Common paths get him there the fastest, (how many times have their hooves passed over these hills and valleys?) and yet he finds himself breathless at the sight of her disguised by low-hanging branches; a playful nymph who always keeps him on his toes. “Feeemuuurrrrr” Claw calls, the sound somwhere between a lustful purr and a playful song.
It takes him only a moment to be at her side, to be upon her, plush lips hungrily roaming her silken fur for any scratch or hint of stranger. “Stranger,” He thinks again as his mouth roves down to the arch of her belly.
His head snaps up, vibrant green eyes narrowing in suspicion as his own form becomes suddenly motionless. “Where have you been?”
I love the way you rake my skin, I feel the hate you place inside.
Most of the time, they are not given to knowing.
How could either of them have guessed that the sighs and shivers in her sleep were portents of things to come?
She thinks it will be a memorable day. One full of shock. How could she stumble across his own blood and know it was his colt that stood there, looking so much like him from the green of his eyes to the blue of his skin? Not quite the same, but enough for her to not question it. Her beloved had been so skilled! It did not surprise her that he’d sought to school himself in the flesh of others before coming to her, practiced and slick, and she savored the thought of that - he’d taken the time to learn and perfect that particular brand of magic before immersing her in it.
Femur savors the thought of more moments like that, beneath him, spurring him to heights unknown from the rock of her hips in answer to every spartan thrust of him. But turns her thoughts to the task at hand - unveiling his son to him. That is of more importance at the moment than her mate climbing up her back, sinking fangs into her neck and grasping at her slim barrel with his hooves. Oh to be a wolf like him! Their matings would be just as fierce and wild in that shape as they are in this one, but to meet him on his own turf with tooth and claw? Femur chokes back a gasp and swivels her head to stare pointedly at the little colt that remains at her flank, his nose an inch from it, tethered to her by a bond that is just beginning but has tempered itself into something of unbreakable steel.
She was aware that he knew of her comings and goings. Knew that she grew restless at times and forsook their shore for the other one in search of something to pass the time, but she always came back. Returned, to him and their place, this heart-home of meranti tree and wolf’s den. Their own personal island that she adores for its greenness and bouts of sulphuric smoke that sometimes blow across it from the burping volcano. She knew he’d find her here, where else but here or the shore would she wait for him? So he’d come in due time and when he call rings out, more song than anything else that sends a shiver down her spine - not in fear, but in anticipation.
“Hide!” she commands in a hiss to the colt who turns into the wolf’s den without a moment’s notice before Claw is upon her. Snuffling and nuzzling as his lips claim her over and over, down to the arch in her belly and here it all falls apart - he is too still, a predator frozen and the look in his eyes is enough to ignite something different in her. The suspicious light he regards her in brings forth a surge of anger that throbs hot and fluent in her, like a language she is familiar with - too familiar with, as her fanged teeth bare themselves at him in response.
For a moment, she holds this posture towards him then softens as the anger deflates. She cannot remain mad at him - his suspicion is warranted given what she has been up to, and she figures that his senses are firing rapidly at the difference in her scent since the colt has been rubbing up against her, and she in return against him. She marked that foal like he marks his territory as a wolf. “I was out,” she explains slyly, her look less angered and more coquettish as her black eyes meet his all-too green ones. “But you knew that already.” He is sharp, she cannot contest that and he knew she had been gone and he knew she came back smelling different.
“I have a surprise for you…” she coos as her mouth finds his ear, a fang sliding against the soft fur of it as much as her slick gratifying tone does. It is time for father to meet son, she thinks, proud and foolish as her lips remained curled up in slyness. She calls back over her shoulder, daring to look away from Claw just this once; “Come out child.” and sure enough, the little blue boy does not disappoint and parts from the cloaking darkness of the wolf’s den to join her side. He peers up at the stallion, trying to take his measure, with eyes not quite as green as Claw’s but close enough.
Femur says nothing more, just narrows her own gaze in case Claw shows an ounce of ill will towards the colt. Her colt. Their colt. She knows her beloved has his trinkets of flesh that walk about on four hooves like she does, so she believes he’ll allow her this much, how could he not? Her lips almost set themselves in a sulky becoming pout as she stares at him in anticipation of his reaction to this unexpected development.
She reminds him quickly why she’s his mate. The flash of her perfect teeth in response to his mistrust warrants a similar reaction, but his is made with a hiss of unspoken forgiveness. Longclaw would never question her again. It was the irritation of his not knowing that grated against his attitude, left him squirming with festering boredom and stoked the fires of action in his belly. He would die, maim, kill for her and sometimes, Claw feels as if he wants an opportunity to prove this.
Men.
I was out. His dame toys, and the curious flick of his brow smooths the wrinkles of a snarl off his lips. He can hardly protest with her reasoning, (she’s always right, anyways) and besides, Femur is engaged in soothing his tempestuous nature in a manner he quite frankly approves of. The soft glide of her angelic lips over the curve of his proud ear bends his neck low; a guttural croon tickles his throat and for a moment, he forgets about the odd smell she’d brought along with her. His thoughts are drifting elsewhere, to things children shouldn’t be privy to.
Come out child. His she-wraith beckons, the cold absence of her touch startling him into sudden awareness. As stoic and motionless as he’d been before, now Longclaw is truly carved from stone and, breathless, he watches the emergence of a finely-made colt. For a second, his black heart thuds darkly with hot rage - the blinding fury that she would bring some thing here like a pet, it - well it … well ….
But the babe’s eyes have glanced up now; they connect with their father’s matching ones and silently the two regard one another.
His first thoughts go something like this: He’s got no idea who the mother is. Urge and the simplicity of the action had been the source of this boy’s creation. The only mare in Longclaw’s life worth anything is standing right beside him, with her impossibly seductive mouth curved into a sour pout. This is, however, his son. Color and looks ran strong through the male lines of his family, he’d be a fool to deny it.
So, that would make him Father. “A father. A dad.” He thinks, the two words he’d been forbidden to use when addressing Wyrm. Instantly he feels the pressure of a dark fate; this boy would end up as he did, and his father before him - wasted. The succession of Longclaw’s sire’s had all been terrible with their spawn. Fear seizes him and his gaze tears away from the boy to fixate on Femur. “Don’t ask this of me …” He wants to say, but there’s no room for error this time. He can see it clearly in the gem-like cut of her dark eyes.
He’d nearly taken her life, but she’d given it to him freely after the encounter anyways. It was his turn to sacrifice everything within him that screamed otherwise. “You are not your father.”
Inside of him, something breaks free.
“What should we call him?” Longclaw says at last, expelling a breath he’d been unaware was waiting in his lungs.
I love the way you rake my skin, I feel the hate you place inside.
They are like two serpents hissing at one another but his is full of forgiveness where hers had been full of warning. It is this admission of forgiveness that softens her further towards her mate though she can see that some ire of his is still stoked. Femur though, is placating in the way that she suddenly turns into him, rubbing her small self up against his larger blue self until she smells more like Claw than the foal or herself. His ire fans the flames in her until a small hot fire of something else is stoked and the look she gives him is pure need and naked desire. For but a single moment, she has forgotten the presence of the colt that cannot thankfully see the stark revelation on her face as to how much she wants her mate in that moment.
Women.
They soothe and incite. One is kin to the other. Her need is building but she remembers the colt and reins herself in just enough to seem a little more tame, though never too much so for Claw’s liking - there is still unbridled passion there, in the arch of her neck and the high set of her head as she rubs her fanged lips against his jaw. Somehow, she had known it would always be this way with him, whether children were involved or around or not. Femur would never be able to resist the allure of her mate. It was a primal call that echoed and bounced around inside her until she reacted - gave in to it and set upon him like a jaguar in heat.
Suddenly the jungle seems like a spacious void that has sucked all the air out of it as the child comes forward and Claw seems… as still and silent as a stone. Her little face scrunches up in a frown as she observes him, unable to imagine all the possible things he could be thinking about the present situation and once more, her mouth regains the shape of a perfect little pout as stallion and colt stare at one another. Her gaze settles longest on her mate and soon enough, his eyes tear from the colt to fixate on her and there is no question as to what she sees therein - fear, something that she has never seen in him before.
It is naked and revolting. Longclaw has never once looked like this from all their time together. She stares back at him, giving him no quarter on this - no ounce of anything but herself, the colt, and her firm belief that he will do nothing but succeed where others have failed. Femur is not the kind to allow it, not even in her beloved as he looks damn near close to pain and it tugs at her heart but some things she has to shut her heart hard against. She holds her ground, challenging him with a sudden jut to her chin and the beginnings of a smile that curl her lips up at the corners.
Femur can see him crumble but she is there to pick up the pieces the moment he breathes again. “Wildling,” she purrs out the name as her fanged mouth finds his muscled shoulder and strokes it, delivering a stinging little nip between every masterful touch. She longs for her fierce mate to come back to himself, to realize he is better than all those that came before. “He looks like a little wild thing you left out there.” and she cannot keep her laughter back as she nips at him some more, soothing and inciting as only she can do.
(I might pay for this later, she thinks but relishes the thought with a little shiver that dances down her spine.)
The bites she gives only serve to continuously shock him further into awareness. Longclaw feels … asleep. Or, somewhere between asleep and awake. He can’t put his finger on it.
He’s a father now, whether he likes it or not and (Gods love her) Femur is the only creature privy to his moments of weakness. For the second time she holds him together and for the second time, she reminds him of who he is. Longclaw, made of flame and built to eat flesh. The greatest tracker in his line. A hunter, a killer, son of two powerful animals that made a game of treading Beqanna soil and her inhabitants beneath their hooves. Twin to a sister who could pluck the strings of your mind like it was nothing.
Femur needs him now. Wildling needs him now, (as Femur has so aptly named him) and so when his lover’s pale fangs strike down once more only to draw blood, he snaps his head aside with viper-like speed to return the action forcefully. “Stop that.” He growls, blinking away the last bits of fog from his mind. Quickly, the flash of his bright tongue glides across the dark stain of his lips and then he collects himself before continuing.
“Wildling suits him. He suits us. You did well to bring him here and if you find any others,” He pauses, unaware that his little ghost is already one step ahead of him, “bring them too.” The stallion confirms. With the tilt of his body Longclaw slopes his crested neck to offer flared nostrils for his son to inspect. This boy, and any other Femur chooses to mark as her own, will never have to fear his wrath.
The guard of Tephra grows tired of pointless things and right now, everything aside from their budding family is pointless.
When the colt tires of inspection, Claw turns his attention back to the mother with only a single question in mind. “You didn’t want one of your own?”
He's happy to oblige, of course.
@[Femur] this is poopy but I wanted to throw something up and keep it moving!
I love the way you rake my skin, I feel the hate you place inside.
Femur is a mirror; every weakness and every strength is reflected upon her and she throws back only the strengths at him because these make him who he is - not his weaknesses, none of which she would allow him to admit to. (They all have weaknesses, known or unknown, but she prefers to build him up and she’ll eat his weaknesses like spoiled fruit full of worms to keep them from himself.) Femur is thread - she holds him together. She is memory - reminds him that he is Longclaw, fierce and favored. This is just one part of her purpose on this earth, she realizes - to love him and remind him that he is more to her, their son, and others, than what he thinks he is.
If it is possible, she falls more in love with her mate in that moment. She can feel the love and pride inflate her heart until it feels like it might float right up her throat and away to lodge itself somewhere in the midst of the stars. Femur realized then that she was so hopelessly and irrevocably lost. The more she looks at him, less biting involved and just looking, she can see how impressive her mate is - has always been, even from the first time they laid eyes on one another in the Forest. Granted, she had been teasing and invisible and he’d been tracking her nonetheless. Their game had become something more and she’d given up all of herself - every pound of flesh, every square inch of her once-thought unconquerable spirit but he had come, had conquered, and Femur loved it.
(Loved him!)
He reciprocates; commanding and biting back in sharp moderation that makes the breath hitch in her throat. Femur chokes back a chuckle as he growls, the wolf ever present in the stallion. She loves the wolf as much as she does the stallion despite the instinctual sense of mind to fight or flight. Truth be told, that other shape never bothered her much because she knew it was Claw in there, looking back at her with the same set of mesmerizing green eyes that held her more in place than fear ever could. But that was the love talking nonsense in her ear because she knew it was the love in her heart that would forever hold her still in a rabbit’s freeze-frame for him to hunt her down and take from her all the things he’d ever need. Femur would always give freely to him. Always.
She grins at his praise, as he states how the name is suiting to the boy and to them. Femur had thought so too, the moment she’d seen him nestled in the grass and if it had not been for those eyes so like his father’s, she might have kept going. But she stayed, turned invisible, looked on as the mare moved farther and farther away to graze thinking her little one safe from all predators until Femur had materialized right in front of the day old colt and called him to her, beckoned with not-quite-full teats and the promise of milk and endless love. She’d known she had to have him, as Claw had his small assortment of playthings.
Femur arches her neck, practically preening like a damn peacock in front of her mate as he tells her she did well to bring him here. Of course she had! But she is a might modest and does not throw back a casual retort to her beloved Claw. She’d known a son like this needed to be not with some daft mother but with his fierce cunning father who could teach him the ways of the world better than some random mare could. Part of Femur had longed too, for just an instant, that this had been their colt but the moment had passed because she knew it would happen one day - his seed would stick, her belly would round out, and from her thighs would slip his sons and daughters fashioned after them.
“Thank you,” she breathes, happier than Femur thinks she has a right to be. Their kind, fierce and dark and odd are not given much to the purer things in life like the simple happiness of being told she can bring more of them home, as she has done and will continue to do. She glides her plush lips over his neck then steps back to give father and son a chance to bond better without her interference between them.
Wildling receives one single look from her - mother, that tells him it is okay to further inspect the stallion that towers over him. He tilts his head back and looks up, so tall! So commanding! But he feels no threat from him, none at all and he thinks that is curious because shouldn’t he be afraid? But it is as if blood recognizes blood, a song that he hears and responds to, making him stretch out his thin little muzzle to the proffered one of what he has heard rumor of from mother, is his father. This then, is acceptance? Must be, he thinks as he gives a little snort-sneeze from his own nostrils that try to flare and suck in father’s scent.
Eventually, he tires of inspecting father. The stallion is imprinted on his mind and stamped all over his skin but he doesn’t know that yet. He skirts around them, skedaddling about on his long spidery legs as Femur chuckles in the background. Claw’s question does not quite stun her but it has almost the same effect. She throws her head up and looks him dead in the eye, “Of course I want one.” How could she say she thought she ought to have had one last year? Until she realized how late in the season it had been when they’d danced that particular dance that made her yearn for him all the time? He was fire and ice, heating and cooling all parts of her until her brain seized on nothing short of sheer ecstasy?
Wildling is content to play around his parents, so Femur creeps back closer to her mate. She knows he’d oblige her and more than happily. Half their fun was had in the clambering of him on her back and all the wicked things that came from two horses mating. It roused the lust in her, made her black eyes glitter more as she kept them centered on his face. “Do you, is the question?” but the unasked part was - given that you already have one?
Femur
@[Longclaw] that post was not poopy! but mine sure is lmfao, it's so all over the place. i blame cbox for distracting me at the time which means next post shall be heaps better! <3
Thank you, She says, even if it should be Longclaw that presses those words into her own thoughts. Femur knows, though. Between them there’s an understanding without the need for words - so raw and real it leaves him to consider the likes of their love without possible equal. The animals in this country fight and fuck, kill and give new life, but none (he knows) will ever love or adore her the way he so clearly does.
There should never be a question in her mind and though he cannot stifle what rages so darkly and sickly inside of him (the idea of monogamy is withheld as long as the stolen flames burn brightly inside of him) she should never wonder about her place in his world. He lives for Femur and nothing else.
Though, he begins to think as he watches Wildling withdraw to test out new legs, “it wouldn’t hurt to add more reasons to that list, especially if they exist as a direct result of her…”
Longclaw has already forgotten that this son is not Femur’s. So quick and natural it comes - erasing all thoughts of a nameless, shapeless mare to replace her likeness with his Ghost-girl - and when her eyes fly to meet his own the stallion is seized with a fresh renewal of desire. Of course I want one. She tells him, the idea sparking a mad hunger in his gut. Beneath himself, he can feel the arousal harden into pure craving. Do you, is the question?
The pied mare need not creep; Claw is already there to meet her, flesh against flesh and with a parted mouth pressing rakishly into her golden skin. How could he, in turn, explain that his apprehension had sprouted from disgust at himself? If it had been her beneath him then and her to carry the babe he would’ve never second-guessed his abilities. It was … different with her. Everything was different with her. “I want one for every star in the sky.” He demands, the intent in his voice unmistakeable even as it sprouts in the form of a guttural snarl, “I want one for every grain of sand on the beach, for every leaf sprouting free of a limb,” He breathes, rooted to the spot with the urge of controlling himself - Wildling already becoming the hint of a thought on his periphery.
“And you’ll give them to me.” He finalizes, nodding briefly against her as his lungs fight for air.
No more toying. He needed - wanted - only one thing and she had the power to give it over. His simmering gaze tilts once towards Wildling and then races back to hers, the unspoken enthusiasm to move somewhere more private as clear as if he’d spoken it aloud.
A few more minutes of this and Wildling be damned; he’d take her right here, right now - the rest could drift away.
@[Femur] gimme gimme gimme; I can never get enough of them <3
I love the way you rake my skin, I feel the hate you place inside.
Femur knows that he just fucks the others. It is to sate a need that is primal to him being the male of his species. Wolf and stallion both need to dominate and collect. She recognizes this in him because he is nothing but an alpha to her. Well, he is more than just an alpha but she recognizes him as the dominant one in both his shapes and the sheer scope of knowing this arrests her to the spot. He’ll fuck them. He’ll fight others. But in the end, he comes back to her because stars aboves and bones below, that is how it has been decided.
Longclaw & Femur.
The flaming warg and his ghost-girl.
Both of them have their eyes on their son as he gambols about. She never tires of seeing him test his legs or his limits. But she finds that her gaze drifts to Claw’s face. Something ignites between them, like a match to gasoline. Suddenly, this little glade is too stifling and she forgets the blue colt running around them in growing circles that dizzy her. It’s the air, she thinks. It has grown hotter and it paws at her flesh until Claw meets her and presses his mouth to her. No, it’s him and she has to stifle a pleading sob that knocks at her throat.
Femur can think of nothing else in this moment but of Claw mounting her then and there. Wildling be damned! That is their son but she has no concern for him presently as Claw presses her and the moment grows more primal and rife with heat. It makes her own need push to the surface, a beast hungering that begs before it’s master. Bereft of thought although her brain still fires commands down the line of synapses and nerves, her tail moves up and over to the side to let the strength of her estrus permeate the air as his snarls rip at her ears.
Snippets of the things he says to her ricochet around her head until Femur is all fanged smiles in answer and anticipation --
“...one for every star in the sky…”
“...one for every grain of sand…”
“...one for every leaf sprouting free…”
She can’t breathe. Seems he can’t either from the way his head nods against her. “You’ll give them to me.” There had been something so final and commanding in that. How could she resist? Her esteemed mate had made his decree for none but the land and themselves to hear it and Femur could not deny him. How could she? Her skin ached for the touch of his lips and his teeth. Longed for the feel of him on her back. Yearned to feel him part her thighs and dive into that deepest darkest part of her that would open to him like a flower, taking him in further until he was buried in the soft moist dirt of her.
Impassioned, she calls to their son and drives him off with two curt words - “Den and nap!” The blue colt neither questions nor stalls for more time to gambol. He is obedient, having learnt from her that she’d brook no backtalk or resistance on his part. She knew that Wildling knew the way already to Claw’s meranti tree because she had shown him it more than once. Made him practice taking various trails to get there so that he could rest assured he’d not been followed except by the likes of mother or father (or the pair of newer foals Femur had fetched home). Satisfied their son would not tarry but hasten right off, she turned the full breadth of her attention back to Claw.
It took one look from her to signify how deep her desire ran for him. One searing look that held all the passion and love she felt for him spiraling up out of her like a mythical beast’s horn until it would lance his chest in two. Lay bare that heart of his for her to feast on! Instead, Femur once more presented herself to him - naked and needy. Stars alive, there was nothing but him that she saw - a spectre of blue that swallowed her black gaze up until she rasped out his name in desperation, “Longclaw!”
Femur
@[Longclaw] whoa, me neither! she's like take me now! haha <3
The command of Den and Nap is all the confirmation he needs.
Longclaw! She calls, the rasp of a word flying from golden lips in impassioned heat and, for a brief moment, he turns animalistic with desire for her. The rough cut of his dark chest pushes against her forcefully, he wants her alone and he wants her now. His teeth rake possessively where they can; he’s practically stumbling over her but it’s all the brute can manage - thoughts of her braced against the rough trunk of a tree, taking the brunt of his sex; they all suddenly jump to the forefront of his thoughts and he snaps cold teeth together with a hiss of indignant agitation at their pace.
“Patience, calm and collected now …” He reminds himself, blinking softly with each labored, guttural snarl that echoes against the treetops shrouding them. Hazy daylight filters through the woven canopy, settling over Femur’s seraphic body and she seems illuminated by the glow of new motherhood. A woman grown, teats full and straining in their effort to give life to those forgotten children she gathered. Had she ever been more beautiful, more tempting? “Stand. Wait.” The warg growls, once he’s pleased with their situation.
He steps away.
Their first time had been paltry and almost sweet compared to the ideas he’d thought up afterwards. That wasn’t to say it hadn’t been incredible (There are heights only she can take him to) but it had sparked something deeper, something more dangerous and wanton than anything he’s considered before and he’s had months worth of mulling it over to set him up for this very moment.
The shifter has plans for her, “So many plans,” but he’d like to begin with a general inspection.
For now he’s situated parallel to her, their shoulders cleaved from another but still uniform. Longclaw is faced in the direction she’s looking, his shimmering blue head tilted aside so that his eyes can rush over Femur in waves of appreciation. This is as much for her as it is for him - he wants her more than once, today (as many times as she’ll have him) - but for his own sake he won’t rush it. No … Femur needs to know, needs to hear it. “The moment I laid eyes on you I knew I couldn’t live a life without you in it.” He murmurs, the slow jerk of his forelegs sparking flashes of light over his iridescent coat as he glides forward to begin circling her.
“If you weren’t going to be mine, I wouldn’t have allowed you to take another breath.” He laughs throatily, but she knows this already. From the simple lines of her neck to the undulating curves of her breast, Longclaw loses himself entirely to his feelings and to the flame. Its hunger consumes him fully, alighting beneath his feet as he continues to pace longingly around her. He’ll burn crescents into the soil of the earth, even go as far as having the flames lick up his legs before he comes to a pleasant halt at her rump.
“Now I can’t breathe without you.” He whispers, the admission brushing against her unmarred skin in the form of a sweltering breath.
His flame falls quiet; snuffs out clean. Claw longs to touch her and so he does, pulling the arch of his mouth open wide to expose the thick curve of his matching fangs. Down they come, swiftly and without warning. They’ll take to her flesh and probably snag, (he wants to see inside of her, wants to mingle their blood) but there’s always the case of them simply falling short - coming down without much force behind the action because, in the same span of a second that he chooses to claim her, his forelegs spread apart and he swings the rolling muscles of his hindquarters sideways so that he can trap her from behind.
No escaping now, though he doubts she even wants to.
His mouth clamps together, a shuddering heave of lust tormenting him as the sapphire creature rubs the planes of his glimmering face over and against the dips and rises of her croup. “Femur,” He moans through a thick haze, shoving the flat of his muscular chest flush against her gold-dipped ass, crushing the luxurious, silky gauze of her full tail between them. “Spread yourself for me.”
Any movement of hers beneath the curve of his possessive neck sends him reeling, rising, and the demon lifts himself to curl just-so over her hind. He hopes she can feel the tight coil of his stomach, how he thrusts himself with promise against her but withholds from taking that final step. Longclaw clamores to be inside of her, to take what has always been his but finesse and debauchary are his signature moves: she’ll thank him in the end. “Tell me what you desire most.” He teases, hungry and slavering for her response.
The phantom quiver of his engorged cock strokes the soft part of her thighs; it leaves trails of fire in its wake.
![[Image: sScEgld.png]](http://i.imgur.com/sScEgld.png)