"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
12-17-2017, 02:37 PM (This post was last modified: 01-10-2018, 12:54 PM by Diorae.)
-Diorae-
When they had parted she had still been covered in sweat and blood. The water had only partly cleaned her golden coat, leaving her ‘upper’ half still dirty. Dirty, that was how she felt. Not because she’d been covered in god knows what, but because of what she had done. And no, with that Marigold didn’t refer to their coupling. The only result of that was that she desired him more. His attention, his touch, his praise.
No, she’d been haunted by what she had done. It had not lasted long, though it had added to her anxiety. Once Longclaw was no longer in her presence, she could tell eyes were following her each and every move. Meeting the peacock feathered mare had helped a little, but only while near. Once alone, Marigold had freaked out. Each sound and smell, a flash out of the corner of her eye. Every one of them too much for her fragile mind.
Without the dog, the cat went crazy.
Hé had done something to her, and that thing had gotten the upper hand. Without Longclaw to protect her, the lioness had stepped in to do it for him. No Marigold, no Diorae, just the lioness and her primal instinct. One might say she’s trapped by this new and other side of herself, but she accepted it. She didn’t have to think or worry, to deal with the watching eyes. As the lioness, she wás the one watching others.
The dense jungle of Tephra had been her home all the time. It did not offer her enough protection of whoever might be watching, it also offered plenty of prey. Though the lioness acted only on instinct, she had had quite a couple of days without a meal. Lately, she’d been more efficient. Crouched low and sneaking forward, one paw in front of the other, as her eyes fixated on a lone deer.
Had he not made himself clear to her? Was it not within her best interest to remain close by, to seek him out and study beneath him? They had traversed to Carnage’s lair together and the creator had given her a strength to rival Claw’s own (could one be thankful to a dark god?) but then, after their experience, she’d disappeared.
“A bad little bird.” He thinks, unaware of every trial she’s been facing because his mute canary had flown the coop to find higher branches. If only she’d stayed near! God’s curse that thrice-damned woman and her ability to remain unfound. Day and night he’d searched, hoping to find some remnant of her still lingering on the island but that delectable scent had long been washed away by the shoreline. “When I find her …” Longclaw thinks, shaking a blue head in irritation.
It would be a struggle to push her out of his thoughts (his need was mounting, the hunger steadily rising) but it was a necessary action. He’d come out today for the sole purpose of tracking - nothing more, nothing less. Strange prints had begun to surface around the island and a few of the wandering inhabitants had complained of yellow eyes in the night, strange markings gouged into the trunks of trees. It was his duty to investigate these claims first; Diorae would come after.
Goodness, if he only knew.
For now though he inspects one of the many trunk-ripped-clean trees. He remains as a horse for this job, the careful tilt of his vibrant green eyes marking the width and length of the markings in question. “Not bear.” He knows, inclining his head further to whuff softly against the bark. “Pungent, no sign of urine.” Not a male, then. But what? Clearly the offender was large, with toes and claws meant for killing, not just traveling. His guess hovered over cat, but the species was yet to be discovered.
One way to find out.
Now he shifts, turning the once round end of his nose to pointed but leaving the rest as equine. He’s been less inclined of late to use his second skin wholly so when he can, he avoids it altogether. This will do, though, and the appendage guides him from the beginnings of a worn trail right onto the path of a fresh one.
The offender was nearby. Wouldn't Warrick be just pleased to know the face of a creature slinking in the shadows of his kingdom? Claw thinks, yes, and then his nose returns to equine shape and his eyes burst freely into spirals of blue-white flame.
The hunt was on.
He walks with purpose now - every step precisely where it needs to be until he’s drawn free of the tighter woods and pushed out into the makings of a small clearing. The sound of his approach (quiet as he tries to keep it) alerts the attention of a deer - some feet away and probably grazing stupidly before he’d come - and for a moment he remains completely immobile.
Where was the offender hiding, hmm?
Then, from the crouching cover where she hides, his eyes discern the subtle flash of gold that is Marigold but also not Marigold and Longclaw wastes no time in calling out -
“You there!” And the sound escapes in a burning hiss of spitting flame, “Don’t run.”
The deer notices the wolf in sheep clothing at the same time as the lioness. If she’d been able to she would’ve snarled angrily, but she cannot. Her nose tips a little in the air, smelling the air as her eyes lock on the intruder. The lioness is angry with him for disturbing her, for scaring away her prey, and her mind is set on making him pay.
The angry lioness can only see him as a horse and due to her anger Marigold is unable to push forward. She cannot make out the words that are shouted towards her, but it is enough of a challenge for her to accept the fight. Strong limbs push forward, clawing at the ground, as she breaks free from the bush she’d been hiding under.
Her lips are slightly parted, showing two sharp rows of teeth. Lacking endurance she is in disadvantage now she has lost the element of surprise, but she refuses to back down. The horse is close enough for her to not need to be at her top speed for long, plus he isn’t trying to run from her, and she attempts to jump him with all speed and strength she can gather. As the lioness jumps her claws reach out to sink into his flesh, attempting to drag him down to the ground with her.
Seconds later she slams into the ground, but like any cat the lioness is quickly up her feet again. Her eyes lock on the horse’s throat, instinct told her that was the easiest and quickest way to end her prey. However, before she’s able to jump him again, the control the lioness has over mind and body gets fought.
Where the lioness cannot, Marigold does recognise him. She had dully allowed the lioness to take control, to keep them safe, as long as Longclaw wasn’t around to do so. Her panic had triggered her first shift and she’d been stuck in it. Until now, she had been fine with it, but the combination of seeing Longclaw together with the panic and fear of the lioness killing him, is enough for Marigold to battle for control.
As they do, the lioness stumbles backwards, away from Longclaw. She’s unable to focus on him any longer and she shakes her head in an attempt to fight it. The lioness doesn’t want to give up control, she doesn’t trust Marigold to keep them safe, but like Marigold had killed the one she’d loved most to get back to Longclaw, she doesn’t hesitate to fight the lioness either. She is still just as desperate to get back to him.
The shift from lioness to horse is as ungraceful as a shift could be. It’s slow and everything but smooth, and instead of everything happening at the same time, it is more like the parts of her body take turns. But eventually, after what feels like hours, the lioness is gold, leaving behind a panting, sweaty and shocked Marigold.
Unable to express herself through words her eyes move to Longclaw. She’s afraid of what she might see, afraid that he wouldn’t want her anymore, after all, she’d just launched herself at him. Or not she, but the lioness, which she was. Yet, it is only through her gaze that she can show him how sorry she is. Not only that, it shows happiness to see him, relief to be back in control, a certain longing for him and shock because of what happened.
But what exactly had happened to her? Marigold longs for Longclaw to explain it to her, to tell her what she had done wrong and what she could do to stop it from happening again. But she longs for his touch too, his presence had always calmed her down. He made her whole, and she desperately needs him to make her whole again.
The fur along the ridge of his spine bristles in response to the flash of the predator’s bone-white teeth and for the first time in a while, Longclaw feels the thrill of a good challenge. His own lips part, pulling taught over pink gums to expose a set of fangs all his own, and the blue warg hisses right back. The she-cat is agile, clearly hungry and willing to ignore the spires of flame that quiver in his eye sockets - but no matter, he’s squared and ready for the tawny beast.
“Let her come; the taste of fire will fill her belly to the brim.” He thinks wildly, crouching stiffly in anticipation of her attack. He’s surprised, initially; it was a weak move, trying to take down larger prey directly head-on … almost as if the big cat had no idea what she was doing. But Claw has little time to think because she’s leapt and he’s decided that’s the moment to set his gift free.
The flame explodes from all sides, as if bursting from the epicenter of his body, and her claws rake along the ridge of his blue withers as she flies over him. The two of them clash and tumble apart, turn on skidding hooves and paws to face each other again and Claw is ready to blast that bitch straight off the ground and into the burnt crisp of nothingness -
But he pauses.
He’s not sure why: her hesitation is his opportunity and in any other situation he would have taken that one second of her faltering confidence to engulf her in flame but … there’s something odd about her. Something that tugs on him internally and rouses the wolf from his slumber. It’s ancient magic - the second souls of their bodies calling out to one another, identifying each other as ‘kin’ - something that keeps their kind from doing exactly what they’re doing now; hunting and killing one another.
Panting, shoulders slick with crimson blood, Longclaw watches her shift from the proud stature of an apex predator to that of a softer, much more familiar shape. “Marigold?!” He rasps incredulous, taking an unexpected step backwards once she’s prostrate and trembling before him. Her eyes, a dark teak and filled with terrified longing, fly to his own and he grows weak in the knees. “Oh, Marigold.” He breathes, rushing forward again to curl down into the earth beside her.
Blue against gold, light against dark, he cradles her beside him and tries hard to suppress the proud grin that stretches wickedly over his lips as he presses them again and again to her sweat-soaked skin. “You were wrong to slink away, I’m sure you were terrified and trapped deep in there.” He chuckles softly, nudging the fluttering rise of her shimmering chest. “Shh, calm yourself. I’m here now. I’m here.” The stallion croons, feeling very much like a child who’s opened a christmas present early.
How delightfully fascinating! Carnage must have been rolling with laughter at this little practical joke of his, but Claw cannot be more satisfied with the outcome. His little mute left as a canary and returned as a lion - all his for the keeping and all his for the training. “I know you’re confused but don’t worry, my little bird. Soon everything will be alright and you’ll never fear anything again.”
The burst of flames coming from his body had burned the lioness’ both front paws. Being one and the same creature – though different forms and different souls – those burns find themselves on Marigold’s legs. Once again her white and golden legs are seared, some parts more than others with blisters already forming. The pain is only at the back of her mind, her fear of Longclaw sending her away being more painful all together.
He does not. She’d braced herself for the worst, the lioness already growling somewhere in a blocked part of her mind and ready to take over, but instead he calls out to her. ”Marigold?!” The sound has her shuddering and hopeful eyes shimmer with wet tears as she looks at him. A light drop of her head and the tears actually start flowing as he speaks again. ”Oh, Marigold.”
She presses impossibly closer against him, desperate for more contact between their bodies, even though she clearly knows that he is the only one to ever initiate contact between them. Her breathing is harsh and with every desperate breath for air Marigold starts to shake more. He is here. He is here, watching over her and keeping her safe. She’s safe, looked after, cared for. His words have her nodding her head rapidly, teary eyes immediately searching his as to plea him to believe her. She hadn’t had control of the lioness until she’d recognized Longclaw. Only then she’d had been strong enough to gain control again.
Slowly the shaking gets less and Marigold finds herself in control of her breath again. Tears no longer roll down her cheeks, but the stains are still visible, just as the teary glance in her eyes. She’d been so afraid. So alone. Now she was neither, or didn’t have to be, as she realises that he isn’t sending her away. He is here. Though he is wrong about one thing. She will always fear his absence.
Her ears flick around nervously as her gaze searches his again. She is hesitant, and yet she has this strong desire. Holding his gaze Marigold brings her muzzle closer towards his skin, desperate to touch him, yet not daring to without his permission. Her eyes plead him to allow this as her breathing becomes shallow. She needs him. She wants him.
And that’s not only linked to the season. It has been too long since they had been together. Too long since she’d felt his touch or that she had been reassured simply by his presence. She was so utterly his, and although he would never be hers, she needs him to be hers for this moment. How long or short it might be.
Well, there’s so much he wants to do. Talk, mostly, which is surprising in this instant because otherwise Longclaw would be driven by more base desires. Diorae is a shifter though and this new development is just enough distraction that at first, he doesn’t notice the coy incline of her head. His thoughts are full of lessons to teach her and the days soon to come, days where he can count on a trustworthy horse to defend Tephran shores. Marigold would be a perfect guard (could he but convince the golden girl beside him) and it would mean her stature in their home could be cemented.
He would have his herd, all of them, tucked away together where they belonged.
“Marigold I-” He begins to say, until the inky shape of his lips turns aside to bump against her waiting nose. Claw frowns at first (what more could she possibly want?) and then the sharpness in her pleading eyes makes itself clear to the rutting stallion. Ah, he knows, this look is familiar, but that knowledge does little in the way to stifle his interest. There’s something in her doeish gaze, something in the pitiful curve of her almond-colored eyes and that pout just hovering over heartbreak that gets him every time.
He can’t resist; he won’t.
“You need an anchor.” He breathes huskily, eyes rising to meet her own with silent desire. If the lioness had been unsure before, there was no mistaking his intent now. She was welcome to touch him, should she wish it. He shows her by inclining the warm curve of his mouth down to the shadowy crook of her throat, where he places languid, enticing pecks against her bright skin. “Just like the sight of me brought you back, you need a memory to cling to. Something to remind you that you’re ‘horse’.” He explains with a throaty chuckle, knees unwinding to plant his forehooves firmly into the soil.
The warg rises, a cascade of shimmering blue that ripples with every roll of muscle and unfurls to reveal the handsome picture of a rake. Claw casts his gaze out upon her, over the claimed valleys of her shoulders and the ripe promise of her honeyed hips; he grins with a devilish flare and motions for her to rise and join him.
“I’ve dreamt of the taste of you, how your blood melted over my tongue and mingled into my own.” He moans, easing forward to grab her gently with his teeth - the crook of her hip will do nicely. “You’re mine, and I’m yours.” He growls, hoping to awaken just enough of her primal side that she might understand his longing, his hunger. It could be fun, in that sense. All she needed was a push, or to simply try.
“Let me give you a memory to cling to - one you won’t soon forget.” The stallion smirks, increasing the tension of his grip on her until he can feel the threat of his fangs piercing her skin and then, Longclaw tugs backwards once. His powerful neck strains with the action, allowing him to move forward and greet her supple backside with the rough shove of his thick chest.
The lioness is still very much at the front of her mind. Though separate creatures, they are one too. The primal instincts and desires, the lioness’ confidence too, are still there. And she doesn’t want to hear him talk. He always spoke for both of them, her vocal cords lacking the ability to answer him, and Marigold likes to hear him talk. She likes to hear him say how he was there for her, that she was his. It offered her guidance and comfort. But now. Now she only wanted hím.
Longclaw offers it and for once Marigold doesn’t hesitate to take it. Her muzzle, first gently, brushes his neck, then, more demanding, it’s firmer until he gives her exactly what she wants. Her head tilts to offer him her throat. Her breaths are soft pants and if she’d been able to, she would’ve moaned at his words. He’s so very right. Marigold needs him to give her something she can return to, not just now, but always. The lack of words has her pressing herself closer against him, in silent agreement.
He is simply stunning, beautiful even. The way the little light makes his coat shimmer only adds more to her desire. As she watches him she’s frozen, well, until he urges her up. Longclaw doesn’t need to ask her twice. Her movements are everything but graceful, her legs longer than she’d anticipated and she has hooves rather than claws. It doesn’t stop Marigold from pressing her form up against him.
The little bob – all that’s left from her once long blonde tail – flicks into the air the moment he growls those simple yet meaningful words. She’d been his ever since they first met, but he had never been hers. The words are enough to spin the palomino woman around, her head now facing Longclaw’s direction. A few quick steps and she is beside him, hunger in her gaze as her eyes lock upon him.
Her muzzle trails down his crest towards his withers, teeth uncontrollably getting sharper and more feline like. Nothing about her touch is gentle, tugging and pulling on his mane and her teeth starching his skin. Her journey ends at his withers, there where the lioness had briefly scraped his skin. A long breath escapes past her lips, all it lacks is the sound, but it is a moan nevertheless. One more nip at his withers and a quick glance in his direction, before she turns her rump towards his face. At the same time she can feel Longclaw’s threatening to pierce her skin and oh, how much the feeling thrills her. She pushes back against him, begging him to fulfil his threat. Her chest rumbles in a silent purr, and her own nips against his flank become more demanding and aggressive.
Marigold is more than ready for him to finally get to business. Her ears flick back against her skull and her neck bends as she bares her teeth at him while he’s positioned behind her. One hindleg rises from the ground in silent threat, and at the same time she presses her rump against his blue chest, rather impatiently. Her hoof meets the ground with a loud stomp, followed by a snort and a sharp shake of her head. No more games indeed.
He’d been expecting something, but what she gives him is so much better instead. The energy between Claw and his Lioness is nearly palpable; if one were to touch it they would withdraw in haste, cheeks flaming and eyes downcast with shame.
But Longclaw feels no such thing as that.
It’s the vice, the curse - an oily entity that ate away emotions like guilt or humiliation, leaving behind the blue shell of confidence and insatiable lust. Femur had been the only one thus far to break the spell (intermittently) and in those brief lapses he recoiled at the creature he’d become.
But this isn’t one of those moments. This is one of those moments where Diorae’s presentation of her irresistible backside (conveniently, aggressively cupped flush with his heaving chest) makes him lose all sense of the ‘here-and-now’. He feels instantly hard; by god she’s an animal - no, she’d been an animal this whole time - and he thanks his lucky stars for having roved across her little hiding spot that warm day, so long ago.
Especially when that hind leg of hers tilts up with the promise of a reaction, should he continue. Marigold is … teasing him? Claw chuckles, a throaty rumble that vibrates against her skin because his mouth is still connected to her. She’s impatient, made all the more so when he takes another moment to leave her demanding, but when the crescent of her hoof slams audibly against the packed earth Claw growls in unspoken pleasure and lifts his head.
He takes another second (they all belong to him anyways, her life is his to command) and appraises the ferocity in her golden form. She’s untamed, wildly beautiful, stunning.
“Mine. All mine.” He thinks, hind legs buckling to heave himself with shocking fluidity up and over her. The round curve of his knees as they dig into her sides and roll over her ribs to settle behind Marigold’s shoulders is familiar and all too sweet. Claw shudders at the warm, heavy feeling his intrusion gives. He aches in his gut for relief but there’s brief comfort in simply settling into her, knowing her, claiming her inch by inch.
The consolation prize is never enough, though. He wants her, all of her, and with practised control the warg begins a slow assault of tug and push, building her brick by brick, thrust by thrust. Eventually he loses himself again, forgetting nonsensical things like tempo or rhythm for more carnal desires until the dry rasp of his grating snarl is all that accompanies each forceful plunge. He can’t discern if Marigold is with him in this hour or if she’s somewhere floating in her own sea of pleasure but he wouldn’t care anyways.
He’s ready; the Tephran wildcat has done more than enough to satiate his appetite and with a moaning, final heave Claw succumbs to the inevitable end. For a few, gasping breaths he lies immobile atop her, knowing without prior knowledge that this coupling could very well produce a sibling or two for Wildling. The sweat-soaked beast can’t find it within himself to be upset at this possibility. He only grunts and withdraws, landing with a solid thump to inspect the area of their union before raking a dry tongue over the curves of Marigold’s slick thighs.
“Be fruitful.” He commands of her body, a plea that escapes in a hushed whisper as he abandons her hind in favor of joining her side-by-side. Much like their first coupling, he has little to say. Only a warm, wicked kiss against the sharp pane of her cheek and then, “I want to see you more often. When I call a gathering for Tephra’s guard, be there.”
@[Diorae] Every time I go to tag her I always type 'Marigold' first and then I have to delete it and type in her real name lmao
Her expression sours as he chuckles. Ears flick back, even touching her neck for a brief moment, and the annoyance is clear in her eyes as she glances across her shoulder. The lioness within her wants to growl at him, but in both forms her vocal cords are lacking. However, Longclaw has always been able to read her perfectly well. Marigold had never needed words in his presence. That today was different couldn’t be more frustrating.
Impatiently she bumps her rear against his chest, the stump of her blonde tail flicked up. It is in stark contrast with the dark blue of the warg’s coat. He is the sea and she the sunset horizon, coming together in an erotic dance.
His, all his, but fuck, can’t he get down to business? Or up, in this case. By the time he finally raises himself of the ground, Marigold cannot be more ready. A grunt escapes past her lips and eager she bucks up her rear lightly. Never with the intention to get him off, but simply to make clear she is willing, and in a hurry.
Her stance widens and head rises slightly. Soon her flanks are sweaty, her breathing speeding with each of his thrusts until she’s panting. The harder his thrusts get, the heavier her pants grow. Marigold cannot moan, nor cry out in pleasure, or even urge him on, but each and every breath of air coming from her parted lips are as much of pleasured noises as Longclaw’s loud grunts.
Claws shrink black to hooves, the ground under them all turned over and a battlefield on its own. Marigold doesn’t notice. Her head drops towards the ground ever so slightly, and her sides heave with every breath she takes. Pleasure is still on the very front of her mind and in that state she cannot even get herself to mind his inspection. When Carnage had taken her tail she’d been so embarrassed, humiliated even, but she revels in the knowledge that he’d failed to scare Longclaw away from her. Revels in the knowledge that he likes it. She shudders, the blond fluff off her tail swaying.
Her lips twitch ever so slightly. She could’ve known that offspring was one of the things on his mind. The golden cat hadn’t even thought of what the result of their coupling might be, want had been first and foremost on her mind. Just as close proximity is all she desires now. Her golden lips trail down his neck, much gentler than before, though still very much daring than last time they’d seen each other.
She ignores that cuddling might not be on his mind. She wants it. And he had said he was hers. So she takes it. Her sweat slick side pressed against his as his lips land on her cheek. Her eyes narrow at his words, she wants bask in the aftermath of their coupling, but they both know she would be there. Marigold isn’t in the place to deny him anything, so she drops her head in silent agreement.
With that out of the way, the last bit of wildness pushes her to move. Marigold doesn’t move away from his side, but her lips take free reign over the canvas that is Longclaw. The corners of his lips, which get a sharp nip, up to his cheek and she eventually rests her muzzle in the crook of his neck. With a deep breath she takes his scent to her, basking herself in his scent and the musk smell of their dance.
But it’s not enough. An impatient nip and a more gentle push of her nose. She wants his touch too. His caress, his attention. It’s not reassurance she seeks, or the lovely dovely cuddling of lovers. It’s his attention she wants, the lioness was far more possessive than Marigold would ever be herself.
There’s a change in his little bird. The fevered touch of her lips pressing, preening, even parting to allow her teeth a nip or two - this is very unlike the Marigold he so remembers. For a moment Longclaw is numb to the sensation, he’s busy thinking about the future anyways. But then her drive becomes thick with intent (she clearly wants something) and so he pushes the haze of pride and lustful satisfaction away to refocus it on her.
He’s content enough for now to let her have her way.
“Playful thing.” He calls her, but she won’t mistake the humor in his voice or the wild glint that suddenly sparks in his eyes. The male in him takes over, twisting his body around so that the two are tail-to-nose and from there, Claw is happy to begin grooming her. There’s no rush; for now everything is peaceful and Tephra isn’t erupting in flames. Longclaw has ample time to work loose the knots gathering around her shoulders, to smooth the sweat-wrinkled skin of her back with a quick scratch scratch of his exposed teeth.
He works methodically; never without reason or purpose. “I wonder how many times you’ve shifted yet?” He ponders out loud, for her benefit. “It would be … interesting,” he pauses, “to run together in our other skins, don’t you think?” The blue stallion offers, surprising himself at the suddenness of it. The feel of the wolfskin had become close to annoying in the last few months, but for the sake of Marigold’s wellbeing and his own peace of mind, he knew she needed to learn the art like the back of her hoof.
“Or paw, in this case.” He thinks silently to himself, a soft gust of a laughter the only sound to accompany his invitation to switch their forms.
![[Image: sScEgld.png]](http://i.imgur.com/sScEgld.png)
