Our skin gets thicker, living out in the snow
CREVAN
Appropriately, she bites him; snaps her irritated jaws together and nicks a good piece of his upper lip. He could be mad but Crevan hardly flinches, feeling the wound repair itself in record time while his gaze locks onto the shape of Merida’s animated face. The woman could call his name all she liked - he rather preferred it coming out of her mouth (especially in that tone,) but he’d never budge. Not now, when her coat is bristled on end and she sweeps past him in pompous anger.
The line of his sight only moves along with every black-footed stride she takes, watching with rapt attention though she chooses to ignore his glare. There was something inevitably frustrating and yet teasing about her: it reminded him of giving chase to a wild hare. He knows the familiarity of this hunt, and he can feel the same type of bloodlust surge throughout him when the little she-fox twists a defiant stare in his direction. He thinks, She should know by now how our hunts together end…
And then her mouth opens.
The wolf’s snout curls into a silent snarl, part agitated and part excited. Beneath his pale brows, his eyes have widened and he watches breathlessly for the first sign of her change - wondering all the while if he’s pushed her too far, or too hard.
He forgets all too easily just who’s standing opposite him.
From one skin to another, Merida holds his interest and more. The way her lush, fiery coat fades away - ink spreading across her legs as they transform - and she watches him the whole time; bold, insubordinate … cloaked in embers and framed in dangerous crimson. This state of undress, something that feels so intimate as Crevan meets her gaze and lifts his chin, rouses his other soul to strain against his bones. For once, the stallion is fighting for control.
He chooses not to resist it. Merida is speaking but his ears are closed to her words; the wolf is busy stalking towards her on feet that change as he walks. Stride for stride he matches her skill of shedding one pelt for the other, a dark sense of urgency driving him forwards as their scrutiny of each other deepens. He can’t look away or stop from inching near her once he’s finished, either. Crevan only lurches to a heavy stop and hovers his nose above hers.
She could bite him all she liked.
“How long are you going to stand there and make me look foolish?” The muddy stallion grunts, somewhere low in his throat.
@[Merida] 0 shame for being obsessed