"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
06-06-2018, 03:18 PM (This post was last modified: 06-22-2018, 08:00 PM by Crevan.)
Our skin gets thicker, living out in the snow
CREVAN
Beyond the well-traveled sections of Sylva, somewhere to the west of her boundaries, is the strange mass of boulders (once bedrock, but now exposed by the elements) he calls home. Their smooth, gray surfaces are peppered in moss and pale blue lichen, worn down by time and magic - it’s there the bicolored wolf travels to, slipping past the borders of the red-gold forest under cover of nightfall. Crevan knows that before this Beqanna existed there was another, much more different world they inhabited and sometimes he wonders if these are not stones from that very same place, just repositioned from some old land to fit this new Beqanna.
The smattering of gigantic rocks was never much to him, before Merida. Just a place to keep his back dry while he slept between jobs. Nowadays the thought of returning to it’s familiar safety gave the skin-changer a rush of excitement, knowing that he could find her there every night. Almost ironic; he’d promised to chase her to the ends of the earth and instead here she was, coming after him to Sylva. Crevan laughs the thought away, hurrying through the trails of their territory in the hushed silence of pre-dawn.
It must be late, his excursion to the common lands had been fruitful but somewhat awry and afterwards he’d made double-time by pushing himself into a frantic run. The new Hellraiser was aware that she’d be waiting for him and that alone was reason to drive his lungs to bursting, and send his muscles into screaming cramps of fire. The predator only slows when he can see the dark outline of his den, chest heaving and sides lathered in sweat, before stopping at their base to listen for his familiar partner. “Merida?” He pants, slinking ahead to duck beneath an overhanging slab of stone, “I’ve got news.”
06-08-2018, 12:53 PM (This post was last modified: 06-08-2018, 12:53 PM by Merida.)
Merida
Wondering where you've been all my life, I just started living
The sound of his arrival is not stealthy or quiet; his large paws make soft beats on the damp undergrowth of the familiar forest, the soft hiss of pine needles brushing away from the urgency in his movement. Large, soot-lined ears swivel interestedly, her head rising from the ground to peer out from beneath the canopy of stone and vine. A gentle whuff leaves her pointed snout, tipping her chin upwards and inhaling the air that now permeates with his scent, which leads her to leap to her slender paws immediately. Merida? The sound of his voice, especially when speaking her name, allows a sleepy and happy bark to escape her, bounding to him in just a few graceful leaps.
“News, Crevan?” her voice is quiet on the night air, the soft whisper of moonlit crickets echoing in a nighttime chorus. The fox nearly weaves herself between his forelegs, the blackness of her nose searching and sniffing at his fur, deciphering where he had been with the scent that clings to the wolf. She halts when she is beside him, and though his behemoth form towers over her, her forelegs lift off the ground for a moment so that she may place a gentle lick at the corner of his mouth. Her paws hit the stony ground softly, her nose wrinkling playfully. “News that may explain where you have been?”
Merida’s tail flicks excitedly behind her, the white tip curling around her paws as she turns to sit before him on slender haunches. The ivory of her breast now shows boldly in his position, her ears pricked towards him in curiosity and expectancy. Merida had heard all the rumors of course (of the clown-King, of his minions, and of the chaos and devastation they aim for), but none of these rumors cause her any sleepless nights, nor for any worry to wrap its icy grip around her heart or mind. She had Crevan, after all, and she has made it clear that he is all she needs. His well being, as well as her own, are the only things that she cares to stress about. The things that go bump in the night do not frighten her, or phase her, at this point.
She’s the only one who knows the tread of his step, the glint in his eye. Crevan can’t hide anything from her, nor does he want to - Merida is his rock, an anchor to this tumultuous life he leads. His honesty towards her is expected and he gives it freely, especially as she twines between his sturdy forelegs and tempts him with heated kiss. All he wants is to bury her beneath the folds of his thick fur, to literally flop on top of the sly little vixen and drown her with his own affection, but Merida the fox’s quip about his absence suddenly sets Crevan’s mind to rights.
Damn was she distracting.
He sits when she does, mimicking the proud rise of her chest by puffing out his own. “The clown King named me his general,” The wolf starts, eyeing his accomplice with a dastardly handsome smirk, “so you best start respecting me. I outrank you now.” He growls playfully, lifting one creamy paw to bat at her head. It’s killing him, sitting here and talking to her about work when he’d much rather be burying the crook of his wet, brown nose into her familiar nape, but he settles nonetheless and tries his best to be serious, (if only for a minute.) “I … took a captive tonight. A mare from Tephra.” He admits with only a hint of hesitance.
He’s not sure how Merida will take the news. She doesn’t share in his affinity for chaos, and he certainly wouldn’t pull her into that world but … if they’re going to be together, together together, then she’s got to be aware of what he’s doing in his free time. “At the request of Queen Astarael; not by my own choice.” The wolf follows, as if this will smooth over the deed.
Still, he’s not a child. He knows the imminent danger that comes with something like kidnapping, and he accepts those consequences because he knows that whatever may come, it won’t be death. Only pain, and that feeling was fleeting.
“Does this … upset you?” He tests, every jovial line in his face softening to give him a careful, grave sort of look. Forget the king and his wench, forget the prisoner, forget this place - his steady, nightlock eyes are locked onto her fiery red ones while they search for truth; her answer is his guide and law now.
@[Merida] not where I was expecting it to go but here it is, I hope it's alright <3
Wondering where you've been all my life, I just started living
Merida’s brilliant gaze never leaves him - staring at him expectantly, the thin pink of her tongue rolling across one side of her black-lined lips. She cares not for ranks or titles, and her face remains expressionless until the familiar, charming smile pulls at his mouth. Her nose wrinkles (attempting to hide the sheer pleasure of seeing him so wickedly proud and attractively so), but she cannot hide the way his own smile brings her one of her own. It’s distracting; enough so that when his large paw taps her head, she did not even attempt to sidle out of the way. Her snout, however, tips up and she snaps at it, but he has already drawn away and her sharp teeth click dully on emptiness. Merida’s chin presses to the stark white of her chest, a sly grin chilling finding her lips. “Never.” Her reply is teasing - there is no bit of truth in it.
A brow quirks amusedly. A captive?
Does this...upset you?
She is standing now, moving forward to place herself fittingly between the broadness of his forelegs, his chest just covering her head as she sits. The fox snorts, her slender snout snuffling into his chest, parting the thickness of his fur until it finds skin, burying herself into him. She inhales deeply, her sigh a soft shudder of breath against him. “Don’t lie,” she muses, though her voice is muffled by the thickness of his creamy fur, “the queen doesn’t control your actions.” Can anyone? Merida pauses, leaning back slightly to peer up at the wolf with curious, gleaming red eyes. Her expression is coy, light; the semblance of a smirk pulling at her mouth.
“No, it does not upset me.”
He is perhaps the one thing to truly be feared in this forest; she finds it amusing that the royal couple thinks that they are controlling him - as if every whim and request will be followed dutifully by him, without question.
Her smile fades suddenly. “If something happens to you...” Merida’s ears fall back, her brow furrowing as obvious worry trickles onto her thin, pretty face. She nips his chin lightly, the catch of his skin between her teeth swiftly turning into a soft kiss. “Don’t let anything happen to you.”Don't get caught. She lowers her head, shifting her weight to comfortably lean against him, her spine curling in a slight stretch. It is a command; perhaps the only rule she would ask him to follow. There are things worse than death, she knows.
She hopes Crevan knows this, too.
Merida would not join in taking captives or wreaking havoc; but she truly does not care about the clown-King or his minions, or what the queen is trying to do when it came to striking fear into Beqanna. Merida doesn’t even worry about herself in the forest of death and blood (she smiles idly; let them try to hurt her). She did know, however, that Crevan is ruthless and powerful (more so than she) and he is proud of his endeavors, despite them being harrowing and dangerous. She can easily let him have his fun, as long as he returns to her. All she cares for is their own well being; selfish it may be, but it is where her heart lies.
Ah, to feel her there, pressed against his ever-beating heart. Crevan often marvels at the bold color of Merida - red, like the blood coursing through him - and how wildly it clashes against his own mute, yellowed tones. The way her slender, black-gloved paws situate themselves around his own is all the more interesting to him than their discussion on how Modicum and Astarael are a world apart from theirs.
The wolf is focused on how his nose trails just above her own when Merida tilts her sly mouth up towards him, and he wonders at all the ways his own lips might fit against that cupid’s bow …
The she-fox interrupts his thoughts, causing Crevan to blink in half-interest to her sweet, worried plea. “The gentlest I’ve ever seen her.” He muses to himself, smiling through her worry. He doesn’t even mind that she requests he stay safe, (where was the fun in that?) only finds himself nodding once as she curls against him, and lowering his body towards the earth to envelope her in his embrace.
“All this talk of danger,” He rumbles, shoving his pointed nose roughly against Merida’s shoulder to flip the fox on her back. His outstretched forelegs will be waiting to catch her, (really all it takes is a little twist on her part,) but he’s longing to ruffle her ticklish spots if she’s got them and the wolf isn’t really in the mood for no tonight, “I’d rather be talking about you.”
Unabashed, the wetness of his nose is suddenly thrust into the stark whiteness of her breast. He inhales her, parts his teeth to nip the tender skin beneath gently and never in the same spot twice. “We should den here, if you like this place enough.” The wolf suggests, somewhat muffled by the way he’s trailing kisses down her belly, “Leave our scent here, make it ours.” Merida’s lover growls.
06-22-2018, 07:11 PM (This post was last modified: 06-22-2018, 07:11 PM by Merida.)
Merida
Wondering where you've been all my life, I just started living
All this talk of danger and once again he reminds her why she should never be afraid. Not like she used to be, when she traveled the world alone and weak without anything to defend herself. She’s different now, thanks to him finding her in the forest many years ago. It’s funny how it has taken them this long to get to where they are now - kin, lovers, partners. She had never thought she would value the feeling of being wanted(love was for fools who chased after nothing) but he has made her a believer. Never would she admit that she had once been terrified of wandering alone and now she sits in the forest of madness and death, curled beneath his chest like it is the safest place in the world. Because it is.
She snarls at him as the massive bulk of his envelopes the petiteness of her flaming frame, but it is all in play. There is a soft bark of protest that escapes her lips as he easily turns her over. He is right - all it would take is a little twist to escape the prison he’s put her in - but she allows herself to be caught, the snarl on her mouth quickly turning into a mischievous smirk (one that looks quite fitting on the snout of a fox.) She’s about to ask him why in the world he would want to talk about her, but the tender part of her white stomach is being slathered with kisses and huffs of warm breath. There is a laugh that escapes her throat, her black-laced forepaws stretching up to attempt to knock his snout away from her, boxing him in the jaw a few times playfully but not really wanting him to stop.
The fox hears him as her attempts to shove him away suddenly lessen, one paw pressing gently against his broad chest while the other is folded preenly against her ribs. Still lying flat, she turns her head in the dirt to glance at the rock formation that she had been quick to label as their resting place, surveying it again with an intense red gaze through thoughtful, narrow lids. He’s still whuffling into her fur and a broad grin flashes onto her black-lined lips. “Ours,” she repeats, the alto of her snarling voice matching the intensity in which he had growled to her his suggestion. Gracefully and in one swift movement, the fox reaches her head up to nip at the underside of his strong jaw, then twisting and leaping away from his shower of affection.
Merida saunters towards the den (and perhaps he has bounded after her), giving it one more look before throwing her head over her shoulder at Crevan, her smoldering gaze watching him expectantly. She pauses, swaying her white-tipped tail behind her slowly. Merida shifts (just for him, always for him) just before the opening of what would become their new home. The equine replaces the vulpine, but the look is all the same - watching him over her shoulder, her flaming red tail slipping back against the obsidian of her smooth haunches, peppered with freckles of intense scarlet.
“Well, Crevan?” Her voice challenges him, a single brow rising as the same cunning smile curls onto charcoal lips. Perhaps he would be able to hear the desperation that lingers beneath the sultry sound of her voice; to be chased down and hunted, but only by him.
Merida is like water and fire together, slipping out of his iron grasp when Crevan thinks he’s got her centered. He lets her go because she’d been so nice about it at first, those sharp, loving pecks against his chin and lips a favorite for the tawny wolf. Besides, he enjoys watching her leave even if she won’t get too far - already he’s risen from his comfortable position, eyes locked onto her swaying tail and suggestive hips. Words escape him for the moment; he only feels the urgent pulse of adrenaline and the impulse to have her beneath him again, at a different angle.
Instead he smirks, appreciating the art of her shift and how every muscle, line, and curve of her becomes all the more beautiful during the transition. From the swell of her taut, slender belly to the ample bust of her hindquarters, the black-and-freckled red mare seems like a dark siren or savior while she stands at the gaping mouth of their home and Crevan … he does his best to ignore the tight clench of muscle between his own back legs.
Merida’s new shape beckons his own from somewhere deep, causing the wolf’s spine to jerk upwards in a sharp curve before the fur of his second skin ribbons away and the form of his true self, a rich mocha stallion, bursts up and out to take its place. In wild tangles, Crevan’s indigo forelock drifts across his vision and he strides readily forward, whuffing the essence of his mate’s sweat and desire until his lips curl from pure need.
“Should I be nice, give you a head start?” The rogue male mutters in a thick, husky breath.
He doesn’t wait for an answer; his feet are already in motion and tonight, (no matter how far his woodland nymph runs or teases,) the Hellraiser of Sylva intends to have her for himself. He’s waited long enough, ignored the temptations of lesser men and buried these emotions deep inside of himself, but Merida (black witch that she is) puts a torch to his already blazing hunger.
“Come here, girl.” He snarls, regardless of whether she listens or not.
Wondering where you've been all my life, I just started living
She is not disappointed at the sound of his paws rising behind hers, the mass of his weight already shadowing her. The vivid red of her eyes watch intensely as he follows her lead, melting away into the dark champagne muscle and sinew of a stallion, draped with strands of indigo that frame each sharp angle of his face and the thick, corded muscles of his neck. There is a hum of satisfaction in her throat as the sleekness of her ebony neck curves all the more to see him better as he advances upon her with purposeful, powerful strides. His question is directed to her as a jest, but the sound of his voice is anything but play. Merida’s own face becomes quite serious in response, though there really is no way for her to hide the way he creates a sparkling of desire that boldly flashes in her scarlet eyes.
“You know I would hate to be given special treatment, Crevan.”
She says his name again because she likes the way it sounds on her tongue, laden with the heaviness of her voice and the gentle burning of fire that has begun to spread through her, beginning at her back and trickling temptingly down her spine. The mare’s teeth bare slightly (in the moment, her fox-self and horse-self somehow blurring into one entity), her dark lips rippling into a grin. Her ears flick back slightly into her mane defiantly, lifting her chin as he commands her to come to him. Merida does not move away from him but she stands her ground, lifting a foreleg and stamping it into the ground almost impatiently. She knows that she fuels the fire, adding to the hunger and the driving instincts that propel both him and herself as they stand in the doorway of their home, the burning forest of Sylva surrounding them.
“Come and get me,” she retorts, and perhaps if she had been fox she would have darted into the depths of the rocks and shadow, forcing him to give chase to the petite and spryness of the fox. But she is not, and as the autumn sun blazes boldly through the canopy as the sun burns into a vivid sunset, she remains where she has planted herself, more than willing to meet the whirlwind of predator and man that rages behind her.
He’ll give her special treatment, all right. Where the roar of a stallion comes from inside of him, Crevan can’t be sure but currently, he’s aware he doesn’t care. All he knows is the way his mouth locks itself around the proud apex of her blazing neck feels right, and he doesn’t stop himself from forcing Merida flush against the rough stone outside their home when otherwise he’d give her an opportunity to weasel out. The tangible feel of his strength quivers beneath muscle and skin, still just a mere flicker of his sheer will and yet it might seem to her like being locked inside an iron vice.
He could grind the soft bones of her crest if he wanted to, but instead the ashen brown shifter longs to worship her; he loosens his hold on the black dame’s neck but keeps her crushed gently beneath the weight of his side. “I should devour you,” Crevan snorts, breathing her in with eyes closed, “Simultaneously the most horrible -” he pauses, easing backwards and nipping firstly at her shoulder, and then her red-flecked belly. “- and the most fucking mind-blowing creature I’ve ever met.”
Hovering above her sharp hip bone, his mouth toys along the curve of her supple hind until it reaches the opposite side and once there, it digs itself between her body and the stone, shoving one away from the other. Now that he has her Crevan does exactly as she commands, both forelegs easing up and around her spotted back before he loses himself inside of her.
@[Merida] he does what he wants and that is Merida. LMK if you want anything changed
Wondering where you've been all my life, I just started living
A rugged gasp leaves her obsidian lips as her chest is thrown into the smooth, cold rock of their den, her neck twisting into a thick curve with the pressure of his mouth against the tangled tendrils of her mane. He’s pinned her between the solid stone and himself, a warmth spreading through her that has not shown itself in years. The feeling is carnal and white hot as it filters through her most sensitive parts, settling into the pit of her stomach as she begins to pant, her breath filled with desire and a lust she didn’t know she could feel. His voice makes her weak - dripping with strength and passion, rough as it pulses against the sleek black of her flesh, soft gasps leaving her in deep and shuddering exhales, encouraging him and frustrating him in one breath.
I should devour you.
Her eyes roll upwards, the burning of her scarlet irises hidden beneath fluttering black lids. His mouth travels quickly, nipping her velveteen skin with purpose and awe, trailing across the curve of her round buttocks. Her ears pin against her neck, a sharp squeal leaving her throat as a single foreleg raises and crashes loudly against stone, tormented and angry all at once. “Devour me, Crevan..” she pleads in a single exhale of breath as she allows him to ready herself for him, more than willing to croon for him beneath his weight.
“Eat me up.”
He is selfish but so is she, stepping back easily into the solidity of the pressure of him between her legs. He is pulsing with desire and her body throbs in kind, quaking with desperation and uncontrollable need that only Crevan can satiate. It feels right being beneath a man she had unknowingly desired for what seems like an eternity, each movement beneath him made with urgency and purpose. She aches for him, their coupling smooth and natural and fierce all at once - as if she had been crafted just for him. She has had sex before, but with each stroke paired with the intermingling of their sweat and sharp cries of ecstasy, she realizes that this is making love.
Primal, rugged, dirty, fervent, powerful - the physical manifestation of how he consistently makes her feel.
