[mature] The veil of deception; Femur

[Longclaw]

LONGCLAW

-I close my eyes, ignore the smoke-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tell me yes.”

@[Femur]