[mature] a wind full of infinite space; Longclaw

[Longclaw]

LONGCLAW

-I close my eyes, ignore the smoke-

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.

@[Femur] ... ta-da??