[Kora] "I know it," her response is quiet, low and confident. She does. It's not bravado: she knows it. She knows it the way she knows what she is, inside her body, knowledge that is a physical thing, reliable and sure as the instincts buried inside the animal beneath her skin, the wolf that lives underneath, in, around the woman that she is. He can feel the width of her smile against his throat, framing her teeth as they close over his skin. In the warmth of the room, in the intimate space between them, a flush of arousal spreads beneath her fair skin. He cups the back of her head, pushing his blunt fingers through the fine strands of her pale hair. Her hair is soft, damp in the center of the mass, underneath the outter layer, and it smells of him. Surrounds her in his scent.
He pulls her to his mouth, kisses her fully; she responds, leaning forward, her left hand planted on the pillow beside his right ear, bracing her weight as she kisses him back, kisses him breathless, kisses him as if she could survive, somehow, on the air inside his lungs, pushing back down into the bed and follows in his wake.
Somewhere in the middle of all this, she breaks off, breathless, laughing low against his mouth, her hair curtaining loose around their faces, snagging his lower lip between her teeth, biting just enough to leave the faintest impression of her teeth against his skin. She sits back against him, then, her face and body flushes, her eyes shining, and twists across him to the bedside table, snagging an unopened condom from the box there, tossing it back toward him, so that it lands on his chest, near his right shoulder.
"You open it," she directs in a low murmur, as she returns to him, her mouth against his ear, her body a compact curve above his. " - then I'll put it on you." Snagging the cartilage between her teeth, soothing it away with her tongue, "Hurry."
[Trent Brumby] Kissing her, he is pushed down into the bed, sliding down with a push of a hand to lift both their bodies and lay back against the pillows. His hands roam from her hair down her back, gripping the top curve of her backside, pushing her down to meet the slow rub of hips. She leaves him breathless, laughing as she reaches away from him. He takes the opportunity to watch her stretch, sliding a hand up to brush along her ribs and the underside of her breast, tracing it with his thumb, before a condom lands on his chest, making him laugh quietly.
Hands slide off her as he grabs the packet and begins to tear it open. Her bite has him inhale a sharp breath between teeth, followed by a pleased groan and curling smile. He'd offer her the condom, holding the packet open, eyes shining as he watched her take it. What followed was his hands on her hips, with him slightly elevated against the pillows, watching her move above him, encouraging it with direct eye contact and rolling muscles beneath her. That was only the beginning.
----
It's rare that he gets totally spent, but she's done that to him tonight. His body has shifted from a nice exhaustion to a weakened one. Tomorrow he was going to be sore like he'd swam laps for hours in the gym, but his back and stomach muscles had their workout for a week. He left her, briefly, in his bed while he fetched water from the kitchen, and when he returned he handed her one and set his own, already half empty, on the bedside table. Sliding back into the sheets, he lay out on his back, stretching it out and letting out a sigh. "You're going to wear me out," he murmured, sounding quite content with the idea, even if tired - and he had to get up in a matter of hours for work.
Reaching for her after she's had a drink, or discarded it, he pulled her to lay against him again, brushing her hair out of the way and worms until the both of them are comfortable. "Tell me what's going to happen now. Joe clearly doesn't like what we're doing." That was an understatement.
[Kora] "He doesn't," she confirms, as she settles against him, her head cushioned on his arm this time, her good left shoulder tucked against his body, just careful of the injured right. Her chin is lifted so that she can watch him as he speaks, the muscles underneath his jaw, the band of tendon from jaw to cheek. So that she can catch the edge of his pale eyes when he looks down at her, smiling lazily against his bicep.
" - we fought after you left." She says it quietly, without rancor and without approbation. "I won." - without bravado, too. Instead, the statement of her victory is followed by a gentle kiss near the attachment of his bicep, lazy, seeking, but not hungry. "Then we hunted.
"He won't - he won't stand in my way." Her voice has an amber tinge, now, burred from the night's use. "I know that didn't go well, but he won't stand in my way on this. And other Fenrir, they won't feel the same way he does. Joe's an extremist. A fanatic. He loves all that is Fenrir to distraction, and sees everything else as wrong, as weak. He thinks somehow you've seduced me to steal the lore of my ancestors for your tribe. To undermine my strength, or weaken the blood or - there's no logic to it. It's the fanatic's view of the world. He thought you were chastising him; he saw red.
"Most Fenrir will say: the strong come to Fenris no matter the blood. And a daughter of Fenris can take and claim whatever she has the strength to keep. So," again she stretches, lifts her chin to rest it on his arm. Her eyes are dark, half-lidded, her mouth is bruised from kissing him to distraction. " - the next step. I'll go to your tribe in the next few days. Adamidas. Or," she brushes her mouth against his skin, again. " - her Alpha."
[Trent Brumby] He listens to her talk without interruption and without offering anything immediately after either. His hand curled around her is relaxed, just the thumb stroking her skin, back and forth with a slow rhythm. Head back, he's allowing his body to sink into the mattress and pillows, to become lazy and recover from a night of demanding sex. Occasionally he turns his head to look at her, the clear of his eyes beginning to show the signs of tiredness in the redness of the whites and the way they aren't as sharp as they were before. They're still thoughtful and coherent, but begin to reflect the way his body is feeling.
When he does speak up, it's after she's finished, a pause between her words and his own. "Should it be Adamidas? She's of absolutely no relation to me. I don't know how the protocols work with the Garou, but I have to say, from my view, it seems strange you would need to get permission from a girl, a Garou that has nothing to do with me, other then sharing Tribal blood."
[Kora] "Mmmph," she makes a low, thoughtful sound in the back of her throat. It isn't negation. It isn't confirmation. It's something inbetween, something provisional, something considered. " - if you were Fenrir, I would go to the Jarl first. Then, if you had a close relative who was born true, a mother or father, a brother or sister, I would find them to make my claim. It's different here; with so few kin, and so few families attached to the Sept.
"The Caern is so young that there isn't that sort of - " she pauses, drifting quiet, " -well, the only Furies here are Adamidas and her pack. But," - this has her lift her chin again, has her pulling herself upward, bracing her weight with her hand just above her shoulder, the movement lifts but does not displace his hand, where his thumb drifts lazily against her side, but does spill her long hair down over down her hair, haloing her features, spilling over his shoulder.
" - if you've a close relative who is true born, your mother, an aunt or a cousin, a sister or - " she pauses, her wide mouth curved into an intimate smile, her dark eyes shining as they meet his own, tired, bloodshot, spent. " - someone. That's who I would want to challenge, first. That's who matters to you."
[Trent Brumby] "It's sort of strange, when I sit and think about it," he explains to her. It's not that he had a problem with it, it's merely that it didn't make much sense to him. They, Kin, are possessions in a way. He's not Adamidas' to give away, or any Black Furies other then his family. That's how he saw it. It didn't necessarily that others would see it the same.
But as he listens to her, catches glimpse of her intimate smile and the way her eyes shine, he finds himself smiling in return. His voice is low as he reaches with his free hand, traces fingers from her brow, where it pushes hair back, down the side of her face to her jaw and drops away. "My parents aren't going to be happy, but neither of them are true-born. I have cousins, somewhere, probably." He glances towards the ceiling again, hand resting on his stomach, elbow down on the bed. "I really haven't had much to do with Garou in general. I'll follow your lead."
[Kora] "It's bizarre." Kora agrees, quietly, reaching across his body to the bedside table for her glass of water, taking one last drink - and offering him one last drink, a tip of her wrist and a wry twist of her mouth. " - sometimes I wonder if that's the reason my mother left the tribe. If it was the demands of the war. Or the idea of ownership. Or the - permanent adolescence in the eyes of the nation. She never looked back, though."
Another drink, a slow, thoughtful. "You can come with me, if you like. To speak to her. To challenge for you." The water catches the light, refracts it, casts it back across his body and his bed as she returns the glass to the table, then stretching still further to turn out the light. The long shadow of her arm as she reaches across him, the lean line of her body, both are lost as she reaches and clicks off the lamp, returning them to the sort of breathing darkness in which one sleeps. Her vision is still ready for light, not darkness, and the darkness seems absolute, but she finds her way back to his spent body by feel, twisting at the hips as her hand drifts back, guidepost, finds his shoulder, his chest, she kisses her drifting way back to the hollow of his arm, murmurs a quiet - " - sleep, yeah? Goodnight," against his skin, and settles against him, to drowse, quiet, for an hour or two.
When he wakens in the morning, bleary eyed, his muscles raw with the remnant ache from the night's exertions, she's already gone, a cooling hollow in the sheets beside him, the impression of her farewell kiss a vague, sleepy memory, the sort that has its origins and arises again from a dream. He knows the last thing she said to him, though, quiet and assured right into his half-sleeping mouth. "Mine."
He pulls her to his mouth, kisses her fully; she responds, leaning forward, her left hand planted on the pillow beside his right ear, bracing her weight as she kisses him back, kisses him breathless, kisses him as if she could survive, somehow, on the air inside his lungs, pushing back down into the bed and follows in his wake.
Somewhere in the middle of all this, she breaks off, breathless, laughing low against his mouth, her hair curtaining loose around their faces, snagging his lower lip between her teeth, biting just enough to leave the faintest impression of her teeth against his skin. She sits back against him, then, her face and body flushes, her eyes shining, and twists across him to the bedside table, snagging an unopened condom from the box there, tossing it back toward him, so that it lands on his chest, near his right shoulder.
"You open it," she directs in a low murmur, as she returns to him, her mouth against his ear, her body a compact curve above his. " - then I'll put it on you." Snagging the cartilage between her teeth, soothing it away with her tongue, "Hurry."
[Trent Brumby] Kissing her, he is pushed down into the bed, sliding down with a push of a hand to lift both their bodies and lay back against the pillows. His hands roam from her hair down her back, gripping the top curve of her backside, pushing her down to meet the slow rub of hips. She leaves him breathless, laughing as she reaches away from him. He takes the opportunity to watch her stretch, sliding a hand up to brush along her ribs and the underside of her breast, tracing it with his thumb, before a condom lands on his chest, making him laugh quietly.
Hands slide off her as he grabs the packet and begins to tear it open. Her bite has him inhale a sharp breath between teeth, followed by a pleased groan and curling smile. He'd offer her the condom, holding the packet open, eyes shining as he watched her take it. What followed was his hands on her hips, with him slightly elevated against the pillows, watching her move above him, encouraging it with direct eye contact and rolling muscles beneath her. That was only the beginning.
----
It's rare that he gets totally spent, but she's done that to him tonight. His body has shifted from a nice exhaustion to a weakened one. Tomorrow he was going to be sore like he'd swam laps for hours in the gym, but his back and stomach muscles had their workout for a week. He left her, briefly, in his bed while he fetched water from the kitchen, and when he returned he handed her one and set his own, already half empty, on the bedside table. Sliding back into the sheets, he lay out on his back, stretching it out and letting out a sigh. "You're going to wear me out," he murmured, sounding quite content with the idea, even if tired - and he had to get up in a matter of hours for work.
Reaching for her after she's had a drink, or discarded it, he pulled her to lay against him again, brushing her hair out of the way and worms until the both of them are comfortable. "Tell me what's going to happen now. Joe clearly doesn't like what we're doing." That was an understatement.
[Kora] "He doesn't," she confirms, as she settles against him, her head cushioned on his arm this time, her good left shoulder tucked against his body, just careful of the injured right. Her chin is lifted so that she can watch him as he speaks, the muscles underneath his jaw, the band of tendon from jaw to cheek. So that she can catch the edge of his pale eyes when he looks down at her, smiling lazily against his bicep.
" - we fought after you left." She says it quietly, without rancor and without approbation. "I won." - without bravado, too. Instead, the statement of her victory is followed by a gentle kiss near the attachment of his bicep, lazy, seeking, but not hungry. "Then we hunted.
"He won't - he won't stand in my way." Her voice has an amber tinge, now, burred from the night's use. "I know that didn't go well, but he won't stand in my way on this. And other Fenrir, they won't feel the same way he does. Joe's an extremist. A fanatic. He loves all that is Fenrir to distraction, and sees everything else as wrong, as weak. He thinks somehow you've seduced me to steal the lore of my ancestors for your tribe. To undermine my strength, or weaken the blood or - there's no logic to it. It's the fanatic's view of the world. He thought you were chastising him; he saw red.
"Most Fenrir will say: the strong come to Fenris no matter the blood. And a daughter of Fenris can take and claim whatever she has the strength to keep. So," again she stretches, lifts her chin to rest it on his arm. Her eyes are dark, half-lidded, her mouth is bruised from kissing him to distraction. " - the next step. I'll go to your tribe in the next few days. Adamidas. Or," she brushes her mouth against his skin, again. " - her Alpha."
[Trent Brumby] He listens to her talk without interruption and without offering anything immediately after either. His hand curled around her is relaxed, just the thumb stroking her skin, back and forth with a slow rhythm. Head back, he's allowing his body to sink into the mattress and pillows, to become lazy and recover from a night of demanding sex. Occasionally he turns his head to look at her, the clear of his eyes beginning to show the signs of tiredness in the redness of the whites and the way they aren't as sharp as they were before. They're still thoughtful and coherent, but begin to reflect the way his body is feeling.
When he does speak up, it's after she's finished, a pause between her words and his own. "Should it be Adamidas? She's of absolutely no relation to me. I don't know how the protocols work with the Garou, but I have to say, from my view, it seems strange you would need to get permission from a girl, a Garou that has nothing to do with me, other then sharing Tribal blood."
[Kora] "Mmmph," she makes a low, thoughtful sound in the back of her throat. It isn't negation. It isn't confirmation. It's something inbetween, something provisional, something considered. " - if you were Fenrir, I would go to the Jarl first. Then, if you had a close relative who was born true, a mother or father, a brother or sister, I would find them to make my claim. It's different here; with so few kin, and so few families attached to the Sept.
"The Caern is so young that there isn't that sort of - " she pauses, drifting quiet, " -well, the only Furies here are Adamidas and her pack. But," - this has her lift her chin again, has her pulling herself upward, bracing her weight with her hand just above her shoulder, the movement lifts but does not displace his hand, where his thumb drifts lazily against her side, but does spill her long hair down over down her hair, haloing her features, spilling over his shoulder.
" - if you've a close relative who is true born, your mother, an aunt or a cousin, a sister or - " she pauses, her wide mouth curved into an intimate smile, her dark eyes shining as they meet his own, tired, bloodshot, spent. " - someone. That's who I would want to challenge, first. That's who matters to you."
[Trent Brumby] "It's sort of strange, when I sit and think about it," he explains to her. It's not that he had a problem with it, it's merely that it didn't make much sense to him. They, Kin, are possessions in a way. He's not Adamidas' to give away, or any Black Furies other then his family. That's how he saw it. It didn't necessarily that others would see it the same.
But as he listens to her, catches glimpse of her intimate smile and the way her eyes shine, he finds himself smiling in return. His voice is low as he reaches with his free hand, traces fingers from her brow, where it pushes hair back, down the side of her face to her jaw and drops away. "My parents aren't going to be happy, but neither of them are true-born. I have cousins, somewhere, probably." He glances towards the ceiling again, hand resting on his stomach, elbow down on the bed. "I really haven't had much to do with Garou in general. I'll follow your lead."
[Kora] "It's bizarre." Kora agrees, quietly, reaching across his body to the bedside table for her glass of water, taking one last drink - and offering him one last drink, a tip of her wrist and a wry twist of her mouth. " - sometimes I wonder if that's the reason my mother left the tribe. If it was the demands of the war. Or the idea of ownership. Or the - permanent adolescence in the eyes of the nation. She never looked back, though."
Another drink, a slow, thoughtful. "You can come with me, if you like. To speak to her. To challenge for you." The water catches the light, refracts it, casts it back across his body and his bed as she returns the glass to the table, then stretching still further to turn out the light. The long shadow of her arm as she reaches across him, the lean line of her body, both are lost as she reaches and clicks off the lamp, returning them to the sort of breathing darkness in which one sleeps. Her vision is still ready for light, not darkness, and the darkness seems absolute, but she finds her way back to his spent body by feel, twisting at the hips as her hand drifts back, guidepost, finds his shoulder, his chest, she kisses her drifting way back to the hollow of his arm, murmurs a quiet - " - sleep, yeah? Goodnight," against his skin, and settles against him, to drowse, quiet, for an hour or two.
When he wakens in the morning, bleary eyed, his muscles raw with the remnant ache from the night's exertions, she's already gone, a cooling hollow in the sheets beside him, the impression of her farewell kiss a vague, sleepy memory, the sort that has its origins and arises again from a dream. He knows the last thing she said to him, though, quiet and assured right into his half-sleeping mouth. "Mine."
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