April 10

[captainryan]

April has come and with it the warm weather. Werewolves, for the next six months at least, do not find it quite so miserable to be outdoors for three days in a row.  The level of easy prey is beginning to rise as well, as the animals of the forest begin their reproductive cycles anew. A good time to be a predator.

It’s the last night of the full moon. The right edge has begun to wane ever so slightly, barely noticeable, but its light is still bright over the hills and valleys of Milliways' Scottish simulation. The light is less illuminating under the trees, but still enough to pick out a path without too great a difficulty, provided there’s a path to follow.

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[hell_in_highheels]

Her eyes go wider still as he brings his hands up to hers, lightly pressing the heel of her hand against his.

There's another nervous giggle as he nuzzles her mouth, cataloguing her inadequacies as a predator.

She does understand safe with me, and the accompanying bump. The feeling of relief, both that he's not trying to eat her and that her dream was just that, a dream, brings the sting of tears to her eyes. Giddy joy.

She can't help but throw her arms around his neck and bury her face in his mane.

[captainryan.livejournal.com]

Hugs are not something he's used to in this form. The hand that was up quickly touches ground again to steady himself as he takes her weight.

It's really not all that different from a lean.

You're okay? He queries with a curious sound.

[hell_in_highheels]

She makes a happy canine sound in response, nodding into the warmth of his fur. She just needs to hold him for a long moment, breathing in his scent in great lungfuls. Summer rain on wood-smoked stone mixed with the musk of wolf.

Then she pulls back, because he's a predator and not her own great dog to cuddle like a pet. She looks up into his face, still a bit wary of offending the wolf.

Den?

She feels the bump at her thigh and reaches down to stroke Dam's head and back, leaning back against the very welcome familiar body.

[captainryan.livejournal.com]

You want to stay? He looks past her at the path. They'd been heading out to mark territory, since other wolves are still around, but, well. It'll keep.

This way. He rises to his full height, towering over her, before he turns to face the trail deeper into the woods.

[hell_in_highheels]

She'd offer to go back, but she doesn't want to. And the sight of him rising above her robs her of her language (any language) again. She swallows hard, keeping one hand on his smooth flank. He is no warmer than he is in his human form, but his skin is like nothing she's ever felt.

[captainryan.livejournal.com]

It's more aptly described as 'hide' for one thing. Fur is somewhat limited to his head, back, and a few other choice spots, but everything else is thick dark skin.

The 'wolf steps forward, slipping away from her hand and into a gentle trot. One ear is pinned in her direction, listening sharply to be certain he isn't losing her.

[hell_in_highheels]

She has to stretch to keep up, and soon she's breathing hard. It feels good, her legs and arms moving, forcing the stress to bleed away. She has to focus on him and the placement of her feet, the shadows becoming a blur around them.

For a moment, she allows herself to imagine a different body, one with claws and a muzzle. One with impossibly long legs and a mane. A tiny laugh escapes her lips.

[captainryan.livejournal.com]

He's panting a bit himself but manages a questioning whurfle regardless, both ears flicking back to her. He slows down a bit, thinking perhaps he is going too fast.

He's never run with a human before. It's a new experience for him.

[hell_in_highheels]

She pushes herself to run parallel to him, timing the motion of his body carefully to land a brushing bump as she runs, laughing again. She pulls ahead of him a little, trusting to the path for a few steps to look back over her shoulder at him, her lips pressed tight over her teeth even as she grins. (She knows primate expressions and canine expressions are not analogous.)

He looks so comfortable in this form. Almost... happy.

[captainryan.livejournal.com]

He is happy. She's here, isn't she?

He exclaims playfully as she bumps him, then is content to lope behind her for a bit. As soon as the path widens again, though, he's running next to her, easily keeping pace. He's quite relaxed, tongue lolling in a canine smile.

Damocles keeps behind both of them, smiling too.

[hell_in_highheels]

She turns back to face up the path, glad for her well worn boots and the chance just to be here with him. She keeps one hand pressed over the belt bag, keeping the Holtzmann shield from jostling too much.

She thinks they're getting close, and it's a good thing, because her lungs are starting to burn.

[captainryan.livejournal.com]

They are. Familiar trees and a dark shadow come into view. What moonlight flits through the trees reveals the off-white pile to one side and the dark spot where their fire was a mere week ago. (He had so many interesting scents to investigate!)

There is some new decoration, however, in the half a deer haunch and flank to one side.

The werewolf trots around the perimeter, investigating, before loping back to her for a shoulder bump.

[hell_in_highheels]

"Oof. Do you understand words?" Words?

She stands in the place where their blanket was laid out in the sun, not knowing if she should approach the den. Her eyes flit over the deer and back to him. She wants to communicate with him, but she's afraid she's not equal to the task.

[captainryan.livejournal.com]

There she goes making sounds again. He tilts his head at her in classic canine curiosity.

What about words?

[hell_in_highheels]

Okay, she thinks, mentally cracking her knuckles. Conversational canine, final exam. She goes slowly, carefully, wanting both to not offend and to please him. She leans against him, testing the limits of her knowledge.

My words. Few. Also, sometimes wrong. I speak slow. Try not to insult/offend/break rank. Wolf words hard for me.

[captainryan.livejournal.com]

I know that. He gives her an amused whurfle. No one talks to me that way. You're doing well, for a human.

The top of her head gets nuzzled.

[hell_in_highheels]

She grins, laughs a little under her breath. So the arrogant bastard part translates intact. It's rather a relief to her, to know her Richard is in there.

You are new. For me. Touch you? No toes.

She holds up her hands again, fingers splayed, palms exposed.

[captainryan.livejournal.com]

He head tilts at her again.

Toes? Claws? He lifts his hand to compare again. You can touch. He'd like it if she did.

[hell_in_highheels]

Claws, she corrects herself.

Okay, time to just shut up. She can tell her accent is atrocious.

Tentatively, she reaches up to touch his forearm. Her hand is shaking just a bit. Her other hand comes up to touch his chest, fingers exploring. There is that bright ribbon of curiosity in her scent.

The rational part of her mind is cataloguing the anatomical structures, the extended chest cavity, larger heart and lungs to fuel the massive muscles.

And then there is her heart, feeling her way through the fear. His massive muzzle comes down beside her face and she finds herself reaching up to nuzzle his chin, knowing what it is she's doing.

[captainryan.livejournal.com]

There are scars on his chest even in this form, though they're hard to see against his already dark hide. All of him is firm, hard muscle, warm with heat.

Carefully he fulfils his side of the act, gently taking her nose between his teeth. The pressure from the points is light, his breath meaty and warm.

Then he's washing her face again.

[hell_in_highheels]

Her heart is pounding and she's grinning, joy and fear mingling to make her light headed.

Her hands come up to pet his muzzle, stroking his impossibly large head. Telling herself there is nothing to be afraid of here.

My mate. Why taste me?

[captainryan.livejournal.com]

He ducks down a bit so she can reach his ears. Suzi scritched his ears once. That was awesome.

Trying to clean off the fear scent. What's scaring you?

[hell_in_highheels]

Her fingers are still exploring and she leans in to nuzzle his cheek fur. He's soft beneath her fingertips, and she strokes out to the tips of his ears, knowing how sensitive they are.

You're beautiful. Your teeth, make me dream/memory, big... Gah, she doesn't know the word for dinosaur in canine. Remember my first death?

She pulls back just a bit to make a puppet of her hand, holding it up to her face and making little play growls, and then meeping quietly as her hand attacks her head.

[captainryan.livejournal.com]

...head tilt?

You're not dead. He's very firm about that, though he doesn't show his teeth for emphasis. She just said that was what was scaring her.

Wouldn't bite you, he adds, half hurt, half reproachfully.

[hell_in_highheels]

I know, love. I know.

She touches him again, stroking his muzzle, leaning against him.

I'm safe. With you.

She's not scared anymore.