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]

"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.

[captainryan.livejournal.com]

Yes. He pushes his weight back against her, letting her know he's there.

Are you hungry? They still have plenty of deer left.

[hell_in_highheels]

She tried to stay awake, she tried valiantly, but the hike and the fear took the starch right out of her. He'd seen her eyelids falling and her head bobbing, and had brought her into the den, curling around her for warmth. She'd fallen asleep listening to his heart beat in his chest, his muzzle curled around her head. Warm as sleeping in their own bed.

She'll be so disappointed she missed his transition back to human.

[captainryan.livejournal.com]

Not much to see, really, just a lot of digging his claws into the wood to keep from crying out as things shrink and tuck themselves back into place. It hurts just as much to change back as it does changing to.

He pants silently for a moment, ready to roll over and go back to sleep as usual. Only there's a scent he completely isn't expecting.

"River?!"

[hell_in_highheels]

She starts awake at the sound of his voice in her ear, blinking as she tries to orient herself. She responds in canine, reflexively. Here, love. Safe. Her hand reaches for him.

There's a speck of dried blood on her cheek and more on her fingers.

[captainryan.livejournal.com]

Ryan stares, sniffing sharply. Pleasepleaseplease tell him that's not hers. He will NEVER forg-

Oh thank god. It's just deer.

What the HELL are you doing out here?

The moon's just set. Canine is rather easier to manage just now.

[hell_in_highheels]

Safe. Safe. She repeats, still half asleep. She sits up on one elbow and haphazardly makes sure he's covered with the blankets. Had a dream. Never leave you.

[captainryan.livejournal.com]

He shuts his eyes tight for a moment, trying to remember last night. Bits and pieces come to him in black and white, a hunt, playing with Damocles, the three of them trotting down a trail...

Nothing that shows he hurt her at all. Nothing he remembers, anyway.

River. He muffles his anxious growl behind gritted teeth, willing her to wake up the rest of the way. Why are you here? Are you okay?

Did he hurt you?

[hell_in_highheels]

"I'm fine." She leans against him. "I had a dream. A bad one. I needed to lay eyes on you." She fumbles behind her head and brings up the belt pack just enough to show him. "I used this, and didn't need it. You recognised me, just as I recognised you."

She shifts, turning look into his face, grinning sheepishly. "You spent half an hour washing the fear scent off me."

[captainryan.livejournal.com]

At least you- he cuts himself off with a little frustrated snarl as he forces himself over to English. He speaks slowly, enunciating clearly.

"At least you had the good sense to be afraid. I could have killed you," he says through gritted teeth.

His insides have gone cold at the thought. He might whine, if he wasn't so mad.

[hell_in_highheels]

She looks into his face for a very long moment, trying to discern just where this anger is coming from and if it's truly directed at her.

"Are you hearing me, Richard? You washed my face. You recognised me, you called me your mate. You mocked my accent."

Her hand comes up to touch his cheek. "You would never hurt me. Not in a million years."

[captainryan.livejournal.com]

He sits up and away from her, glaring.

"You can't know that," he growls at her.

He can't know that. And all his evidence points him in the opposite direction: if he were hungry enough, she's only so much meat.

He can't- he shoves it down, away from him. His face smooths out, still glaring but cold and distant.

[hell_in_highheels]

He's never pulled away from her in anger.

Never.

River looks at him and then looks away, not wanting him to see her face.

She throws off the blankets and scoots her way out of the warm darkness, scrubbing at her eyes with the back of her hand. She sits on the edge, her elbows on her knees, her head hanging down.

This is worse than her nightmare, she thinks, blinking back tears.