The founding had been a success! Though now, as the party was coming to an end, Widow searched the small crowd for the familiar black and red man. Although she knew talking with Ravage would be important, she was too drunk for things like that. She was nearing the end of her season and today was a celebratory day. Plus, the alcohol wasn't helping, and she certainly hadn't ignored the fluttering in her chest or the burning in the pit of her stomach.

Others had started to leave to find a place to settle for the night but Widow stood by the opening of her den waiting for Stolas to see her. She wore a heavy smirk when she was spotted and slowly turned, swaying her hips as she disappeared into the den within. Inside, she had already spent some time making it comfortable with various furs and pillows she'd brought from her den in Insomnia. Laying out on them, she relaxed onto her belly with her back towards the entrance and stretched her legs out behind her into a sploot while perched on her elbows, waiting for Stolas to join her while watching for him over her shoulder with half lidded eyes.


"Speech!"

Code © Skelle/Witchdogtor DO NOT USE WITHOUT PERMISSION

The founding feast had been an enjoyable event, and though Hellborn was still small, the spirits of its members were strong and bright. Stolas had watched with approval as the wolves of the newly founded pack came together in celebration and merriment, eating and drinking and dancing well into the night. Now, as the hour drew late and everyone seemed to be reaching their limits, the party was winding down with wolves returning to their dens and beds. But not Stolas. The fallen prince was used to pulling all-nighters thanks to his studies. He was quite a bit inebriated from the liquors Widow had procured, and the massive brute wasn't feeling quite ready to turn in just yet—at least not alone. An introvert at heart, he'd spent a good portion of the party just observing the wolves of Hellborn interact, but his graphite gray eyes had lingered on one wolf far more than any other—Widow. The Klein brute simply couldn't keep his eyes off of her, watching her with pride and reverence as she played her role of alpha beautifully, mingling with her wolves like she were born to lead. He hadn't wanted to interrupt her in her element; besides, he knew his patience would pay off in dividends.

Sure enough, as the rest of the pack began to disperse, Stolas' gaze turned towards the massive wisteria tree, and to the midnight-clad fae lingering at the knoll at the base of the tree. Their gazes met, gray on silver, and then she was turning in to her den with a sultry smirk and an enticing sway of her hips. A devilish smirk lifted the corner of Stolas' lips as he watched and enjoyed her flagrant display of her sexuality. Well, she'd had any reservations about keeping their relationship out of the public eye, they'd clearly gone out the window. Downing the last of his drink in one deep swallow, Stolas rose to his paws (albeit a bit wobbly) and followed after her down into her den. Widow's den was a cozy space with an expansive bed of pillows and furs, where he found his midnight queen spread out, the picture of repose, looking like a Renaissance painting come to life. Stolas' breath caught when he saw her there waiting for him, meeting her half-lidded eyes with his own lecherous, alcohol-hazy gaze. In the confines of her den, Widow's heat scent was everywhere and inescapable. Every breath made the brute's core clench and a heat grow in his groin. It would only be a few more breaths before he was her slave once more.

Stalking towards Widow on her bed, Stolas came up behind the beautiful fae, holding her gaze while he came nearer. The massive brute stopped with his forelegs on either side of Widow's shapely hips, keeping their gazes locked while he lowered his muzzle to her lower back, letting sharp teeth gingerly groom and nibble through her fur along her spine going down, down, oh so slowly down her body. His alcohol-addled brain was floaty and foggy, but he had enough wherewithal to focus entirely on her; his friend, his lover, his queen. As Stolas' mouth reached the base of her tail, he nipped at the subtle curve of her rump, warm breath washing over her skin and fur dangerously close to her most intimate parts. "How would you have your consort tonight, Queen Widow?" he whispered in husky tones, his voice almost rumbling with his needy lust for her. However she wanted him, she would have him tonight. Would she ask for his muzzle beneath her tail? Would she have him mount her and press her face to the pillows like their primal ancestors? Would she want him on his back so she could assert her dominance over her consort? Any way she wanted, he was hers tonight.

"Stolas"

As she expected, it took Stolas no time at all to join her in her den. The smell of alcohol was present on them both, though Widow had done her best to remain mostly sober throughout the evening. Was it still guiding her thoughts and actions? Absolutely, however it was truly her heat that was calling all of the shots, and her heat wanted Stolas.

"There you are," she purred softly as she watched him enter her den and adjusted her hips just enough to tease him as she feigned adjusting to be more comfortable. As he moved to stand over her, she shivered a bit with anticipation, wondering if he would be so bold as to take her right then and there. It was smart of him not to, though Widow wouldn't have complained either. She trusted him even after all those years apart, but oh, how she loved to be in control.

She felt teeth nibbling, caressing down her spine and she shivered again, arching her back as the contact bordered on ticklish yet the result of his action wasn't a laugh or a giggle, but a soft moan as her eyes closed and she smiled. "I hope you've saved room for desert, my dear Stolas," she purred again as her gaze returned to him and her tail rose, pressing against the underside of his jaw and throat and wrapping just slightly towards his cheek before sliding away and settling off to the side of her hips.

"Speech!"

Code © Skelle/Witchdogtor DO NOT USE WITHOUT PERMISSION

Widow's sultry voice and purred words sent a delightful chill rippling down Stolas' spine that settled into an ache between his thighs. Between his queen's heat pheromones intoxicating his brain and the liquor loosening up his inhibitions, Stolas was a primal animal for Widow. Whatever she desired of him, he would give to her willingly, so long as it got him inside of her. He felt Widow adjust her hips beneath him, rubbing up against his length and coaxing a guttural groan from the lusty brute. He was sorely tempted to try and be dominant and claim her right then and there, but that wasn't Stolas' style. He enjoyed submitting himself to her, letting her take him over wholly, until she consumed his every thought, every breath, every desire. There was nothing but Widow in this moment. There would never be anyone but Widow for the fallen prince.

The lilting sound of her breathy moan made the dire brute's body quiver with eager need again. Oh gods, how he wanted her! He ached for her, burned for her, bordered on senselessness and madness just for a taste of her pleasure. Her remark of dessert earned her a husky chuckle from the Goetia prince, the corners of dark lips curling up into a lecherous grin. "I will always want my favorite dessert, my darling Widow," he crooned in response, his lips and teeth moving down her spine until he nipped at the base of her tail as her plumage brushed and curled around his face and neck, practically inviting him in to feast on her. "And I'll want seconds... and thirds... perhaps even fourths..." With each statement, Stolas would kiss along the curve of Widow's rump, his large paws lifting to rest on her shapely hips, rubbing and caressing them as if worshipping her body while his muzzle made its way ever so slowly down, down, heading underneath her tail.

Widow's scent hit him full force in the face as Stolas pressed his muzzle between her thighs, letting his tongue slip forth to taste her and roll over her most intimate flesh in slow, savoring licks. Gray eyes rolled as her taste flooded his senses. A low, hungry groan escaped him, his paws flexing over her hips and gripping at her thighs while he prepared her and pleased her. Stolas knew his oral ministrations would only go so far to relieve her heat, but he wanted to take his time with his Widow tonight, to savor her and indulge in her and worship her like the queen of Hell and goddess that she was. Once she was satisfied with his tongue work, then they could get to slaking both of their primal lusts all night long.

"Stolas"