I Swear to Drunk I'm Not God

He didn't want to stop and she never wanted him to stop. Their tongues danced a dramatic duet in tune to their gentle, petting claws and pads. Bowen couldn't get enough of him and sometimes she was struck dumb by just how much she loved this man. Every inch of him was perfection. Every piece of him was as though it had been crafted to fit against pieces of her. Their undersides molded to one another, allowing the pair to fit as tightly together as pieces of a puzzle. This, all of this, was meant to be. At least for now. The future could and very well would change things. New pieces would be added to the puzzle and the pair would have to figure out just how they fit into the whole picture. Changes would have to be made for the good of them all. Or for the detriment of some. Either way... change would come. Briar would come to live here. The time between herself and Artorias would be spread thin. Eventually she imagined the pair would start a family, as was befitting the leader of a pack. All of it would drive a wedge. But for now, they belonged to one another and she tried to cling to that.

Bowen drew back just enough so that she could break their kiss, though her mouth remained parted, her lips wet. Her tongue flicked over his bottom lip and she pressed her lithe build harder against him. "Am nevoie de tine," she purred against his lips. "Let's pretend," she asked, "For just a little while," the woman's sable cloaked forelegs wrapped about her brother's neck, "That we're the only ones in the world." Once the words were said, Bowen raised wide, vulnerable eyes to meet the Aurelian depths across from her. She was asking him to pretend with her so that she didn't have to do it alone. A game, like when they were pups. Then tomorrow, everything would go back to normal. Or would it?

Placing a paw on the brute's wide, blue chest, Bowen gently pushed back, separating their bodies, though hopefully not for long. Much like he had sprawled on his back, Bowen now settled herself on the plush mattress, draping her lean structure across the covers. The woman opened her arms to him, beckoning him to her. Whatever he wanted, she would give him. Whatever he asked of her, he could have. However he wanted her, wherever he wanted her, Bowen would be his slave to pleasure.

Within the fae's core, an intense fire burned. Only Artorias had the will and the means to quench it or to set her to flame with his words, his actions, his touch. Though he was the one currently inebriated, Bowen would be his puppet and he could pluck her strings as he willed and wished. "Please," she begged again, the edge or urgency in her breathy tones. "Please, don't make me wait." Emerald eyes burned glazed, green fire and every moment was both torture and ecstasy. "sunt al tău pentru totdeauna"

"Bowen"