His fever renders him motionless through much of the day; it sears through his bones, rids him of any thoughts of moving or relocating or even twitching. His throat seems eternally dry, as do his eyes. He spends his time roaming in and out of consciousness and awareness; he doesn?t know what?s real anymore, and he doesn?t really care. Perhaps the only thing that keeps getting him through are brief glimpses of her, the occasional scent that drives him insane.

He sees her, and he is uncertain if it?s real or not, but he moves towards her. They are in the same den together somehow; he knows not where he is, only that he thinks he sees Roman. He seeks to curl along her back, feverish tongue hoping to rasp fervently along the back of her neck in a tender kiss. ?M?Queen,? he says, unaware that he may be scalding to the touch, and therefore uncomfortable to be in contact with.

Some days the fever is less- the heat that courses through her body, doesn't seem to have the eternal fires of hell behind them. Her bones ache, but she's managed to leave the den a few times to meet wolves at the borders- hoping to relieve Qanik of some of the stress of leading, even if it kills her. On the floor of the den now, she's laying- exhausted, her chest heaving with every breath. The only thing getting her through this hell- is him. If he's beside her, surely she won't die. She feels him stir- and knows it is him because of the searing heat of his body. Her ears flick idly at his voice and she turns her head slightly to look at him. Some sick karmic joke this is, she feels miserable with the plague and with her heat. Her body not only aches with fever, but also pulses with a need that she doesn't understand.

She feels his tongue, and his scent alone- drives her crazy. Isn't she already insane? The fever makes her hallucinate, and sees crazy things. Things that couldn't exist, but he- he is real. Her head turns, her violet eyes seeking his green gaze. "Faust." She murmurs. If he's here, surely she won't die. He'll save her. She tries to smile slightly- for once grateful that she had been able to move, so that the blood caked on her face was washed off in the nearby stream. She maybe dying, but at least... she's attractive.

He sits beside her, a loyal guard against the demons of the afterlife. He sees them on occasion, at the peak of his fever they creep into his peripheral vision, edging towards the ivory Queen. Alas by then his body has seized, twisting and contorting, but he bites and claws viciously. Alas for now his fever is not quite so high; he curls up near the Queen, and she murmurs his name softly. His chest rumbles happily, the head that radiates from his body perhaps heightened by the presence of another body.
?Want you,? he mumbles. He does; she?s gorgeous, powerful perfection, but he is too weak to make any true advances upon her flesh. Instead he sits beside her, a loyal guardian, somehow managing to be horny despite the illness that roves over his fevered flesh.

The illness has wreaked havoc upon her body, but her mind is clear. The want, no, the need that burns in her gut, as if she swallowed lava- is strange to her. Why does she feel this way? What is going on with her body? Is it he illness? Is that makes his scent so damn intoxicating? Is that what causes her to shift so that she's closer to him- so that her body can press into him. Surely, contact would cause her body to ache less- to feel better. At his words, her head turned towards his- her eyes seeking the strong verdant gaze- that she felt had saved her sanity. 'Want you.' He says, and she wonders what he means? What does he want about her? How can he want her when she is so unattractive? Ivory lids fall over her violet eyes, as she takes a deep breath of his scent in, and releases it shakily. "Have me." She murmurs, her eyes burning with intensity. "'not going anywhere." She says with a slight smirk. He knows how dire the situation is- will they even live through this?

He wants her, perhaps he always will. She is strong, she is firm, she is a true woman and he?s never found himself so wrapped up in somebody. Perhaps he is young and bold, but the Germanic man believes he?s found his match. Alas, when the breathy words fall upon his ears he does not initially believe them. And yet, how can he refuse? She is who he wants, who he yearns for, and she is right here. They could die tomorrow, so why not fuck like it? He seeks to move, body hoping to stabilize upon shaky limbs as he hopes to loom over her. Fevered tongue escapes inky lips as he hopes to press soft kisses to the nape of her neck. ?Roman,? he breathes.

For the first time in his presence, she is afraid. The fear seeps from the core of her being, as she verbalizes the permission- the freedom he can have to take her. She can't help but be afraid, hadn't she been defiled? Made into a victim, a joke? He shifts, and she shifts slightly, staring up at him as he looms over her. Her eyes widen slightly, and her breath hitches deep within her lungs. Heartbeat racing, pumping blood and endorphin's frantically through her body. If she's going to change her mind and deny him- it has to be now. She turns her head, glancing away- and feels his tongue on the nape of her neck. If she was going to deny him- that thought was long gone, the moment he touches her. A slight whine peels from her jaws, an instinctive sound of need. She needs him. He speaks her name and she looks up at him, wondering in the fear she feels reflects in her eyes- or would he only see desire. "Faust." She whispers, her voice hoarse- broken, catching in the confines of her throat. She swallows, her violet eyes refusing to leave his form.

If she asked him to stop, he would. He cannot say that for any other woman, truly. And yet he respects Roman, respects the ivory Queen enough to the point that if she were to request him to stop their embrace, he would move away. Perhaps he would grumble, complain, but he would do so. His earthen eyes catch with her supernatural ones, and he nods his head, seeking to confirm his passion for her with kisses. He lowers his body slightly, allowing his warmth to mesh with hers before he will dare to press farther, before he pushes her over any sort of edge. He will take this slowly, he will see that she truly wants his. His body screams of a devotion that seems oddly foreign for a man of his type.

This is so different from what she has experienced. There is no violence, though she assumes if she requested it, the german warrior would deliver. He is slow, methodical- almost as if he truly cares that she does indeed want to share her body with his. Perhaps its his 'care' that scares her most. She does what she does best, swallows fear. Every kiss he plants against her sends electrical shocks to her core- warming her body, as they sing to her heat. This is what she is made for, her body purrs. She sighs lightly, as he pressed against her, and she arches herself, meeting his body with her own. If anyone deserves this exposed side of her- it's the warrior that has saved her life and helped her retain her sanity. Her mind flashes back to the lakeside- and she stiffens for a moment, before releasing a shaky breath. Will it hurt, when they finally join? She can remember the pain vividly from Fugue, and she wonders if this will be the same? Perhaps, she is truly an innocent angel when she asks, her voice gravely, coming from the depths of her chest. "Will it hurt?" She wants to know this, wants to know the truth. All thoughts of her illness are long forgotten, the frantic racing of her heart- pumped endorphin's through her, dismissing the pain of the fever, and Faust's searing touch to the farthest corner of her mind.

He does not know why he takes it slow; he is used to such a fast-paced lifestyle. Taking what he wants without asking, unapologetically finding himself lathering himself in what he considers to be the finer things of life. He is almost ready, the fever making him oddly patient, but not quite so patient. Alas, he pauses as she stiffens, uncertain where it comes from, but unwilling to take a fearful partner. She questions him will it hurt and his snout seeks to press to her ear. ?I could never hurt you,? he says, an oddly romantic gesture from the barbarian. He then seeks to trail kisses from behind her ear to the nape of her neck, where he nips gently, jaws parting ever so slightly in an attempt to take a light hold of her scruff. Alas, he pauses there, not daring to push her limits much farther until he knows she is convinced that he will not bring her harm.

Faust's muzzle nearly kisses her ear, and she lets out a breath at his words. Her eyes darken with a slight lustful feeling, and she feel an ache deep within her. He moves, his teeth lightly taking her scruff, and she lets out a slight whine- this whine isn't of fear, but of desire. She speaks into the darkness that surrounds them. "Okay" She breathes consenting to his dominance (for the moment), and she relaxes in his grip, sweeping her tail to the side- as if its instinctual, so he isn't barred. She wants to feel him, wants to be as close to him as she can. Her body is already buzzing, her paws tingling as she quakes beneath him in anticipation. Her heart rate is increasing, her body preparing to be taken on the wings of ecstasy.

The whine he hears is different, and all the masculine parts of him keen. He groans as she breathes her consent, the green light for him. Fever consumes him, but he has found himself devoured whole by an entirely different sort of beast, one who names herself Roman Armada. He moves slowly, grasping her scruff ever so gently. There are no words to express that which he is doing at this moment; his body speaks all the love letters he could breathe to her. Legs come to wrap around her hips, pulling her close to them. Then, he joins them in this feverish dance of theirs, his quest finally satisfied. She is his now, his in the most primal of ways, and he could not be a happier man than he is with her in his arms, under the protection of his frame. -fade-

She's given into the desires of her body- the absolute cravings she feels. Faust moves to join them, and her world shatters. This time it isn't a horrible pain that she feels, but the kind of pain she cannot help to crave more of. She groans, her eyes shutting- violet eyes rolling back in her head, as she loses herself in the instinct of it all. Her body aches with fever, and shivers with desire as he claims her- and for this moment she is content to be dominated- to be claimed. Her heart races, pumping blood through her body with fury, and she loses herself in the moment. -fade to blackish, or rather a dark gray-. Greek Speak -- Roman Speak