morozko
and all our footprints in the snow.
Ah, but lust is its own kind of worship.
Morozko kept well the god of his people, the lord of frost, of order and potential, but there was more duty than passion in the rituals of the Winter Court. His faith was the bedrock on which his worldview was built, but he had always viewed desire as something separate. The people of winter had to have a little heat in them, somewhere.
But this was different. As they tease each other, voices gone rough, eyes and lips hungry, wanting — he’s never had an encounter like this one, even in a soldier’s life with a soldier’s quiet indiscretions. His silver eyes are half-lidded, lazy heat in the languid lines of his body as she answers him, as she makes her intentions clear.
He takes his time in answering her - Morozko is a very patient man, particularly when it comes to his pleasures - and runs his muzzle like a hand along the crest of her dark neck, each breath a promise of heat. He finds himself enchanted by each glimmering strand of gold in her mane. He says nothing, but there’s a rumble of pleasure in his chest each time their bodies chance to touch.
It’s like nothing he’s experienced before, the way the heat of the day echoes the heat within him, warm and languid and building, building, building. He’s only ever known the cold.
But Morozko is a very good soldier, and like any good soldier, he knows how to adapt.
@Inkheart I tried to keep it PG there xD aaaand fin thread. I look forward to their next meeting ;)
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