Ψ · Idiot, this thread needs a title

 The young Queen of a kingdom yet to be truly formed awoke with a sneeze.

 Bleary eyes opened, thick with watery goo, and traveled over the room. Dim light filtered in from the hanging moss entrance to their bedroom, sunlight that traveled in waves or - wait, no, that was the liquid in her eyes. She blinked them and it helped a little but not enough to satisfy her. A paw raised and rubbed at her face with a weary groan.

 She realized then that she couldn't smell Flynn.

 Weeping eyes frantically looked around and she realized he was actually beside her. Of course, she could feel him, but why couldn't she smell him? Her ears pinned back and she whined until-

 She sneezed, sending an enormous globulet of snot directly at Flynn's face.

 Oh. Now she could smell him.

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He'd been drifting, dozing soundly. A single outstretched arm clinging tenderly to the forelimb of his lover. He hadn't let her go, not for a blink. The sounds of squeaky suckles escaping his damp lips, latched onto a patch of soft fur near her chest. Now that the eyes of his mate rested on him, she could witness the even shifts of his body, and probably crack a laugh at the way he occasionally wiggled his toes in his sleep.

But no, instead she sneezed on him.

Splattering his now whimpering visage with sticky gunk he wasn't sure how to remove. Not a graceful waker, the boy of gold, sluggishly dragging his paws across his face all while still nursing from a non-existent teat. Letting go, sliding upwards, the male would bat his lids open the best he could. “...Cariadferch?”

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 Oops.

 She sniffed again, tongue rolling up to mop up her residue from her nose and even his face, where he hadn't quite gotten all of the muck off with his swipes of his paws. They were wolves, it wasn't gross. Well, it wasn't the grossest thing they'd done. “Sorry,” she muttered, realizing with a start that her nose was already beginning to clog again, causing her voice to become thick and nasally.

 She frowned, scratching at her own face with a paw.

 Their run through the rain the previous night, matched with becoming a glorified towel for Flynn, had left her with a budding cold.

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Normally he found himself leaning into her kisses, this time he backed away before she could even open her mouth a second time. She was poorly, undoubtedly covered in cooties from their night dancing in the rain. It certainly hadn't been as romantic as he thought it to be, even more so now that she was hacking and leaking from all open holes.

A shaken paw lifted to her forehead, his toes growing warm with fever and a disappointed huff leaving his maw. “Erm... Rydych chi'n sâl... Oh, you're sick.” Well, if she was contagious, it was too late for him. “Should I get Florance... No.” He spat it out, snorting to himself in a small moment of possessiveness. She was still in... Her Pains, as she called them. He wasn't certain for how much longer, but the scent still lingered. “I guess I'll be taking care of you, today, hum... You need a bath.”

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 She sighed, head folding down onto her forepaws. She hated being sick, it meant she had even less water to go by when the sun got hot. In the desert, you couldn't - oh. She blinked, remembering that it had been quite a while since she had been in the desert. She looked up at him, pitiful, as he discussed with himself what to do. His resolve not to let another man in made her give a little huff of laughter though she didn't really feel like saying anything on it.

 Her pains, yes. They still clung to her and would for the rest of the day, though she felt them lessening. As if... as if there was something to be slowing them, stopping them. As if what they had done had soothed it. For indeed, she had not felt the same sorts of pains as usual since that night. The bloating had gone down and yet she had become even more restless, her paws itching to move though she did not defy her mate's orders.

 “Okay... do I stink?” she asked in a whisper, her voice seeming to grow even more muffled by the snot running down her lips and onto her paws.

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A pretty little thing his Queen, dropping her head by his feet with a pitiful moan. Had she not been ill before? Or maybe this was simply how she always acting when such a thing occurred? Nevertheless, it was the first time she'd been poorly in his presence, thus far it had been him nearly dying and losing bits of his dignity. “Yes, a little... Like sick and dick.” He'd snort, elbowing her lightly in a joking manner before flopping himself down to meet her eyes. Now that he thought about it, he, too, smelled of sex, rain, and illness. Most of the following nights had been a blur, hell, he didn't want to imagine what they'd left the hot springs looking like.

They'd have to figure out sooner than later though, wouldn't they? “What about a dip downstairs? Open up the airways, wash up a tad.” Nuzzling her as a bit of encouragement to rise. “I've even picked some lavender and thyme for a few nights ago, might as well mix it in the bath... Might help.” A giant cup of tea made for two.

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 At that, she managed a weak chuckle, lifting her head to aim a lick at his face - just for that. She was grinning, though, beating her tails weakly on their bed. Her eyes traced his face meekly as he considered what to do with her, finally deciding that a bath in their ah, "hot tub" was the best bet. At his nuzzle, she climbed to her paws, trying to stretch out the muscles that had decided to be nice and sore.

 “That sounds amazing,” she said, casually ignoring the fact that lavender is toxic to dogs (and cats) - these are "fantasy" wolves, rules don't matter.

 She shook out her messy pelt and tried (unsuccessfully) hold back another sneeze. Thankfully, this one was aimed away from her mate. “Sorry,” she said meekly, looking at the spray on the wall before she sighed and looked at Flynn, hoping to walk with him down to the hot springs.

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For the sake of both of their lives just because Oliver was scared and didn't want this coming back to bite either of them in the arse, suddenly Flynn had realised that instead of lavender it was mint! Wow, how nontoxic and safe for canines! It also helped soothe pains and open airways! Wowza!

“Oh, darlin' don't worry about it... You've had to put up with worse with me.” The little horndog that was suddenly in him tried its best not to smell the scent of sex that lingered, but he failed. It was alright though, he'd already tossed the herbs into the springs and trotted on into it. “Ya know, I've been thinking.” He spoke, tail beckoning her into the warmth. “We should have kids someday, the two of us.” Smiling, ear flopping as it normally did when he was overly excited or relaxed. “Imagine having a bunch of mini Mei!”

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 What a lovely mint bath!

 She smiled pitifully and nuzzled him, following behind as he entered the springs. She let the water soak around her, breathing in the hot air that drifted up from its surface. It was quite good at clearing the airways and she paddled her forelegs a bit, hind legs gently tapping the rock surface below. At his suggestion, her eyes lit up. “I think so too!” Her paddling took her closer to him and she pressed her sodden face into his neck.

 “Little Flynns and Meis running around, getting into all sorts of mischief...” Her heart could barely take it. “I wonder what they would look like, what we might name them,” Her eyes drifted to the mossy surfaces around them, a gentle hum escaping her lips. The hum paused as she was reminded of her own... flaws. Of her familial traits that she had been mocked for. Would they inherit them? Or would they look beautiful and perfect, like their father?

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“Hopefully like their mother, I'd be damned if those eyes ever leave this world.” He'd sensed her folly, closing what little distance they kept from one another, lifting her sweet head to place it upon his shoulder. He'd turn, muzzle preening the bits of gunk that caught in her fur after she'd nearly blinded him with her nose-cannon. He would not coddle her insecurities, but bring them to light. As any flower needed the sun to gaze upon them to grow, even if its rays were harsh and ill-meant.

He'd be the water she needed when it grew too hot, and the soil she needed for structure. Though he had little himself, it was still all for her. “Hm... I've always liked the names of my heritage, but I suppose that's cheating, isn't it?” The water rippled at his chuckles, bringing his tongue to scrap over her ear, biting it maybe... A bit too hard. “This is going to sound a bit dumb but... I don't believe I know how to even... Aquire? Make? Have children? How does one fall pregnant?” Oh, the gentle fool.

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 At that, her tail wagged meekly and she pressed her face into his fur, rubbing her closed eyes against the side of his neck. “I'm glad they won't be damned,” she whispered after a long moment of silent enjoyment of his preening. “We won't have to hide them, make hard decisions.” What would they have had to do if she bore a white child? Her mother was white - there was nothing to say one of her own wouldn't be.

 That was the past.

 The future looked bright.

 “The names of your heritage?” she asked, opening an eye to peer up at him. Well, his ear, as she was still tucked against his shoulder. She was silent, allowing him to continue if he wished.

 Then he asked on the production of children and she blinked.

 Oh, hm.

 “I don't suppose it has anything to do with hygiene, or Vengeance would be barren,” she said with a chuckle, betraying her own ignorance in the topic. “Nor marriage, though... I do want to marry you, even if it's not the same as what we might have been thinking.” A wedding of their own creation, with their own new customs, not having to rely on the beliefs of others. “I'd asked about the whole... pelt thing. How ridiculous, to have to come up with a coat identical to your lover's or your love isn't strong enough.”

 Had she had to receive a coat that looked like hers to be wed, well, she would have been alone forever. “Oh, um. That is, if you'd want to get married.”

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Sometimes the loveable oaf merely showered in the affections of his lovers' voice; breathing her in as though at any second, she would seep into nothingness much like the vapours around them. It had never been a discussion they'd brought up, but he knew her ways of word. She spoke, she spoke, she spoke. She rattled off hymns that left him feeling rich and holy, all the while he enjoyed the right to kneel at her altar.

As she rambled on, once more did the water ripple with his steepened laughter, turning to keep his pace in preening her sickness off that beautiful mug she wore so swimmingly. “I'm Welsh, m'dear. It might not seem like it all the time, but it's a part of me that has been emerging the longer the days stretch.” Heaven bless him too, the first occurrence of it had frightened him and he was certain it would have alarmed her as well. Though to his surprise, she seemed pleasantly unaware, probably due to her lack of understanding what he was telling her. That, too, brought another chuckle to the water.

Though then he fell silent. The lass spoke of marriage, mocked his upbringing, then spoke of it again. A knot enlisted itself in his stomach, optics floating to their embracing bodies reflected in the water. What was he to say but what she wanted to hear? “I think Meissa Sinclair is a charmed name, much like the woman herself.” Of course he wanted to get hitched... But they still had so much to learn about one another he was afraid she'd leave once he fell further into his true self. “Does... Does your family have wedding traditions?”

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 She laughed quietly, embarrassed, as she realized she'd been rambling, “I talk a lot, don't I.”

 Her tails wagged, moving through the water and reminding her that this warmth was not her flesh but instead the heat of the pool. How easy it was, to forget where one's margins ended and the rest of the world continued, when one was so comfortable? When one was happy?

 She licked his cheek in thanks as he groomed her, eyes gently closing to the sensation of his preening. She liked this Welsh part of him that was emerging, this power he was taking. Sure, sometimes it was scary - like when he had gone for her brother's throat - but she understood. She would have done the same, had the positions been reversed, had it been a strange woman curled up alongside Flynn. Would she have believed it was his sister? Possibly not.

 There was so much to learn about one another.

 Yet, if they spoke of children, shouldn't they speak of marriage? She didn't want to be like Celnes, raising a litter without the love of a father at her side. She pitied the woman - she knew she must have wanted to have a true mate and not just a sire of convenience. A soft sigh left her lips and she gave a hum, “I'm... not sure. The last time I saw my family, I wasn't even a half year of age.” Her mother had told her nothing of marriage, of love. Had her parents been in love? She had thought so but now she wondered deeply at that. She knew they had been placed together by their alphas, partly why she had wondered if, in Elkshire, she would have been forced to match with another.

 “I think...” she said, thinking of what she had witnessed, heard of. Not from her family line, perhaps, but from what she had learned as days went on. “I saw a tradition of circling, within a square of trees that came together at the top. The bride walked around her mate some... seven times?” Why couldn't she remember more? She didn't even know where she had seen this or if it were some dream, brought about by the sea.

 Her eyes turned back to his and she tilted her face, bringing her head down so that water lapped around the base of her ears. “What about you? If you want to do the pelt custom, I'm fine with it - even if it's painted or doesn't look like me. Despite what... she said, I wouldn't be offended.” What more could she ask for? Perfection? Impossible.

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A soft chuff would exit his bated breaths, a sound of sympathy and compassion to her thoughts on speaking. She did indeed sing as if her voice flew on broken wings; desperately did she flap about for someone to listen. And he did. He caught every last drop that left her mouth, all the while maneuvering himself from her. His body beckoned him to shore—where heat no longer seeped into his fur, his veins, his bones. Thus, he pressed affectionately from the grasp of his Queen, dappling her cheek with tiny kisses from sodden lips before feet found the mossy stone.

His drenched furs left way for firm muscles to sneak through. Blonde coat blessed by warm waters was suddenly darkened to a rich hazel, wavy plumage segmented into sections that he pulled at with careful teeth. From here, where he now rested on his stomach, he allowed his gaze to possessively claim her. “I have no true traditions, but I do intend on makin' some. If you haven't noticed, I'm a simple bloke.” Smiling, watching the floor below his chest puddle with droplets that wished not to cling to him.

They'd been here quite a while, hadn't they? Optics taking notice of the lack of sun that used to glow so rapidly through the cavern. Not yet midnight, but no more was it day. “How are yew feelin'?”

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 She followed him without thought, her paws tracing the water where he had been and delaying only shortly before following him up onto the shore, under her King's watchful gaze. Her claws dug gently into mossy stone as she rose from the waters, tails still drifting atop them until even gravity could hold hold them to its surface. Her first steps were slow, puckered pads tender from their prolonged swim.

 Yet she persevered, moving after him and settling down into her very own puddle alongside him. She lapped at his forehead, “Let's make all sorts of traditions,” she said softly, cleaning the water from his face where it still clung. Soon, he would dry and his lovely curls would show once more, framing the gentle slope of his face. His mossy eyes that gleamed so terribly, betraying his own inner sadness when he spoke of the things that hurt him, yet grew so warm and loving as he gazed upon her in their peace. “Together.”

 Did he know how beautiful he was?

 She sighed appreciatively, sinking back into her own sodden pelt. She tested inhaling, breath escaping her lungs shakily though firmly. “Much better, thank you,” she said with a wag of her tails, slapping against the wet stone and sending up their own little spray of droplets.

 Ah, oops.

 “How about you? Sorry about earlier,” she said with a soft laugh, her chin tucking into her chest before instinct took over and she began lapping at her own watery form, every so often switching to reach over and kiss his cheek or foreleg or whatever else she might reach in that moment.

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“Hm... Truthfully, my love, I feel befuddled.” Words left him briefly, fluttering on limp, translucent feathers before crackling under the weight of his fogged memory. They had not the knowledge of flight, be it stolen from them as if they'd never learned the process at all. The gleam that held his vision was rather zapped from their sockets, pooling forth every now and again as he let her glory overtake his sense of mind. These days he clung to his beloved more like a child than a man, but there were times when he resisted and merely sought her comfort through the actions she already seemed to be doing.

He'd never asked her to love him, and if he had, he couldn't recall. Likely having pushed itself so deeply within his abyssal brain that it would shatter him to be brought to the surface. Therefore, the act of her natural affection caused a ripple to crease delicate, pink skin; the heat of his body lifting the curls that covered his stomach to stretch their tiny roots up and around. “But it is fine, all is fine.” Head dropping to the ground, giving his hind a bit of a shake. He was sure she could tell he was restless, tired. He made no attempts to hide it now that his mouth had uttered the words.

“Hm.. Together.” Tail giving a pitiful wag, he'd roll onto his back, legs stretching and popping before sinking inward. His body now rested halfway on the floor and partially along her side, throat exposed. At least if he was upset down it would be harder for her to read his expression.

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 Befuddled, hmm.

 She lapped at his temples, at his cheeks, at the partition between his eyes all the way up to the crown atop his head, betwixt his ears. “Then don't think,” she whispered into his fur, pausing to inhale the sweet mixture of spice, cream, hickory, - and wet dog. Beyond it all, it was him. Her teeth nibbled gently at the fur within his ears, breathing gentle nothings to him. She did not mind that he clung to her, that he came to her for comfort. That she was his comfort was part of her own, a warmth that made her feel desired, wanted. Not in a sexual sense, for any man could seek out any woman for that - but in a truer sense.

 He twisted, shaking - she wondered if he would run, would release the energy no doubt pent up within his muscles from the time in the water.

 Instead, he rolled, making himself vulnerable towards her. She turned her kisses downward, washing away the water along his jaw and down his throat. She did not mind it, did not think of what he might hide upon his face while she dried him. “We have all the time in the world.”

 But did they?

 She wondered how long this peace could last. Were they far enough to be safe? Did they need to go further, further than the scout had ever roamed?

 The Queen pushed aside the thought, focusing now only on the King before her.

 Her King.

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