Guard Your Tongue [Sketch]
Yip! Quick lil sketch for an anonymous client that wanted to see a fun "what-if" situation between these two. :3 Wolfess with certain thoughts rolling around in her head, coaxed into acting on those thoughts by the very object of her imagination when their traveling caravan stops to make camp for the night...
It's a fun situation!Also check out the sequel!
The crackling of the fire out in the center of the camp had long since faded to just another part of the night, sweet and gentle along the chittering of bugs, the songs of the night-birds, the occasional whisper of wind in the trees and grass all around. Bit by bit the individual conversations of the caravan camp had given way to this music, broken occasionally by the rustling of someone stirring in their tent, or stifling a cough or sneeze as the group began to tread into cooler climates, or - in one case, near the edge of the arrangement - the constant, rhythmic swishing, panting, moaning of a hunger put off by the day's travel.
It drove Rola wild. The wolfess, fur sleek snowy white under her albinism, sat by fire with her arms crossed in front of her trying so desperately not to look back at that tent. Her ears continually belied her interest, though, flicking back again and again, and by now she knew even through her slight foggy wobble that the guard across the fire had noticed. It was just the two of them now, herself sitting down since when she stood up, the alcohol coursing through her made it hard to continue standing up, and then him because...
Well, why him? Cross fox, fur showing smooth charcoal and shale with thick slashes of bright orange running through; stoic and stolid under his duty yet apparently prone to fiery outbursts. Marcus, she thought his name was. Upon arrival at the camp he had stripped off his arms and armor, leaving him shirtless where he sat, lines of muscle beneath his fur highlighted by the flickering flames, rich blue eyes repeatedly catching hers, slim muzzle showing the faintest of smirks every time he noticed her looking and-
And the albino wolfess huffed and turned her head to one side. She squirmed where she sat a bit, trying not to let her mind wander yet inevitably failing: earlier in the night Marcus had stood up and stretched his arms over his head, those sleek lines and cords shifting beneath his smooth, silken pelt, and passed by to fetch himself another drink from the tankard just behind her. She had gotten a little whiff of his scent then as well, bold and brassy and rich yet still subtle in its own ways, distinctly vulpine yet with a faint mark of its own that-
There it was again. Rola's ears perked forward. Marcus had whistled, a low but quick note that likely only alerted her. Despite herself her reflexes brought her to look back over to him, concern cutting through the inebriation for just a moment... until she saw the look on his face. A flash of fang glittering in the firelight; a twitch of the whiskers and flick of the ear; a nod up to the noisy tent behind her, then down to his own lap. She followed his arms with her gaze, where he worked slowly at the fastenings of his pants, deft fingers undoing loops and straps, peeling back riding leathers to show the dark fur underneath...
More shocked than horrified, Rola - daughter of an influential and successful family house in the equestrian husbandry business; she was no stranger to the wiles of males - blinked and gaped at the fox. He breathed a quiet laugh, shifted back to rest an arm along the log against which he sat, then tilted his head back, let out a low, rumbling sigh... and started working that arm in rhythm there in his lap, just precisely _what_he was doing obscured by the flickering flame and the folds in his pants.
Rola looked around, first over one shoulder and then the other, heart thumping in her chest. She had been near males plenty of times before, as expected in her family's business, but never something like this. Marcus shifted a little further, let out another breath, and then rolled his head forward on his shoulders so that those blue eyes focused indistinctly on her. She felt the weight of his gaze, the interest, the silent question; Rola swallowed, pushed her paws against the ground where she sat, coiled her tail around herself, and took in a breath, trying to steady herself.
You're intoxicated, she told herself. It's been a long day. You're tired. You're annoyed with the road. You just want some time. But... gods, he's something else, isn't he?
For a moment the world spun. Then she realized she was walking around the fire towards him, and Marcus was sitting up and holding an arm out; then slowly, nervously, the albino wolfess settled down next to him, eyes fixed at that spot in his lap where fur gave way to flesh once more. The sleek, soft pouch of a thick-furred sheath, halfway buried under the waist of his pants; a point of thick, slick flesh poking out of the end, stirring each time he pressed down with a forefinger and thumb to slip that supple skin back a little further, refreshing that intoxicating scent, tickling at her nose, drawing her in. So unlike anything else she had smelled before, and feeling his warmth and presence near her, the interest in his movements; his strength _greatly_outstripped hers, and Rola had heard so many horror stories of other guards, but there was something different about Marcus here.
He slid his paw away from himself and tugged his pants down further. "Come on," he rumbled, voice barely audible even with her this close. "Nobody's around. I've seen you watching me. Just a taste."
Just a taste. Rola swallowed and licked her lips. "I don't-"
"Uh huh." His arm settled around her, bringing her closer without forcing her down. "You wanted to when we stopped yesterday. I saw you watching me. It's chilly tonight; I wouldn't take my shirt off without a damn good reason, now would I? So, then..." And he shifted again, spreading his legs so that he bumped against one of hers, then returned his paw to its place there. Fingers slid down into his pants and cupped around his sack, lifting his balls up until they flopped out over the front, then shifted and stirred in the cooler air; he hooked his thumb around the back of his sheath, squeezed, shivered. "I mean, if you're not certain, then you can just watch..."
Rola noticed that she had reached out and stopped his paw with her own. Such a thick, wet heat radiated off of him here, intoxicating and inviting; she turned her paw, wrapped her fingers around him, gave a tentative squeeze and short stroke, felt the natural slickness of gathered musk smear across her fingerpads and fur. Then she looked up at him, swallowed again, opened her mouth to say something - and then didn't.
Instead the wolfess shifted where she sat, leaned over, took in another slow breath, and then parted her lips. She was no stranger to new things, after all. She shifted again, spread out, rested an arm against him, then closed her eyes...
...and above her Marcus shivered, rumbled, and let his head roll back again.