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It's spring.
Pollen in the air, flowers blooming, warm sun, the happiest time of the year.
It's spring, but Marcille doesn't exactly feel happy.
It's spring, and Falin's been acting strange.
Marcille's noticed it in the way the hybrid holds herself, the way she eats, walks, talks; she'll walk into a room and shake her head vigorously, dismissing the words of something that isn't even there. At meal-times, Falin tears into her food with ill-mannered vigor, devouring everything on her plate in less than a minute and begging for more; insatiable.
It's like there's a weight bound tight onto her back at all times, holding her shoulders stiff together, arms clamped to her sides. She doesn't even talk like herself, now; little hissing growls punctuate stilted fragments of speech, Falin's words sounding more like animalistic snarling instead of proper Common.
Worst of all is the fact that it seems to worsen when Marcille's nearby. She could wave hello to the feathered girl and next thing she knows, Falin's hunchbacked and whispering little draconic prayers into the stale castle air, pupils shuttering to slits.
Marcille doesn't even want to imagine what may happen if she went in for a kiss.
(They don't even sleep in the same bed these days.)
She goes to Laios one night, when she can't seem to bear it anymore.
Surely he knows something-or-other about Falin's condition-- he's the only one the girl seems to be okay being around nowadays.
(Okay may be a bit of a stretch-- some days, Falin enters his room and leaves barely a minute later, scowling. When next Marcille lays eyes on Laios, he'll be sporting some new bruise or scratch, and if he looks back to meet her gaze it will be with eyes full of exasperated confusion.)
"Hey, Laios?" Marcille asks, peeking through the door to his chambers.
It's dark in there, the only light being a flickering candle-stub on the desk of the newly crowned King. Laios seems to have been hunched over, scribbling away at a scroll laid across the wooden surface, but he looks up curiously at her words.
"...Yeah?"
She flinches, a little, at the expression on his face. It's an almost-manic look, accentuated by furrowed brows and deep, deep eye-bags-- and damn, what happened to his cheek? It's covered in lacerations- clawmarks- of varying degrees, the longest being several inches.
He notices her looking, and sighs, slightly hysterical air softening into simple exhaustion. "That's nothing, don't worry about it. What were you going to ask?"
Marcille watches as his hand creeps up to cover the unbandaged wounds, sees it come away stained red. She takes a deep breath, and turns back to her original question.
If he needed help, he'd ask, she reassures herself. It's fine.
"Do you know what's been up with Falin lately?"
She doesn't need to explain further, or elaborate on what the question means. He understands instantly.
Contrary to her expectations of a sad frown, news of some new danger posed to Falin's sewn-together soul, Laios gives her a tired little grin. "Wouldn't you know, given you're her mate?"
Marcille blinks at the coarse language-- "mate", as far as she knows, is an archaic term used only by barely sentient monsters. What reason might Laios have to refer to her and Falin as such a pair?
His grin wavers at her bewildered face. "Has she really not talked to you at all? I'd figure that after, well, me- being her kin- she'd come to you most often for this. Has she, y'know, not?"
Marcille shakes her head, mind whirling with questions. "No!" she exclaims. "It actually seems to get even worse when I'm around! What- What even is 'this'? Why is it affecting Falin?!"
Laios's eyes widen in shocked realization at her words, and something in Marcille's gut twists. What was she missing here?
"Oh, Gods, no wonder she's been-- Oh. Oh, Falin, what were you thinking--?"
The king's frantic words trail off into mumbles, and he rises from his seat rather abruptly, rummaging around his desk and almost knocking the candle-stub over quite a few times. Finally, he seems to grasp what he was looking for, and brandishes it at the half-elf with a strange ferocity.
"Read this, okay? Read- Read it, and then go talk to her, for the Gods's sake!"
Marcille takes the paper bemusedly, barely sparing it a glance before shoving it in her pocket and turning back to Laios.
"But why-" she begins, only to be cut off by the king's heavy hands clasping around her shoulders roughly.
His eyes meet hers, firm and frantic, and she startles again.
"Listen," he begins, in a broken-voiced whisper, "I've had to deal with a rut-crazed dragon sister for the past two weeks straight. She comes in here, spars, trains, fights with me for fucking hours- absolutely crushes me, 'cause she's crazy strong-- I've got bruises in places I didn't know I could bruise, Marcille! Kabru hates me! 'Laios,' he goes, 'Laios, how will the other political leaders think of you, all bruised and beat-up? Come on, let's put some makeup on you-' Marcille, Marcille, I really hate makeup."
His crazed rant cuts off then, as the king pants heavily, out of breath, and Marcille doesn't even realize he's stopped talking, the words "in rut" echoing round and round her brain, a dissonant chorus that makes her feel dumber with every repetition.
Rut.
Dragons have ruts.
It's mating season for every other animal-- and Falin is a hybrid, isn't she--
Of fucking course she's in rut.
...And Marcille is her MATE--
"--so please, PLEASE go talk to her, fuck out some of this frustration, anything-- Jeez, Falin, why don't you just talk to others, what was going through your head-?"
The rant starts back up again and Marcille shakes herself out of his grip, reaching into her pocket and grasping the paper Laios gave her with a firm hand. "I'll- I'm going," she rasps. "Yeah, uh- Thanks, Laios-!"
She turns, knuckles bone-white, fists clenched, face absolutely blazing, and rushes out the door before he has a chance to reply.
/-----------/
She raps her knuckles against the door once, twice.
No answer.
"Falin? Can you let me in?"
Rustling noises-- still no answer.
Marcille sighs, and cracks open the door.
It takes her eyes a second to adjust. Falin's bedchambers are dark, minimal light combining with the many blankets scattered about the room to give the whole thing an almost den-like appearance. Smack-dab in the middle, betwixt her (dismembered) mattress and a massive pile of pillows, is Falin.
The hybrid's curled up in a tangle of bedsheets and eiderdown clearly ripped from the poor mattress's innards. As Marcille enters, her head snaps up with inhuman speed, and she glares directly at the door, behind which half of Marcille still hides.
"...Mar..ci?"
It's growled, low and rough, and Marcille can't help but think that Falin's voice sounds somewhat akin to what she imagines an avalanche would be like if it was forced to take human form.
Kinda hot.
"Yeah," Marcille says. "Yes, Falin, it's me."
Falin grunts approvingly.
"Come here," she says, in that same raspy voice, reaching out with one clawed hand to beckon Marcille further into the room.
It's not a request.
Marcille almost trips over her own feet in her haste to comply, startled by the noise of the door clicking shut behind her, but she manages to steady herself against one of the scratched-up bedposts beside the blanket-nest. The half-elf walks in a little further before stopping a few feet from the nest-- Dragons in rut are incredily territorial, the paper had said, and Marcille doesn't exactly want to become ribbons of flesh at the moment.
She holds herself there, breath bated, heart steadily beating its way up her throat, looking down at the near-feral girl beneath her.
She waits for acknowledgement-- she waits for another order.
Luckily, Marcille doesn't have to wait long.
Falin looks her up and down, pupils narrowed to slits, appraising. She's silent.
Eventually, her lips curl up in a half-snarl, eyes squintingly displeased.
"No-- no barriers," the girl manages finally, reaching up to gesture to Marcille's entire being. "Only Marci. Only my Marci."
Marcille blinks, a little confused.
"Huh?"
Falin hisses, drawing up slightly into a more seated position. "Like me," she emphasizes. "Only Marci. Only Falin."
She waves a clawed hand over her body, and as Marcille's gaze moves downward she realizes that Falin is naked.
The thought burns a trail through her mind, rough and strange for- well- no reason at all, she thinks. Why would Falin be clothed? She's in a rut; this is her domain; what did Marcille expect? Why did her eyes linger, linger along Falin's semi-furled form, trace her ridges and lines like she'd never seen them before- never fucked her before-
Because it makes this real, some little bit of her says.
This is real.
Falin isn't holding back like she does in the halls, she's in her domain, her territory, what reason would she have to retain humanity?
Falin is not her Falin, right now. She is passionate and vicious and strange and dangerous and fired up more than Marcille's ever seen her, she's a little insane, she is, once more, a Dragon-- if not in body, then in mind.
Still, though, she is... Falin.
And Marcille is her mate.
The golden eyes are watching her, wide, expectant.
No barriers. Like me.
Falin's tongue runs lightly over her lips, head cocked to the side--
She looks hungry--
Marcille strips.
Falin never looks away. The hybrid tracks Marcille's every motion, ears flicking at every move the half-elf makes. When Marcille unclips her bra, lets it fall softly to the ground, Falin starts to purr. The sound sends tingles up her spine, and Marcille's breath hitches midway through undoing her belt.
A loud huff from the girl beside her gets the elf moving again, faster this time.
At last, she's down to her underwear, and Marcille makes quick work of those, too- the dim lighting in the room hasn't given her enough to put on a show, but despite that Falin hums, satisfied, as those too join the rest of the fabrics crumpled upon the floor.
"...Is this good?" Marcille whispers.
She doesn't get a response in the form of words, but the absolutely firey look Falin sends her way makes the elf's ears flicker upwards unbidden.
"Come," Falin demands, grasping Marcille by the arm and practically yanking her down into the nest. She falls in a tangle of limbs and feathers, landing somewhat awkwardly on her side. It's soon fixed, though; Falin shifts their positions until Marcille is tucked safely into her warm arms, snuggled up onto the hybrid's lap within their little blanketed eiderdown fortress.
She waits, breath bated, for what may come next, but Falin appears to be content with simply holding her for now. The low purring hasn't let up, and soft vibrations shudder throughout the two, centerpoint located where Falin's feathered chest presses tight against her back. Marcille lets the hybrid drag her further into the pillowed forest, lets herself be tucked away and held close to Falin's heart; lets herself become the center of the girl's territory- her prize jewel.
They breathe in tandem, in and out, in and out; Marcille feels their heartbeats sync up and melts further into the clawed hands closed oh so delicately around her ribs, body flowing into any remaining gap between the two until they're nearly one. Falin growls, low and appreciative, at the action, and Marcille feels a little burst of pride at the noise of praise.
A minute passes, then two, then three.
Slowly, Falin begins to shift their positions, leaning back up into a seated position, legs crossed, upright amid the fabrics of her domain. Marcille is placed gently upon her lap, putty in the hybrid's hands as she's maneuvered; her back is to Falin, legs spread out in front of the two. Falin wraps her arms back around Marcille's midriff as soon as she's settled, and tucks her head into the nook of Marcille's shoulder, petting her stomach possessively.
"What're you doing, Falin?" Marcille asks, words semi-slurred.
Silence from the other, at first.
"...Please," Falin eventually says-- grunts--, "Please."
It's clear what she's asking for, and a little bit of Marcille aches at the fact that even now, even when she's feral-brained and stimulation-deprived with her lover naked against her breast, Falin still takes the time to ask.
Marcille sighs, and relaxes back down into her lover's careful arms, words coming easy to her lips.
"Do anything you want to me, Falin," she tells her. "I love you. I know you'd never do anything to hurt me."
Falin tenses at her words, and Marcille feels her begin to tremble slightly, purr fading into a low, slow-building growl.
One of the half-elf's hands comes up to cup the hybrid's jaw, stroking along the soft, supple skin, pressing finger-kisses to her cheeks. The growl dissipates near instantly.
"It's okay, I promise. Take what you need."
Falin buries her head even deeper into Marcille's shoulders, grip almost deathly tight. She hisses, and Marcille feels a growing presence between the hybrid's thighs. Smiling, the half-elf grinds downwards onto Falin's hardening member, and revels in the slightly manic groan the girl behind her emits as she does so.
"Again," Falin whispers. She sounds brokenly relieved, and Marcille feels the hybrid's tense muscles begin to relax, the tiny bit of pleasure apparently just enough to take the edge off.
"Again,' Falin repeats, insistent, and Marcille complies.
They grind dry against one another for a time, soft moans and rustling blankets the only sound present in the dim room. Falin is near-fully erect now, the sensation of her dick rubbing up against Marcille's folds causing the half-elf to grow slowly wetter until the liquid noises of her slick join the sensual chorus of sound around them.
Marcille lets herself melt into the motion, the back-and-forth of it, the slow, pleasurable glide, the closeness to her lover. She closes her eyes and tilts backwards, pushing further into Falin, letting her lips part and breaths quicken.
It seems to last both an eternity and no time at all, but either way it ends with Falin slowing her motion, halting, and whispering in her ear, the needy, raspy murmur sending a stream of sparks up Marcille's spine.
"Marcille."
"Hmm?"
"Need you. Now."
The elf's breath hitches, and she finds herself spreading her legs unconsciously wider, letting Falin's cock slip through the gap between her thighs and split the lips of her pussy open, teasing gently at her clit and making Marcille squirm in the hybrid's firm grasp.
"Y-yeah, yeah," Marcille nods, barely paying attention to the words coming out of her mouth. "Go ahead."
A beat, then;
"My Marci," Falin grates, and with a soft yelp Marcille is being lifted into the air and slammed back down onto the girl's cock.
"Oh, oh, Oh Gods," Marcille moans.
Falin has grown. She doesn't know if it's the rut, or the arousal, or how pent-up she must have been, but the ridges of her scaled dick are even more pronounced now; its girth has grown significantly and she struggles to wrap her brain around just how perfect the stretch is.
She wants to savour it, catch her breath, but Falin barely gives the girl a second before she picks her up and spears her on her cock once again, clawed grasp digging into her skin as she forces Marcille to ride her, up and down and up and down again, feral with pleasure.
Marcille's gone limp, hips barely working back against the abrupt onslaught of pleasure, so vastly different from the loving, gentle foreplay. Her mouth is open in a silent cry, arms wrapped around Falin's neck as the girl fucks herself deep inside Marcille's pussy.
Moans spill from the two lover's lips, growled whines of possessive pleasure mingling with desperate high-pitched groans, filling the room with their exhilaration.
Falin uses her like she's a fleshlight, thrusting further into Marcille with every slap of skin on skin, lifting her limp body up and down her length near-mindlessly. Marcille's walls begin to clench around Falin, and the hybrid hisses, pausing her motions to push the half-elf down onto her hands and knees before slamming right back in, rutting into the tight heat proper this time around.
One of her hands reaches down to flick at Marcille's clit, rubbing little circles into the girl's most sensitive spot as Falin rearranges her guts with every thrust. The other holds itself firm against Marcille's belly, feeling the soft flesh bulge out on every strike inwards, pushing down just that little bit harder to pull the most delicious sounds from her mate's open jaws.
Marcille's trembling, barely able to keep herself up; each thrust feels like it's going directly through her body and out the other end, Falin's ministrations sending white-hot flashes of pleasure throughout her entire being.
"Ah, ah, ah," she moans, little pathetic noises that only serve to make the beast of a woman fucking her even more determined to utterly ruin the pliant girl beneath her. "Please, please, mmn, oh Gods-"
Marcille comes with a wild cry, mind blanking as she squeezes tight around Falin's cock, collapsing onto the ground as her trembling limbs fail her. Falin moans in response, long and loud, and through the fuzz in Marcille's brain she realizes that the hybrid has not stopped thrusting.
Falin fucks her into the ground, blankets rubbing up against Marcille's tits and clit as the woman above her devastates her already-ruined pussy, every ridge and bump of Falin's dick rubbing up against her swollen walls sending explosions of painful overstimulation through her body.
She can't think, can't breathe, can't move, all that exists is Falin, Falin's cock molding her insides to itself, Falin growling "Mine, mine, all mine," in her ears, Falin pounding her harder than she's ever been fucked in her life, Falin pushing the electric pleasure-pain further and further until it begins to burn its way back to pleasure sweeter than ever before, Falin's teeth on her neck in a claim, biting down hard, and Marcille feels red, red, red liquid begin to trickle down her back as Falin hits just the right spot and everything explodes into a sea of numb, fuzzy white.
The last thing Marcille feels before falling into oblivion is Falin thrusting once, twice more, then--
She passes out to the sensation of thick, warm spend filling her to the bursting.
/-------------/
There is a hand in her hair.
Marcille blinks awake to soft, murmured praise, wrapped in blankets with a hand on her head.
"F'lin?" she mumbles.
"I'm here, Marcille," comes the reply, warm and full of love. "You did so well."
"Mm." Marcille smiles at the praise, letting herself bask in the safe, comfortable atmosphere. "Y'all good now?"
Falin laughs, a soft, twinkling thing that reminds Marcille of the stars in the night sky.
"Oh, no," she says, a playful tilt to the words. "Pretty sure that if what Laios said is correct, we've got a couple more days of this ahead."
Marcille's soft fuzzy brain shoots rudely awake.
"Huh?!"
"Sorry, love," Falin smiles. She's still naked- both of them are- and from what Marcille can tell, only moved a few feet from the site of their fucking. She can smell the musk of sex in the air, and can feel the soreness of her hips already, aching and uncomfortably warm.
"Nooo," she whines. "C'moooon, Falin... My legs hurt so baaad!"
To her despair, the girl just laughs again. "No other way around it, Marci. Think positive! You won't care about being sore if I'm fucking the living daylights out of you, yeah?"
The brazen comment makes her blush, but Marcille begrudgingly agrees. It's true. She doesn't care about much of anything besides Falin when they're having sex. (The soreness can be a problem for Future Marcille, even if she might hate herself for it soon.)
Falin can see she's come to a decision, and the girl grins, swooping in to capture the half-elf in a hug. Marcille attempts to sit up to return the gesture, but a sharp pain in her shoulder sends her crashing back down. Falin winces, like she's just been reminded of something, and when Marcille turns to look at the offending limb she finds it to be wrapped in linen bandaging.
"I kind of bit you, there at the end," Falin explains apologetically. "Mating instinct and all. I couldn't think about anything but making sure you were mine."
The last word is said with a possessiveness that makes Marcille squeak into Falin's chest, feeling a familiar warmth begin to build in her gut. Falin seems to be in a similar predicament, if the pressure against her thigh is any indication.
A breath, then-
"So. Round two?"
Marcille inhales, prepares herself for the next however long it ends up being, and exhales with a nod and a little smile.
"Round two."
Falin kisses her, pulls the half-elf back up onto her lap, and soon everything but the presence of Falin beneath her, in her, loving her, buzzes pleasantly away.