Better and Better
Nothing fancy. I woke up with this and wanted to write it out.
So close.
Any moment now.
The breeze is ever so slight, but the scent it carries is maddening. Promisingly familiar yet scintillatingly alien. Demandingly powerful yet frustratingly elusive.
But he's getting close. He's sure of it.
He passes silently through the foliage and freezes, stunned, at the sight before him. In the clearing, in a pool of light, rolls a golden feline.
She's like nothing that he's ever seen before. He pauses, drinking in her every detail. He's always thought of cats as smaller-things, but this is not so with her. The lines of her body tell a story of limber grace and raw power. Her fur shimmers in the light like a field of tall grass in late summer. She's healthy, and young, and she's dancing.
She's dancing on the ground in fits and starts, first this way and that, soft, enticing sounds escaping her throat as her back arches and her tail thrashes with need, broadcasting in every way she can that she's...
His lungs burn and he takes his first breath since seeing her. His nose confirms what his eyes have already told him. The air here is heavy with her heat.
He feels a shift in balance in his loins, feels his balls start to ache, feels his shaft begin to swell. Instinct tells him to announce himself with a growl but he suppresses the urge. Better to get closer, first.
The breeze is still with him, masking his approach, and she's too caught up in her writhing to hear any of the tiny sounds that might give him away.
So close.
Any moment now.
The breeze begins to shift. He freezes in dismay, one huge paw off the ground. Bides his time. Just as it shifted away, it might shift back. If only he's still and patient, he still might have her.
But the breeze doesn't shift back. There is a breath's length of stillness, and then the air begins to flow past him toward her.
She still hasn't seen him, but the shock on her face is unmistakable as she scrambles to her feet in a blur and scans the surrounding woods, eyes wide and ears flat.
He knows that he should pounce now if he wants her. And he does want her. But again he finds himself thunderstruck at the sight of her, muscles tense and pupils massively dilated. He feels by deep monition that the sight would be a terrifying one if he were a smaller-thing. And then those searching eyes find his and, for a moment, he feels every bit the smaller-thing.
Only for a moment. For almost as soon as she's seen him, she's gone.
Her disappearance is enough to break the spell. There is no time for self-recrimination. He wants her now even more than before, and he's not about to let her slip away. Even before he's processed the thought he's racing after her, dipping through the spot in the foliage where the leaves still tremble from her passing.
He does not know this part of the woods, but it seems familiar enough. The deer-trail she's taken off down is no different from a thousand others he's taken prey on. And when he rounds a corner and reaches a new corridor of greenery, he can tell at a glance that the ground is undisturbed. He pauses, brought up short. She hasn't come this way, but she hasn't gone back his way, either. And no sign of her to either side.
His ear twitches and he wheels to the left.
There.
But how?
She's somehow left the trail without leaving any sign. As he plunges after her, his mind plays back over the shape of her body. Those legs. He realizes that she must have leapt clear over the bushes. Truly an amazing creature. But he's still too dizzy with her scent and the excitement of the chase to really think about it, and anyway, he thinks she is close.
His eyes catch a flash of gold, his nose a taste of cat. She's tearing through the woods with the sure grace of one born to them. He does his best to keep up, and mostly does, until he breaks through a stand of soft-young-needle-trees and sees the deep ravine before him and she disappearing into the brush on the other side.
He manages to check his momentum by the barest of margins, very nearly spilling down the side to the sharp rocks below. He stares, stunned, at the space that she had leapt without a second thought. There are some things that cats do better than dogs, and he knows that this is one of them.
Still. Still!
His sinuses are full of her and he's not ready to give up. He backs up, takes a deep breath, and gets a running start. Three bounds. Two bounds. One bound, and--!
He isn't going to make it. His body slams halfway onto the opposite bank, front claws dragging uselessly through the soft earth while his back paws flail in the air. And then, a root! His hind leg catches and pushes him up and out of the ravine.
Winded, he takes one last look back before he turns to the woods. She hadn't waited to see if he would make it. Smart. By now she's got a commanding lead and he doesn't even know which way she went.
He shakes out his fur and lunges heedless into the brush. As he runs he tosses his head, casting about for the slightest taste of her, and before long is rewarded for his efforts. There are some things that dogs do better than cats, and this is one of them.
There. She startles at his appearance, clearly having assumed that she'd given him the slip.
Not so.
But she springs away again quicker than he can believe, and by the time he's followed her into the next open space she's halfway up a nearly-vertical fallen tree and scaling fast. The tree is the only way up the face of a cliff that will otherwise take too long to go around. He doesn't hesitate, but leaps as high as he can onto the thing and scrabbles hard. His hard claws shred the rotten bark rather than hooking into it, and his heart falls even as he does. There are some things that cats do better than dogs, and this is one of them.
He lands hard on his shoulder and rolls onto his back only to see her sitting casually, almost primly, up above him. He lies, panting, and gazes up at her. Somehow she's able to radiate haughtiness and disdain even as she studies him with frank interest. The full-risen moon floats behind her shoulder, pale against the blue sky. He realizes that this is the first good look she's gotten at him.
If she likes what she sees, she shows no sign. And then, with a flick of her tail, there is only the moon.
His eyes slam shut as he rolls to his feet, arches his back, and howls in frustration. So close. After all that, to be so close! He turns back to the base of the fallen tree and digs into it with his claws, snarling, bits of bark and wood flying fast and furious.
Useless. Useless!
He pours his rage into the hapless log for a time longer, until at last something catches his eye.
The tree is covered in her claw marks. He sniffs cautiously at the portion he has not yet destroyed and is rewarded with her scent. She must come this way often. He must be near to where she sleeps!
He looks right and looks left, and decides that he'll be able to get around the cliff soonest to the right. He trots that way and finds a small gully that he has no trouble climbing, and before long he's nosing the spot where she sat and considered his fallen form. He contemplates the ridges of earth where her paws splayed open, supporting her weight. Carefully investigates the slightly-disturbed grass where her tail swept back and forth over it. Locates the six blades that pressed against the source of her heat, and spends a long moment fighting to keep his emotions under control.
She'll be his. She has to be his.
He turns from the cliff and walks slowly into her domain. This part of the woods is a little different than he's used to. The scent of the loam is not as rich as his paws turn it up. The trees are smaller, and wider, and are placed differently. There are flowers where he comes from, of course, but not like here. So many, and so many different kinds, and so powerfully scented! They keep him from finding her as swiftly and surely as he otherwise might.
It doesn't help that the ghost of her scent is everywhere. Figuring out where she's been most recently would be enough of a challenge even if the wind didn't keep kicking up and filling his nose with pollen.
He spies an outcropping of rock and decides to climb it, thinking to survey the area and find her. It's a difficult climb, but not impossible, and again he finds that the sign and scent of her are all over it.
He pauses at the top, surprised by how much and how far he can see. The sparse woodland of her home drops away before him, giving way to green meadows and copses of trees, and beyond that the sea-of-grass-from-which-rises-the-sun.
And there! Below him, she runs. She must have seen him well before he climbed the rock and taken flight, for she's well beyond him now, racing downhill with an effortless grace.
She's far away, but he takes a moment to pant and congratulate himself on his victory before commencing the extended overland pursuit. Because there are some things that dogs do better than cats, and he knows that this is one of them.
He leaps from the rock and lands in lush green grass, butterflies and grasshoppers scattering in every direction. Bounding downhill after her is almost too easy. And he saw where she was, and where she was going, and knows that there will be no more surprises.
Only the chase. Only the win. Only her scent.
As he reaches the high grasses of the meadowland he notices that the sun is on the lip of the hill behind him and marvels at her stamina. Still, she must forge her path with each new step, while he has but to follow.
So close.
Any moment now.
When he finally lays eyes on her, there is no mistaking her fatigue. She presses onward, but half-heartedly. Unlike him, she's not made for this. She hasn't heard him yet over the sound of her own struggle with the tall grass.
Confident, he barks his excitement and races forward. Her spine stiffens and she turns to look back over her shoulder, eyes wide and ears low-
He gathers his energy for the final push and leaps, powerful muscles rippling in his hind legs and throwing him into the air above her. Even as he crashes onto her back his teeth sink into the nape of her neck. His claws dig into her sides and his weight presses the breath out of her in an audible rush.
She puts forth a token struggle. He holds her firmly, unconcerned. Before long she goes still beneath him. Already he's out of his sheath, dripping-wet and aching-hard. His tip brushes her heat-swollen mound and she stiffens. She's helpless with exhaustion and need. Her back arches and her body offers itself up to him.
He growls his approval and pushes forward. His tip slides across her mound. She sucks in a breath when it lodges in the furrow at the center. Her scent is maddening. Her entrance is the single hottest thing he's ever felt in his life.
His hips buck forward without warning or will. He's no longer telling his body what to do. It needs no instruction and will tolerate no interference. The cat beneath him yowls as his hardness breaks her virginity but her body only arches even further, making itself even more accessible, in response. His first thrust is followed immediately by another as he puts all his power into forcing himself further into her.
He caught her, and she's his, and she'll be his.
Before long he's pounding her mercilessly, holding her firm with his jaws and forelegs, rutting into her with his enormously swollen shaft, her overwhelmed cries meeting his snarls of pleasure and only serving to urge him on.
She shifts position slightly, her back finally giving up its last degree of feline flexibility, and he finds his shaft wholly surrounded by her tightness and his over-heavy balls resting against her mound. The end of her tunnel is so hot against his tip that in any other circumstance it would certainly feel painful.
But here, and now, it's an invitation and a promise that he'd die before passing up. She's burning, melting, blazing to be filled with life. And he's...
He's starting to have to fight for each new stroke into her as the base of his shaft thickens and hardens. She tries to pull away, finally beyond what she can handle, but one sharp twist-and-tug puts a stop to that.
So close.
Any moment now.
He snarls his triumph. Her eyes fly open and she yelps and yowls in pain, and in pleasure, and in disbelief.
There are some things dogs do better than cats.
His love makes a place for itself in her where no place had been. With nowhere else to go, his tip mashes forward into the nexus of her heat, lodging itself firmly there as his jaws tear at her neck and his claws savage her sides and thick bolts of puppy batter slam into her most sensitive place. She cries out and slashes at the ground, leaving deep gouges in the earth, but offers no resistance.
Then, just as he's winding down, she makes the sweetest sound he's ever heard and her body quakes to life around him. Everything from her neck to the tip of her tail starts to shake. Her inner muscles grip like a vice, rippling serially down his shaft, milking him for every last drop, and the hollow at the center of her heat yawns open around his tip, admitting everything he's given her into her molten core.
She's gone entirely limp under him and he releases his hold on her neck to arch his own back and let loose the cry that's been building within him. There, in the twilight, grass around and moon above, he pours his heart into the sky.
There has never been an answer, and this time is no exception. But this time it doesn't bother him. He howls again, the note long and low, and again his conquest trembles under him and milks him for more young.
When his passion has begun to cool, he remembers how hard he was on her and plants some tender - though not apologetic - kisses on her brutalized nape.
She stirs beneath him, held firmly in place by his oversized knot, and begins to purr. Softly at first, but with a growing intensity that eventually vibrates the entirety of the hardness within her. He settles forward onto her, quieted by this novel form of pleasure, as the soft breeze of the evening washes over them.
He is so at peace with the world that when he feels himself come loose and the tide of their passion spill forth from between her legs, he merely rolls off of her, onto his back beside her.
She is still for a long moment, then raises her head to see him. Her purring doesn't cease as she gingerly rises into a sitting position, her tenderness evident in every understated move. All the colors of the twilight are in her eyes as she regards her mate and, almost certainly, the sire of her young. Powerful instincts kick in and she leans over and plants a kiss on the ruff of his chest. Then another. Then more. Tentative at first, but growing bolder.
She grooms him for what feels like an eternity, rumbling her love and contentment. He thinks that perhaps she had been alone, as he had been. But they aren't alone, any more, and soon they'll be even less alone. She'll give him litter after litter of puppies, and probably a few kittens, and they'll live in her woods of endless flowers and strange-smelling loam, and the night air will be painted with all the colors of calling kin.
As he drifts off to sleep in the pale moonlight he thinks that there are some things that cats and dogs do best together, and decides that this is one of them.