M (Fallen shrine jp) My how the Foxy have fallen.

[A_Bibor_Farkas]

Olyv felt her cheeks immediately flush a deep scarlet beneath her freckles, eyes widening as Lysandra’s claw delicately traced upward. Usually so quick and sharp-tongued, she now found herself at a complete loss. The playful smirk she often wore wavered briefly, replaced by an uncharacteristic, slightly bewildered expression. "I—ah…um," she stammered softly, her voice quivering just enough to betray her flustered state. Clearing her throat hastily, she attempted a quick recovery, her accent deepening noticeably from the embarrassment. "R-roight, fahxy... natural, ye are. An' me, ah—well, y'know—mod or nae, oi get bahy jus' fine, t'ank ye." She gave a small huff, trying and failing to feign her usual bravado. Her eyes darted quickly away, seeking refuge in any direction except Lysandra’s teasing gaze. The brief bleat that slipped out as she nervously shifted her weight only deepened the blush burning on her cheeks, much to her chagrin.

 

[SouthernRage]

Lysandra's smile was absolutely vulpine as she circled around Olyv like a predator surveying her prey. "Where's that usual fiery bravado gotten off to, Olyv? Blown out like a candle by the one creature on this ship capable of ripping you to ribbons or flustering the unflusterable?" Her laugh was no different from the fox her species was so close to. She stopped behind Olyv and traced sensual fingers up the Red heads sides and stopped dangerously close to her ribs and the sensitive flesh above. "Don't tell me your having a bisexual panic~" Lysandra whispered in Olyv's ear like a lovers caress. "I wonder...how delicious you would be." She said with that sensual bedroom song that promised as much sensual passion as bloody violence. As Lysandra came around Olyv to step inside her quarters she dangled a dainty bra from a claw. "Must be cold in here. Headlights are on..little red~."

 

[A_Bibor_Farkas]

Olyv stood rigidly still, heart hammering rapidly against her ribs as Lysandra's teasing words caressed her ears. Her cheeks flushed deeply, matching the vivid shade of her hair, freckles disappearing beneath the crimson heat. She tried to muster her usual sharp retort, but all that escaped her throat was a small, flustered squeak.. halfway between a gasp and a bleat. Inside, her mind was a tangled storm of conflicted feelings. The fox girl’s teasing proximity sent her thoughts scattering like startled deer. Her body was betraying her thoroughly, reacting to every subtle touch, every hushed whisper. She mentally cursed her heart’s frantic tempo and the warmth pooling in her belly. The fiery confidence she usually wore like a well-loved coat felt distant now, replaced by something uncertain, vulnerable...frighteningly thrilling. Yer stronger dan dis, Olyv. Stop bein’ a daft git, she scolded herself internally, but the reassurance rang hollow. Lysandra's teasing touches burned into her memory, lingering in ways that made her knees tremble and her resolve weaken further. She knew exactly how dangerous and exhilarating this could be, and part of her, deeply stubborn and defiant...wanted to flee. Yet another part, softer, more curious and insistent, whispered temptingly to surrender, to see just how far Lysandra would take this tantalizing game. The playful threat of Lysandra's claws sliding along her sensitive skin made her knees go weak. Internally, she scolded herself fiercely, urging composure, but her body betrayed every attempt at control. Her golden eyes widened helplessly as the fox mod dangled the delicate garment tauntingly in front of her.
"Oi—dat's nae fair at all, fahxy," Olyv stammered softly, her normally bold voice trembling. "Yer jes' tryna wind me oop, and...ah mean, ye shouldn' tease loike dat." Her voice drifted off into an embarrassed murmur, words failing her entirely.She glanced towards the open quarters, feeling her resolve rapidly crumbling beneath Lysandra's sly gaze. There was a final, desperate internal plea for caution—don’ ye dare give in tae dis troublemaker, ye’ll regret it. But that stubborn voice was quickly drowned beneath a wave of curiosity and longing she refused to fully acknowledge.
With an exasperated sigh punctuated by a nervous bleat, Olyv finally relented, stepping forward into the room after the fox, her eyes cast bashfully downward. "Foine, den. Jes' dis once..but ahm nae admittin' tae nothin'..."

 

[SouthernRage]

Lysandra purred with satisfaction as she heard Olyv’s tentative steps follow her into the room. Without turning around, she let her voice trail out like silk over bare skin, dripping with amusement. “Just this once, hmm?” she echoed mockingly, the soft click of her claws against metal punctuating each step as she sauntered further inside. “Oh, little red, you really should know better than to say things like that to a Kitsune.”

She set the dainty bra down on the back of a chair with a flourish, her nine white tails flicking lazily behind her like the slow wag of a satisfied cat. Then she turned, eyes gleaming with wicked delight as she drank in Olyv’s flustered form.

“You know, I could stop,” Lysandra murmured, padding closer with predatory grace, voice lowering to a whisper that wrapped around the space between them like velvet. “I could stop teasing you. I could be a perfect little mechanic. No touches, no whispers, no smirks.” She paused just inches from Olyv now, bending slightly to bring their eyes level, the playful threat in her voice as dangerous as it was enticing. “But what fun would that be?”

With a sultry hum, she reached out and ever-so-gently lifted one of Olyv’s floppy ears between two clawed fingers, giving it the faintest tug. “These,” she said softly, voice almost reverent now, “are far too cute not to play with. Honestly, Olyv, did you really think I’d let a lovely little thing like you just walk around this ship looking like that and not... misbehave?”

Her grin widened as she leaned in, nose nearly brushing Olyv’s. “Tell me, deerling... what exactly are you not admitting to?” Her voice was a heated whisper now, warm breath ghosting over Olyv’s lips. “Because it sounds like you want me to tease you. Maybe even… more.”

Then, with the same suddenness as a fox darting through brush, she turned on her heel, tails brushing playfully against Olyv’s legs as she headed deeper into the quarters. “You did say ‘just this once,’” she called back over her shoulder, voice lilting with false innocence. “So you'd better keep up, little red. Don’t want to fall behind and miss all the fun…”

 

[A_Bibor_Farkas]

Olyv lingered in the threshold a moment longer than she meant to, her freckled hands wringing at the hem of her shirt, unsure if she was about to walk into disaster—or something far more dangerous. The room felt warmer with Lysandra in it. The air thicker. Every word the Kitsune drawled out wrapped around her like silk binding the legs of prey, soft and slow, but unrelenting. And gods, she hated how much she wanted that silk to pull tighter. She swallowed hard, her throat dry, voice caught somewhere between pride and yearning. She didn’t move at first when Lys tugged her ear, that familiar flutter in her chest giving way to something deeper—something that twisted low in her belly and flushed hot along her cheeks. The gentle touch, the reverent whisper...it broke past all her well-worn walls. The usual sass didn’t rise to meet the moment. No sarcastic jab. No teasing jab back. Just silence, charged and fragile. "What am I not admittin’ to…?" The truth lingered bitter-sweet on her tongue. That she’d been waiting for someone to see her like this. Not as a joke, not as a wild-haired deermod with a sharp mouth and quicker fingers—but as someone wanted, in that raw, soul-deep way. Her breath hitched as Lysandra turned, that brush of fur against her thighs enough to leave a trail of shivers dancing up her spine. Gods above, she cursed inwardly, yer hopeless. Dead set doomed. But she followed anyway..slowly at first, then with purpose. Her feet padded across the floor like she was approaching something sacred. Or dangerous. Or both.
She didn’t answer with words right away...only her presence, her closeness, her hand reaching out to lightly grasp the tail that had teased her. Just a little hold. Something grounding in the firestorm she was walking through. When she finally did speak, her voice had dropped to something softer than she’d let most people hear. No lilt. No performance. Just Olyv..bare, hesitant, and real. “…I’m not admittin’ tae wantin’ this,” she whispered, golden eyes half-lidded, “’cause if I do… I won’t want it t’stop.” She let the tail slide from her fingers like silk again, breathing in deep and closing the last step of distance between them. “An’ I think yeh knew that already.”

 

[SouthernRage]

Lysandra went still. That rich, teasing air around her held, suspended like breath before a kiss, like thunder before the crack. The half-lidded eyes, the reverent whisper, the trembling hand that had dared to hold her tail like something fragile and precious—it wasn’t banter anymore. It wasn’t just the game.

It was Olyv. Real and raw. Wanting. Lysandra turned slowly, and this time, there was no smirk waiting on her lips. Her crimson eyes met gold, and the weight of Olyv’s confession sank into her like gravity, unexpected, undeniable. The air between them changed again. Not heavier. Not warmer. Deeper. She stepped in close until their breath mingled, her tails still now, lowered, respectful in a way rarely seen from the cocky Kitsune. Her voice, when it came, was softer than a whisper, threaded with something new: reverence.

“I did know,” she said quietly, no teasing lilt this time. “But I needed to hear it from you.” One hand came up, clawless this time, just fingers, warm, sure, tracing lightly along Olyv’s jaw, a whisper of touch as if afraid too much pressure might break this spell between them. Her thumb brushed a freckle near Olyv’s lips, slow and thoughtful. “You think I don’t see you?” she murmured. “Not just the fire and the sass, but you. That wild, brave, bright thing underneath all the noise.” She leaned in, not yet kissing, just pressing her forehead to Olyv’s, eyes fluttered shut. A pause. Sacred. Anchored.

“I’ll stop,” she breathed, and her voice trembled slightly not from fear, but from restraint. “If you want me to. You say the word, and I’ll back off. No questions. No teasing.” A tail curled loosely around Olyv’s wrist—not binding, not pulling. Just there. Like an invitation. “But if you don’t…” she whispered, breath ghosting against Olyv’s lips now, “then I won’t hold back.”

 

[A_Bibor_Farkas]

Olyv’s breath caught in her throat..shallow, unsteady. That smirk she’d grown used to deflecting was gone, and in its place stood something raw, disarming… real. Her golden eyes blinked once, slowly, the faintest tremble running down her spine as Lysandra’s words sank in like warm honey poured over bare skin. And gods, the way she touched her...so gentle, so uncharacteristically tender...it made Olyv ache in places she didn’t know could ache like that. She sees me.
Not just the armor, not the jokes or the speed or the fire..her. And the realization shattered something quiet inside her, something she’d buried beneath years of bravado and crooked smiles and the fear of being too much or not enough. She’d always been fast to laugh, quicker to run. But now she stood still, trembling in place like a fawn staring down the edge of something she’d never dared name before. The warmth of Lysandra’s forehead against hers made her eyes fall closed. Her ears twitched faintly, sensitive to every breath, every whisper, every subtle tremor of voice. And the tail—that tail—curling around her wrist felt more intimate than any kiss.
Her lips parted, and for a moment, she didn’t trust her voice. She was used to teasing, to misdirection. But now… she found no mask to wear. “Nae…” she said at last, barely louder than a breath. Her voice cracked just slightly at the edges, not from uncertainty but from the weight of everything she was holding. “Don’t stop.”
She shifted then, gently, pressing her freckled cheek into Lysandra’s hand like a creature starved for warmth. “I’m tired of runnin’ from things dat scare me… especially when dey feel this roight.” Her free hand rose slowly, hesitant still, but she brushed her fingers along Lysandra’s waist, just enough contact to say I’m here. I’m choosing this." The tip of her nose nuzzled gently against Lysandra’s. A beat. A tremble. Then, softer still:

“Don’t hold back, foxie. Not from me.”

 

[SouthernRage]

The moment Olyv whispered “Don’t hold back,,” something inside Lysandra stilled, then surged. That voice, stripped of all its usual sharpness and swagger, laid bare a want so real it took her breath away. She hadn’t expected this. Not truly. Teasing Olyv had always been a game, a dance of barbs and sparks, but now the fire had changed. This wasn’t play. This was surrender. And trust. And something far more dangerous than either of them had dared admit. Lysandra looked at her then, not the girl who dodged vulnerability with jokes and speed, but the one who now leaned into her hand like it was the only thing keeping her from falling apart. She’s letting me see her. The thought hit her with reverence and something fragile just under her ribs.


She didn’t speak. Couldn’t. Words would’ve shattered the moment. Instead, she stepped forward, slow and sure, guiding Olyv by the back of her neck until their foreheads met again. She kissed her, not to take, but to promise. Slow, deep, careful. A touch that said I see you. I want you. All of you. Her thumb brushed the freckled skin of Olyv’s cheek, her tail tightening slightly around that slender wrist in reply. The quiet gasp it earned nearly undid her. Her other hand slid to Olyv’s waist, fingertips grazing the hem of her shirt. The slight tremble in the deermod’s body spoke volumes. Lysandra read every one. The walls were down now. No masks. No games.


Only them. As Olyv’s hand found her side, light, trembling, Lysandra closed the final space between them. The kiss deepened. The air thickened. The world narrowed to heat and skin and breath. The tail coiled, drawing her closer. The hush of silk. The slide of fabric. The soft exhale of surrender. She took her time. Reverent. Careful. Unyielding.

For the first time, Lysandra let herself want without restraint—and gave without holding anything back.

 

[A_Bibor_Farkas]

Olyv’s breath hitched as their lips met,,slow and certain, not rushed, not claimed, but given. The kiss was a promise, and for once in her life, she didn’t try to dodge or twist away from it. She leaned in, fully, trembling beneath the weight of being seen, of being wanted not in spite of who she was but because of it. Her hand fumbled briefly before settling at Lysandra’s waist, clinging there like she might lose her footing if she let go. Her knees barely held, not from fear, but from the way something deep and aching unfurled inside her.


So this is what it feels like… when someone doesn’t just tease the fire...but holds it like it’s sacred.


When Lysandra’s tail curled firmer around her wrist and drew her in, she gasped...soft and shaky....and pressed herself flush to the Kitsune. Her lips parted willingly under the deepening kiss, giving breath to the thing she’d never let anyone else close enough to ask for. No armor. No cleverness. Just skin, heat, and a deep, shaking yes.

She didn’t speak. She didn’t need to. Her body answered with every touch, every shift of her weight, every gentle press of her forehead against Lysandra’s as the room blurred around them.

And then… only warmth.

---

Scene Transition: Post-Intimacy, Later in the Quarters

The room had gone quiet.
Faint light from a wall sconce buzzed gently in the corner, casting long shadows over the gently tangled sheets and the heap of clothes left draped carelessly across a nearby chair. The air was warm with the faint scent of ozone, oil, and something sweet and musky...fur and freckled skin.
Olyv lay curled half atop Lysandra, her bare shoulders rising and falling with the steady rhythm of slowed breath. Her red curls were a tousled halo around her flushed cheeks, and her golden eyes blinked sleepily but didn’t quite shut. One of Lysandra’s tails lay draped protectively across her thighs, and Olyv’s fingers absentmindedly traced soft, lazy patterns into the kitsune’s ribs.
She didn’t speak for a while. The silence wasn’t awkward...just full. Full of all the things that didn’t need saying yet. Eventually, her voice came..quiet, a low murmur that still carried that familiar lilt, though now softer. Rawer. “…Dinnae tink ye were gonna wreck me so gently,” she whispered, the ghost of a smile twitching at her lips. “Usually when somethin’ hits me dat hard, it leaves a bruise.”
She paused, resting her forehead lightly against Lysandra’s collarbone, eyes fluttering shut.

“…M’not runnin’. Jus’ so ye know.” A breath. “Not from this.”