Thanks for the reviews guys :) Hope you enjoy the next chapter. There's still so much story to be written and only a few more chapters more that are done :( Working on a new Durmstrang fic, but that one's more of something I'm dabbling at for the hell of it; I'm working more on my star wars... maybe I'll get back to this one soon, heh ^_^ Please r&r!

BL

Chapter XXXV: Swimming

The water was beautiful. It babbled softly, slipping and tumbling over rocks, pooling into a broad, serene stream with grassy banks and a sandy floor. Warm ripples lapped at Delphia's feet with every one of Fenrir's movements. He was tossing and turning, paddling back and forth, dunking under the surface every so often. She was surprised at how much he enjoyed himself; he would float for a few minutes before suddenly twisting and splashing about. She swore he was acting like a delighted child. It must have been nice, she realised suddenly, to gleam so much joy from something so simple. She smiled over at him as his head bobbed abruptly over the surface, his matted, tangled hair dripping, wisps clinging to his face. He stared at her, a smirk turning his mouth, before clawing the hair off his cheeks, returning it to the soaked mass behind his head. Moving swiftly, gliding through the water, Fenrir went over to Delphia, placing his hands on either side of her on the bank. His eyes dragged up her legs, taking his time to get to her face before giving her a good stare.

"Aren't you coming in?" he wondered, his voice a bark of delight and wicked challenge.

Delphia shrugged and kicked her feet slowly in the water, relishing the smooth caress of the tiny currents she created. He grabbed a foot and tugged, grinning fiendishly at her startled cry, her struggles to stay on the dry shore.

"In the water, whelp," he barked playfully, laughing at her feeble attempts to slap his hands away as he clawed at her clothing. She was putting up some resistance, shoving his arms from her every time he tried to yank off her shirt. It confused him even as he continued to attack her clothes, attempting to find an in, needing to see her flesh.

"No, Fenrir," she gasped, drawing away and shaking her head as he went for her again, "I'm fine; I don't want to go in the water."

His hands stilled then rested gently on her thighs. Pulling back slightly, his eyes raked her face, a frown settling on his mouth.

"Why? The water's nice," he rasped, utterly bewildered.

Her lips tightened and she looked away, her gaze far-off. Shoulders drooping she then gave him a listless shrug. Part of her wanted to. She wanted to be some wild, free creature. No rules, no presumptions, no propriety; she could take off her clothes and jump in the water, it would be fine to run around naked and never have another real responsibility outside the pack; and it would be accepted that she was Fenrir's mate, rather than all this sneaking around and lying. She wasn't some werewolf like Fenrir, however, and she never realised how true his rhetoric was. He really was free. He could jump in the stream any time he wished without worrying about anyone seeing. For if someone did see, they'd probably join him and no one would think anything of it. No one, but no one, told him what to do. He made his own rules, did whatever he wanted when he liked. If his pack wasn't so structured, she'd hazard a thought at him being quite the anarchist. And it wasn't fair; she wanted that freedom but feared too much the stigma of becoming like him. Werewolves were not a part of polite society and it would give her family such a bad name. She felt like she had two lives that were completely incongruous, but that she could give neither of them up.

Fenrir grunted for her attention and touched her face with wet fingers, tepid water cooling down her cheek. Blinking, Delphia turned her head to him and smiled faintly, the mixture of worry and curiosity on his face blending to give him the age she knew he had, but never saw.

"Little one?"

She sighed and gave another half-shrug. "I . . . It's not right, Fenrir. What if someone sees? I can't go around naked; you know that."

He huffed, narrowing his eyes at her. "If someone sees, then it's nothing they haven't seen before. And no one will see," he tacked on, lying a bit because it seemed right, because it would comfort her. For all he knew, half his pack could be in the woods. Hell, he wouldn't put it past them to be hiding in the trees, watching, to catch glimpse of their Alpha pair.

"Fenrir," she finally said, looking him in the eye, "I'm not like you. I was raised differently."

He cast his eyes upward and shook his head, returning his gaze to her a moment later. Damn it her eyes were green. Suddenly he wanted to lick her. Leaning forward, he nuzzled her cheek, inhaling her scent. It was so familiar now, the smell of comfort and love and adoration. There was no better smell in the world. He knew she tasted just as good too. Gently he ran his tongue up the side of her face, lapping at her a few times. Her head moved slightly and he realised she was moving into him, a little contented murmur escaping her.

Withdrawing slightly, he pressed his mouth to hers, watching as her eyes fluttered shut, feeling her soft sigh against his lips. He could smell her opening up to him, a twinge of lust flowing from her, too sweet to be pure base instinct.

"I was raised the same as you," he muttered, pulling back. He licked his lips. Oh Merlin she was so bloody sweet. He bent forward for another kiss, being greedily accepted. Her arms wound around his neck and he found himself needing her, hungry for her. He wanted to devour every bit of her and completely lose his mind within her body.

"No you weren't," she whispered back, it being her turn to break the kiss.

He chuckled at that. "I was still raised in the same world, little one." He touched her hair, tangling his fingers in the cascade of shimmering brown. "I just learned who and what I really am, how to let go." He eyed her mouth. Merlin . . . her lips were too pouty and soft. Struggling with himself, he forced the urge down. He could have what he wanted in a moment. He still needed to get her stupid clothing off.

"Well, my mother would kill me if she found out I was naked outside."

"She isn't here," he growled back, his eyes turning to slits. There was no chance Preia could ever find them here; why did Delphia care so much?

"She still raised me. I'm not a werewolf, Fenrir. I have to wear clothes."

He smiled slightly. "Because you're outside?"

She gave him an exasperated look. "That's part of it, yes."

A grin slowly crept on his face. He leaned into her once again, his mouth pressing against her ear.

"Do you remember our first time?"

Delphia froze as heat shot through her. She trembled and stared at the side of his head, fighting the moan as his lips worked over her earlobe.

"Which one?" she croaked out, finding herself gasping for air. His hand inched up her thigh and started stroking along the flare of her hip. She squirmed, confused as to why she was panting and shaking when he was doing nearly nothing.

He continued to grin, feeling her reaction, hearing her laboured breathing. "Both," he conceded. "You didn't seem too hung up on propriety either time. Why," he continued, sounding mock-scandalised, "we were even outside."

Whining and shaking her head, Delphia fought the roiling within her as his lips found her neck.

"It's different now," she choked out, feeling her muscles tense. She ached to draw him to her, to cling to his body as he made love to her in that way she knew only he could.

"No it isn't," he grumbled, biting her gently, relishing her gasping cry. "You were so good," he breathed, eyes glinting over her shoulder. If he couldn't get her to willingly strip outside, he'd get her to such a point that she wouldn't even think about it.

"So I'm not now?" she somehow shot out, pain twisting her belly.

He hummed contentedly and shut his eyes, licking the blossoming stain of blood above her shoulder. Her tension ebbed and she all but sank into his arms.

"You didn't even feel it, did you?" he went on, pulling her in closer so their bodies were flush. His voice became thick with lust. "I didn't even see you react with pain, you wanted me so badly." Biting her ear, all he got was a moan. No, she didn't seem to register pain when he drove her to such limits.

"I still want you," she gasped, clawing at his back as she kissed and nipped his shoulder.

"I know, baby," he returned gruffly, reaching for her shirt. He lifted himself up slightly as he touched the cloth and all she did was moan in his ear, swirling her tongue down to his neck. He shuddered, his body clenching. Gently he pulled the shirt up and over her head; she lifted her arms so he could take it off, her eyes hazy and drooping with absolute hunger as she gazed up at him. Lowering himself back down, tossing her shirt aside, he pulled her to him again, groaning at the feel of her bare breasts against his chest.

"I'm naked," she sighed into his throat, making him rumble with laughter.

"So you are."

"You tricked me."

He continued to laugh. "That I did."

She was silent for a moment, worrying her lip. Fenrir could feel and smell the struggle within her, wondering if perhaps she was too recessed in wizarding ways to accept this. Would she pull away suddenly and go running off? Was she fighting with herself to accept this and stay here with him? Or was she angry that he had tricked her?

He realised a moment later as she sighed with resignation and wiggled her hips, that he had been completely wrong on all counts. She slid her skirt down and then looked up at him. His eyes lit up and he quickly helped her, pulling her skirt off her legs, taking a moment to study them with a happy sigh. He tossed the skirt around where he had thrown her shirt. Then he spread her legs and settled himself between her thighs, kissing her eagerly. She hadn't been struggling with his actions, he though with giddy clarity, but with herself, to find her resolve.

His chest ached. He clutched her to him, crawling up on the bank, spreading her out in the grasses and moss. His whole body shook, his arms trembling as he held himself up above her. She pulled him down for another kiss, her fingers tangling in his messy hair. Her hips undulated; he filled her swiftly, his mouth breaking from hers. His delighted, gut-wrenching howl echoed through the trees as he set about feverishly pleasuring his mate.

"Want to go in the water now?"

Delphia lazily lifted her eyes to Fenrir, stretching contentedly and settling more comfortably against him before answering. He smiled, trailing his fingers up and down her arm, enjoying the feel of her warm, limp body snuggled into his. Kissing her forehead, still in a daze, he gave her a look as she let out a breathy sigh.

"Mm," she finally groaned, stretching again, "oh Fenny, you're so . . .," she let out a little moan.

"Good?" he prompted, flashing her a pointy-toothed, utterly egotistical grin. "Amazing? Wonderful? Perfect? God?"

Giggling at that, she prodded him in the chest. "How about alright? Fine? Decent?"

He snorted and rolled onto his back, tucking a hand behind his head. "I'd settle for perfect."

She sighed as she sat up and shook out her hair. Was every man impossible, or was it just him? Standing slowly, Delphia went to the waters edge and gingerly slipped in. Well, she was already nude, had just had sex outside, so really, skinny-dipping was the least of her sins now.

Fenrir watched as she got up, languorously examining her arse and legs as they flexed with movement, admiring her as she crouched and slid into the water. He had been damned, damned lucky to have got her. She was a gift; a randy, ever-ready, voluptuous gift from the moon herself, for his decades of unwavering service. It was about bloody time he got something this good in his life. Besides, he was more than worthy. His eyes trailed her as she moved in the water, making a gentle wake as she walked slowly, adjusting to the temperature. He couldn't tell if it was a flush from their bout that had made her tinged with pink, or if she was starting to get sunburned. It wasn't a worry for him; his skin was too tough and tanned. He could be outside in the sun for hours and not think twice. Seeing Delphia now though made him wonder if her pale, aristocrat skin could take it.

She turned slightly and he sighed, examining her, drinking in the sight as greedily as he could. He knew, right then and forever, that young flesh was the most delicious thing set on the earth. It was pure pleasure to just stare at her, to study every curve and nuance of her body. Who needed a woman who thought she knew what she was doing? He had a wriggling, bucking nymph who loved to positively devour him as often as she possibly could.

"Are you coming in?"

He blinked and just stared at her; or, more of, her chest. A smile flickered on his features and he forced his eyes up to hers. Her brows arched as she smirked knowingly.

"Yeah," he rasped, "I'm coming." Hefting himself up with a soft growl of protest to his muscles, he rolled his shoulders and walked towards her. He couldn't remember a time when he so thoroughly ached and it felt so good. Jumping into the water, he sank down to his knees and groaned, tipping his head back blissfully. He let the water lap around him, soothe his sore muscles. Whatever he had done to her, he had definitely done something right. Merlin his muscles hurt. He felt a current of water course past him and he slitted his eyes over, seeing Delphia approach him. His eyes drifted over her body, wishing that she would never get dressed again.

"You alright?" she wondered, moving into him, kneeling to press her body against his. He settled his arms around her and kissed the side of her face. Her skin was satiny against his lips; silky wisps of her hair tickled his cheek. He inhaled and shuddered. No one should ever smell this desirable.

"I'm fine," he muttered, furrowing his brow slightly. "Why, whelp?" He knew he hurt, but it wasn't really painful and it couldn't have been obvious.

She shrugged and idly played with the hair on his chest. "You winced when you got up."

Had he? He snorted disbelievingly and kissed her again. "I tired myself out on you," he responded, grinning at her frown. "That's all."

"Oh," she breathed, "so I didn't tire you out? I mean, I could go for more," she continued coyly, reaching between his legs to fondle him.

He hissed and withdrew slightly, shaking his head. "Too soon, whelp."

"We rested awhile," she returned stubbornly, establishing her dominance. "And if your being tired has nothing to do with me, then you could just go easier this time and not over-exert yourself." She reached for him again and felt his hand clamp over hers.

"Alright," he growled, "you exhaust me. I just want to relax, float in the water, watch you swim and stare at your chest for the next hour or so."

A smile curled her mouth and Delphia found herself laughing. "You could stare at me for an hour?"

He let go of her hand and cupped her breasts, squeezing and kneading gently. "Longer," he grumbled, liking the way she squirmed and moaned from his touch.

"Fenny," she breathed, staring wide-eyed at him as she panted, writhing when he began rolling her nipples between his fingers, "we're supposed to be swimming."

"You swim," he grumbled, "I'll watch."

"You're doing more," she gasped for air, trembling, "than watching."

He grinned slowly, wickedly at her before dropping his hands. Taking in a deep inhalation of relief, thinking she could perhaps manage to calm herself, she realised as his hands cupped her arse and lifted her up that she should have known that grin. It was the portend of something delightful, something that would have her screaming his name. She shivered eagerly in anticipation.

Picking her up in the water was too easy and he hugged her hips to his abdomen, brushing his lips over a hard nipple. She let out a little moan; that wasn't enough for him. Tenderly he drew his tongue around the peak of her breast, receiving a breathy groan for his efforts. He kissed her nipple then took it in his mouth, suckling hungrily, her hips surging against his ribs. She clawed at his hair, crying out as she rocked gently in his arms, forgetting once again where they were and what they were doing. Shuddering she fell into him, clutching his head against her, never wanting him to let up.

It was nearing dusk and both Fenrir and Delphia were actually swimming. He was splashing around in the water like a boy again and she was settling into just soaking, still trying to regain her composure and balance. She watched him swim with soft, tired eyes, a smile playing on her lips. Somehow he seemed revitalised, absolutely bounding with energy. He was good to look at, too. Shamelessly she stared at him, examining his body, feeling her belly curling at the sight. His skin gleamed in the slowly fading light, water dribbling off him, tracing his toned musculature. She sighed at the sight of his muscles flexing, trembled as he stood, her eyes dropping down the plain of his belly. The water just barely covered him in some mockery of decency. There was nothing decent about him and she found herself yearning to actually see what was down there. Oh, she already knew, but she felt a naughty, dirty thrill from the thought of wanting to look. Damn being proper, she wouldn't avert her eyes or be good. If he only stepped closer to her, she could see her favourite part of him; if he came even closer than that, she could touch him, even take him in her mouth. An urge welled up inside her until all she wanted was to cling to him, feel his hands against her back as he held her, his mouth on hers. She needed him to seize her hips in his hands and savage her, pounding her like he had all day, even bend her over the edge of the stream like earlier. Delphia let out a little panting whine, something she could barely hear. Yet Fenrir's eyes lit up and he did move closer, sniffing the air gently. A rumble started in his chest and he stood before her, leaning over to get another good sniff.

"What are you thinking?" he wondered lowly, his rasp the most arousing thing she had ever heard. She whined again and shook her head. "You're thinking, whelp. I can smell your need. You're thinking of me, aren't you?"

"How egotistical of you to assume I'm thinking of you," she sneered with a quick glower before staring down into the water, unable to summon up anymore rancour. Instead it sounded like the pathetic rebuke it was. He laughed softly at her, shaking his head. She glanced up into his face, his gleaming too-light brown eyes, studying the flecks of gold highlighting them. Her chest clenched; her stomach went soft even as her muscles contracted. Of course she was thinking of him; she couldn't stop thinking of him. Something drove her to move towards him, to be cuddled in his arms, protected from the world. Perhaps it was the inordinately smug, self-satisfied look on his face, or the sense of utter pride and dominance radiating from him. He was obviously still feeling the after-effects of their last bout, giving her a sense of relief. She wasn't the only one so thoroughly affected. But whereas after she became clingy and in need of comfort, he became possessive and overly protective. It was so different, but it fit so perfectly.

Without warning he leaned over and swept her into a belly-searing kiss. She clung to him, as she had wanted, her eyes drifting shut in ecstasy. Pressing her against the edge of the stream, he tasted her delighted cry as he had her again, hovering possessively over her, his hands on the riverbank. He couldn't get enough, she couldn't get enough; he didn't even know by now how many times he'd had her today. Nor did he care; all he knew was that his mate was moving in vigorous tandem with him as she clawed eagerly at his back, moaning for more. Her mouth was voracious; her slippery, wet body snug against his. She fit perfectly against him, sealed just right around him on every plunge.

Her mouth broke from his with obvious effort and she stared up at him as they bucked and arched together.

"You're perfect," she whispered, gasping delightedly with every thrust within her.

He panted then grinned at her, his hips jerking as he kissed her once more.