Dawnlark Plains don't call [m]e grimgram

His laugh didn't offend her - the Huntress was rather amused herself - but for propriety's sake, she turned her head to worry sharp teeth at his face, a growl more teasing than warning ripping past her black lips. But the growl soon turned to soft, keening sighs, and her attack quickly dissolved into insistent licks and mouthing at Grimalkin's chin. Her own hips strained to meet his advances, even as she kept her chest pressed resolutely to the ground.

A desperate whine escaped her when his teeth found purchase at the nape of her neck, and she pressed back into the touch until her body was contorted into an uncomfortable parabola, nosetip and hinquarters reaching skyward while her chest stayed pressed to the ground, forelegs held akimbo to steady herself.

By now, Sunspot had forgotten her coquettish act. The male's teasing, insistent thrusts had pushed all rational thought from her mind. She pressed back against him with urgent, wanton sincerity, wordlessly answering his question.