Shadowwyn Moor beauty was your armor

the morning sun just barely crests the horizon; painting the sparse and small copses of trees of the moor in a hazy gold. among the waving grasses; grown wild and tall, and wildflowers with emerald bulbs that promise of flowers yet to bloom are trees uprooted and thrown about. fiery orange gaze studies the upturned root systems: massive despite the relative size of the trees ...evidence that damage was done here but despite that the moor thrives on. small game dart too and fro: a chipmunk watches him from a snarled root and a rabbit darts beneath gnarled roots where its barrow is wisely concealed.

ridgeback has no interest in hunting, not yet driven by hunger. for now he is content to simply wander, charting this moor as he has charted other territories; an inquisitive explorer.

to fulfill a contract, information is needed—not that alamar desires trudging his feet deeper than he needs to. if he could, he would ignore the possibility of joining a pack as long as necessary. his trust in others, much less those with authority and greed, are minimal. the mere thought leaves him agitated.
so what better to do than distract himself away with the excuse of needing to feed himself and jaime—who’s suffered from an injury to his forearm? surely the responsibility is thrusted upon his shoulders to make sure they have breakfast on the table.
slender bulk crouched in preparation, he darts from the brush, not expecting the much larger wolf in his tracks for his focus had been on a vole. shit! he curses, putting on his brakes.

the sound of rapidly nearing footfalls draws, with a casual rove of his ear, ridgeback's attention. once a soldier, always a soldier; his shoulders tense and his muscles pull taunt in a flawless imitation of muscle memory as he instinctually prepares for impact or the activation of fight or flight. the purposeful, quick strides of the stranger morph then to the sound of skidding; and true to his sound observation, as ridgeback turns, he can see the other male struggling to get stopped, profanity spilling from his lips.

a flash of movement; a vole darts past him and ridgeback puts two and two together in his head ...and then after a few seconds, as his fiery orange gaze moves from the streaking shadow to the other wolf, ridgeback lets out a snicker of amusement.

dude is no help in the situation—a brick wall of muscle instead of sweeping alamar off his dainty feet like a knight should, or at least dodging out of the petite canine’s warpath. alas, he manages to halt, leaned awkwardly back and nearly sitting on his ass with bright blue eyes staring up at the dude’s chin. face flush with embarrassment, and radar ears pushed back. they are a nose’s length away from each other.
fuck.
heart pounding and head spinning, alamar hates that the bastard decides to laugh at him—it makes him a smidgen more attractive, not that he needs the extra brownie points. you could have at least moved. he counters in a hushed voice, cheeks puffing as he shifts his gaze off to the side. alamar frozen in the awkward lean.

i could have, ridgeback admits in agreement when the other male finally halts — a nose length from one another. if there is discomfort in having a stranger so close to him: to the vitality of his life; his throat, which is concealed with an instinctive tuck of his chin — he does not show it. instead, there is only that dastardly and cheeky amusement. but where is the fun in that? though, truth be told, if the table were turned and it was his hunt that got interrupted he would've been angry. possibly would've even started a fight; yet, fascinatingly enough ( at least at this moment in time ) there was no indication that the stranger was going to pick a fight with him over it.

and despite how ridgeback himself would react ...can't help but think that the vole — tiny as it is — is not worth scrapping over.

what, pray tell, were you planning to feed with that? ridgeback asks, motioning with his muzzle towards where the vole had ultimately disappeared somewhere to the safety of the underground. it was a meal suitable for only a cub ...or the truly desperate, he assumes. fiery orange gaze studies the male as he takes a few steps back, opening up a rift of space that slowly eases the tension in his shoulders; a warrior's shoulders. or was it the chase you were enjoying?

so there is fun in stomping on hunting parties, huh? alamar cannot relate, sorry dude. maybe it’s the sour look on the petite canine’s face that this warrior is after, for that is what he gets in return. a puff of cheeks, an irritated twitch of the tail. ears staying flattened back.
brawls over it though? nah. alamar isn’t the fighting type, unless they’re a true scumbag that needs to be dealt with, and even then, it’s more likely that he’d get his ass handed to him than anything.
i was planning on feeding me, with that. he motions his muzzle, too, eyes staring in challenge, amusement flickering brief as the knight is the one to back from personal space. alamar had been frozen, certainly, and impacted by various thoughts, yet he’d kept his ground awkward as it may have been.
i don’t “enjoy” chasing. more the type to enjoy being chased, if anything, as suggested by the slip of a simper.

i was planning on feeding me, with that.

the stranger counters, injecting sharpened points on a few key words. there is a challenge in the other's eyes that brings it with a familiar, rushing warmth of what could only be written as a thrill thru him. that crumb? ridgeback inquires with a snort and a dismissive wave of his paw, continuing to tease. not necessarily with the intention of being cruel but in a way that too closely resembles how a young boy might tease a girl he finds pretty about the ribbons in her hair; border-lining flirtatious.

he enjoys the chase, truth be told ...for situations that involve prey and otherwise. ambition would not allow him to settle for anything less — even though he was not above stealing a meal already caught and claiming it for his own ( as per the poor golden eagle he chased away from the bighorn in an earlier thread ). no doubt. ridgeback murmurs in agreement with a slow forming grin twitching at the corners of his lips.

oh yes, that crumb. not all are tall, dark and handsome—alamar only fits two of those descriptions, if any were to ask him. height has always been a sour note, however, from where he is from, not everyone is a titan—primarily due to the strong intermingling of coyote blood. the vole wouldn’t have filled him, but it is better than nothing, and he nearly had it—if it weren’t for this meddling warrior.
a huff escapes his lips, a brief twitch however shifts the breath into a short lived chuckle.
and you do? edged with the challenge of show me then.

ridgeback's grin tapers into a smirk as the stranger picks up on the insulation hidden in his words. smart. this fact, ridgeback liked. mhm, he replies nonchalantly. i find being the hunter to be quite exhilarating. for that was what the chaser was: the hunter. of prey. of pretty boys or pretty girls. whatever tickled his fancy in that moment of time. a quirk of his brow is given in a challenge accepted manner.

how humorous that they’re preferred roles had been reversed; alamar the one who stumbled upon the hunter, the hunter the one dancing with hints. alamar tangos nonetheless, stepping to his tune.
what’s keeping you then? he glances off to the side, as if to show how much there is around that he could go about hunting—not just the vole that slipped past. yet smug as he is, he flickers his blue eyes back, lips upwards knowingly.

well, ridgeback draws on a lofty breath. for starters, i don't know what you want. a twitch of his ear is given, another lift of his lips into an easy and playful smirk. ridgeback's — as far as he was concerned — words were true enough. he could hardly hunt while he wasn't sure what he was meant to hunt. hopefully, the soldier thinks, it is not that crumb whose trail he has already lost ...and is beneath the both of them to even call food.

the advancements were obvious in alamar’s book, yet there is a lingering tease, or perhaps, rejection that comes next. a casual sway of his tail is given. alamar tests boundaries, sees if they are on the same page more directly—he approaches, moving to place a paw tenderly on the gladiator’s shoulder. is it not obvious?

paw presses against his shoulder; tender, followed by a question that answers ridgeback's questions all at once. me. i am much tastier than a crumb. coquettish tease leaves his lips and he grins. a four course meal, if ridgeback was being generous to himself and he usually was. fire settles low in his belly, so easily roused no doubt by the fruitful season they lingered in still. ridgeback shifts then, so the other man's paw falls from his shoulder and draws nearer in an effort to nip at the other man's cheek.

are you? he tangos, fighting tease with tease. blue eyes half-lidded. i’d need a bite to find out. it is not he who does the bitting, however, as alamar’s forearm falls casually to the side and the gladiator draws near to nip his cheek. it steals a breathless chuckle out of alamar, amused and pleased—lips curved. he tilts his head to the side, giving him easier access.

indeed, ridgeback murmurs without straying confidence; matter-of-factly. despite his boasting of being tasty ridgeback is delighted that his nip is allowed by the other man, that a tilt of his head is given to allow him access. ridgeback, self-indulgent as always, takes what is offered him. his nips and soothes his tongue over each nip; teasing. affection driven from attraction. go ahead, the ranger offers into the cusp of the other man's ear. taste. he encourages with a devilish curve of his lips, offering his own cheek. he was a man of his word, after all and was more than willing to prove he was much more satisfying than a crumb.

a shiver thrills through him, eager and fascinated by the nips and the soothing rasp of a tongue over them. alamar wishes they bruised, left a mark in their wake instead of the ghosting feeling that fades a beat later. a low noise settles in his throat—a mixture of pleasure and disappointment when the gladiator pulls away. yet not without the beckon of a taste himself. half-lidded eyes peak towards him, drinking in the devilish grin. a twist of his own plays on his lips as the smaller of the two takes the invitation hungrily; he nips, following the other’s lead by a comforting lick over-top. hmm… not bad. a sway of his long, bushy tail.

sorry about the delayed response! i decided i'm going to shelf ridgeback so feel free to either archive as is or wrap up with your reply! ^-^

there's the thrum of his heartbeat in his chest; a war drum. there's anticipation speeding thru his veins; like lava filling the cracks in the earth. the compliment settles warm in ridgeback's chest. like the birth of a sun in his heart; soft and hot all at once. just wait until you see what comes next. comes the confident purl of ridgeback as he seeks to lure alamar to a spot with more privacy so they could continue.

not a problem! sad to hear ridgeback is going, but if he’s ever back i’d love another thread with these two thank you for this one though!

finally alamar gets what he seeks, the lure is taken with a backstep, a tease that taunts his resistance, yet soon enough the coywolf falls into step with the handsome gladiator. the privacy appreciated, and their dance continued.