Shy Deer Steppes sweet blessings

all welcome

Isetnofret was sprawled elegantly across the dry earth, his pale coat blending with the golden tones of the sand and sagebrush. He rested with an effortless grace, his long limbs extended in languid repose. For now, he was at peace.

His golden eyes half-lidded, glimmering faintly in the light, and his chest rose and fell with steady breaths. The sun warmed his slender body, tracing over the soft contours of muscle beneath his thin fur.

His limbs extended gracefully, long and lithe, each motion a practiced display of elegance. A yawn escaped his parted lips, his sharp teeth catching the light briefly before he closed his mouth again with an audible click.

He turned slowly, his head lifting, eyes blinking.

roan caught the scent, sharp and strange—a feminine sweetness laced with something unmistakably male. his jaw tightened, teeth gritting as a grimace pulled at his scarred muzzle.

he said nothing, his eyes narrowing as he fixed his gaze ahead, unwilling to linger on the peculiar aroma longer than necessary.

until he was right before him. lounging.

roan let out a chuff.

isetnofret stirred, soft eyes sliding open at the sound. his gaze found the scarred stranger standing before him.

a chuff falling from the behemoth's mouth.

it is met by the slow curling smirk of the man.

slowly, he rose. slender limbs stretched, muscles rippling beneath pale fur. to what do i owe the pleasure?

a purr.

roan raised a brow.

his weight shifted, broad paws settling firm against the earth, but his tongue remained still. the feline man’s voice slithered through the air, all smooth edges and amusement, but roan didn’t rise to the bait. he had no interest in playing games, no patience for the lilting purr of a stranger who moved like a shadow.

his silence stretched.

then, after a long moment, he exhaled through his nose, dismissive, gaze raking over the man with the scrutiny of a butcher sizing up meat. he didn’t ask questions. nothin'.

he just watched. waiting.

nothing? he echoes softly with amused cadence, letting pale eyes befall the man of muscles and scars, of brown and caramel hues. how... strong.

his head tilts ever so slightly as he moves. turning in a wide circle, an arc, moving so that the stranger could see every inch of what iset had to offer. long, feminine legs and a tapered waistline. a remarkably beautiful face of sin; he had used it before to get what he wanted.

but iset wanted for nothing now. his path was aimless.

well, that’s a shame. he clicks his teeth, musing while he looks the man up and down. i was hoping for a little more excitement today.

roan watches him, dark, save for the slight furrow of his brow. feline in form, but not in nature—there’s a sharpness to him, a knowing, a prowling sort of awareness that makes roan wonder.

where does he come from?

the man moves with purpose, an invitation, perhaps, or a test. roan doesn’t know which, but he does not look away.

what could make anything exciting? his voice is low, gravel-dipped, as he watches the way iset carries himself—like he’s already won something roan hasn't realized he was competing for.

the glint in the other’s eye is unmistakable, teasing, daring. roan only blinks once, then, with a quiet huff, shifts his weight back.

depends on the company.