Emberwood (MATURE MATURE MATURE) Alarm clocks Screaming, Monsters calling my name

@Donovan Azura.  This should be interesting. Forward dated to 7/22. There's a light rain. 

He moves south, A lot on his mind and seemingly all of it hanging on the lands below the territory. 
The Saints, a clear and obvious threat. 
Nightwalkers, and whatever was seriously wrong within the Haunted Woods...how had so many Nightwalker pups end up dispersed? Had Valour died? He sincerely hoped not. He had had so much hope for the boy. 
He stumbled into a fertile paradise of prey. 
Game trails crossed over each other, and the scent was devoid of bear, cat, or anything else. Well, nothing like a little hunting to get his mind straight.

It seems Donovan has the same thing in mind as he trails an endless supply of smaller prey around the forest. He’s further from the walled in canyon than he would like, but it’s necessary to explore the territories around him. 

The trees are beautiful, likes the comfort they bring. Unlike the savage territory of the desert they live in. It’s chaotic and raw. That’s exactly what Donovan likes. So as he paws through the environment, he’s hardly paying attention until he allows his eyes to gaze along the horizon, looking for any immediate prey. There’s no prey but there’s definitely something else. Much bigger, it’s another wolf.

Now he’s curious. He pads over, not caring to make himself quiet, he gives a drawn out and interested. “Hmm.” Then a playful. “What do we have here?” 

Another presence. 
Not surprising, with this absolute gold mine of food. 
The stranger makes his movement obvious and....
Oh holy shit. 
The man is an absolute wall of muscle, perfectly toned. He's obviously not pure wolf, but with Clarence and Awenfen it no longer bothers him the way it used to. 
As his eyes tumble hungrily over the way the variegated browns seem to glow in the sunlight, a rumbling voice that makes his stomach flip flop.
Oh fuck. Oh Gods. Oh Fuck. 
For a moment memory stands there, jaw agape, staring like an idiot. 
Say something, dumbass. He blinks, brain finally engaging. Theres a surge of self consciousness over his damaged face, and he lowers his head, trying his best to hide it. 
"Well, when I went looking for meat this morning, I didn't expect it to be a nice hunk of Man." 

Donovan stands there in all of his glory when the coffee pelted male turns around. The obvious way his eyes roam over Donovan’s form force the brindled male to quirk a circular white brow up. He’s booking at him like he’s a four course meal. So Donovan takes some steps forward and then in merged by the others words. At this, Donovan can’t stifle the rumbling bark of laughter that comes from his chest. Wow, he’s fucking honest.

He eyes this stranger down, the mottled brown of his coat pleasing to the eyes as he inspects him from head to toe. “Oh? Well it seems like your lucky day, darling.” He hums back.

Inhaling his scent he tilts his head. “You a pack wolf? Smells familiar.”

It seems his self conciousness was unnecessary. The man seems to be just as appreciative of his form, and Memory's tail gives a wag. It's been too long since he's been in a relationship. There's a myriad of mixed scents on his pelt as he moves in closer to the man. 
"Name's Memory. And yeah, I'm up in the Hushed Willows, Seelie Court. I guess I'm a fairy in both senses of the word."  He laughed. 
The scent coming off the stranger was that of desert sand and musk, a heady scent. 
"And you, big boy? You got a name or are you just going to be my mysterious stranger?" 

EVERYTHING BEYOND THIS POINT WILL PROBABLY BE 18+ ENTER AT OWN RISK!

Mature Content Warning

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The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: Sexual Content

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They’re a comfortable ten or so feet away and Donovan vaguely contemplated getting closer. He enjoys the flirty banter he has with such a wolf. The scars only drive Donovan towards him more. They tell of a story in blood and gore — pain and sadness. He loves it.

As he begins introducing himself, Donovan gets his mind out of the gutter enough to comprehend what he’s saying to him. Memory. Hushed Willows. Seelie Court. All except his name are familiar. Oh, he knows who they are now. The black and white female, their fairy leader that helped Yuélóng drive them out. Oh, he’ll definitely play with this one. Corrupt him and taunt him he will. Put a nice little pretty stamp of the Saints on him to take back to his sweet little family.

“I do have a name.” Donovan hums, half lidded eyes watching him as he slinks you to the other wolf. He’s close enough to breathe on Memory’s neck and he settles his maw beside his ear. “Call me Donovan, sweetheart. I want you to remember it.“ He offers into his ear, black tongue flicking out to run over his own whiskers, licking his chops.

Oh, so he was this type. 
Memory was not known for being a bottom. Sure, he dabbled, and let his partner have some fun too, but it was usually Memory on top. 
Plus, no offense, this guy was huge. 
Donovan. It was a fitting name, and a grin crept across Memory's muzzle. 
He nibbled along the male's jawline sensuously, taking in his scent. 
"Be good to me and you won't have to worry about me forgetting a thing." He moaned huskily, trailing along the man's body, before tucking his head under his belly. His tongue flicked against the Warg's sizeable sheath, again and again, tasting him.

They continue to lock eyes and the smile on the males ruined face catches his canary hues, but not in a bad way. No, he loves the idea of torn flesh and ragged scars leftover from a fight teetering in life or death. It’s what he lives for. He’s coming closer, nibbling into Donovan’s jawline and skimming down the rest of his well muscled form. He likes the direction he’s heading. When he gets behind his shoulder and closer to the bottom of his ribs, he tucks his chin to glance a curious eye back. 

He catches the mysterious man just before he dips his head beneath his body and give experimental licks to his sheath. Oh. He’s got his attention now and it seems this wolf is not just a flirt, perhaps he’s just as serious as Donovan is.

He rumbles lowly, the sound reverberating through his chest as he too turns. Taking a flat black tongue on the meaty portion of Memories thigh, he keeps his eyes on the male as he shamelessly noses over his tail. If the other allows it, he’d give a few tantalizing licks to the area of interest.

Thank Fuck, someone who knew how to get to the damn point. 
Awenfen was gorgeous but her hemming and hawing was painful. This was why he prefers men- straightforward. I like you. Do me. 
Of course his attraction to the male was more than just sheer raw sexuality. There was a tantalizing thrill in the forbidden. He knew Donovan was a saint. He'd be an idiot not to. 
He of course didn't know the extent of what the Saints had supposedly done. And honestly Orlaith could be pissy because they looked at her funny. 
He wasn't about to turn down the opportunity that was literally knocking at his back door. 
He moaned at the licks, pulling his tail aside to give the man better access, licking more intensely at his sheath, waiting for his hips to buck. 
He would take his member in his mouth, licking and sucking.

The distinctly man like moans from the other end of the wolf turn him on even further. Sure he likes the sweetness of a woman’s sultry song as he drives into her but he definitely can get down with the different attributes of a male. His member begins falling from his fur and its hanging heavily beneath him. The constant licks have him giving his own fair share of hums and moans. All the while he passionately goes to town on Memory’s back end.

His own hips stutter at the administrations of Memory’s advances and he almost can’t take it anymore. He wants to take this near stranger in a fury of teeth, pleasure, and the primal desire to procreate.

With those steps in mind, Donovan nips at Memory’s rump in a tell tale sign to get ready. In a moments time he’s crawling into his back and latching muscled forearms around his waist. Resting his muzzle next to his ear he gives it a few shallow licks. His hips grinding but purposely not entering.

“Darling, I want you to say my name.” He hums sweetly into his ear. Yet, sweetness isn’t the only thing evident in his voice. A vicious possessiveness holds itself there along with the heat of pleasure. “I want you to remember it.”

Heat courses through his body as his own manhood becomes unsheathed, hips bucking and asshole twitching with each flick of the Brindle man's tongue beneath his tail. He's desperate now, moans becoming pleading whimpers as Donovan pulls away and don't stop, don't you dare stop and for a second he groans in longing. 
Holy shit since when did he become a desperate little otter? 
A nudge, and he braces himself, and oh gods its right there, pressing and prodding and he's practically panting with how bad he wants it. 
He turns, looking over his shoulder, eyes darkened with lust. 
"Fuck, Donovan. Please. Please fuck me. Just...fuck me." 
He's practically writhing in desperation, Brilliant red member twitching helpless against his stomach.

Editing to give the end an archive worthy conclusion.

Donovan’s body is one thousands degrees and he’s only getting hotter. His tail is curled tightly on his hips and it even dares to wave at the excellent display of the other males voice. The name that rolls off of his tongue is his own and his eyes flutter shut at just the sound of his voice. A single moment of silence after his sweet begging and then Donovan is slipping himself into the other male. One would think the tiger stripped behemoth would just take his own pleasure and be done with it. No, this is a fucking art and he’d be damned not to have the other enjoy themselves just as much as he does. 

So he slips in inch by tortuous inch. Stopping when he bottoms out and holding his place long enough that surely the other would start weighing against him impatiently. Believing the other ros strong enough to support more of his weight, he drapes himself over the tawny expanse of his back.

Lips go to his ear once more. “Oh yeah—.” He growls. “That’s exactly what I want to hear from you, darling.” 

Then he snatches up his scruff in his neck and he’s slamming hips against the others own at a brutal pace. Angling his hips in a certain way that would completely undo the male beneath him.

The debaunchery continues on for several minutes. Both of them thrown into a heated love making session full of teeth and rushed movements. They only speak briefly of each others packs, knowing the disagreements between them. Both promise to keep this their little secret. With final goodbyes, they depart. Each going on back to their respective homes. Memory’s the ethereal forest of weeping willows and Donovan the arid red sands of the Canyon. Perhaps they’ll meet again some day.