Dawnlark Plains don't call [m]e grimgram

He couldn't help it.  He grinned at the prim little gasp and the feigned expression of displeasure that painted her pretty features.  Kicking up his paws, he followed with bold insistence, nipping at the curve of her rump as she circled him.  "Well, Sunspot," he drawled, never mind that he was twice her age and possibly old enough to be her father's father, "could be that I prefer sweetheart."

He accepted her appraisal with a lifted brow (apparently he has very agile eyebrows) and a slow grin as she dipped into a bow.  Before giving himself over to whatever she had planned, he made a little circle of his own.  The slope of her spine was infinitely pleasing, as was the upturned curve of her toned hindquarters.  He took a moment to savor the look of her before warily dropping into a bow of his own, slapping the ground with his rangy forelimbs.