The Sentinels [M] little blue frog

For a moment they were bundled together against the dirt, the ash staining her grey coat with streaks of black and white that he wouldn't have noticed had they not also discolored his tawny forelegs; the color dragged across his front legs and together they were a tangled mess. But it would be alright — she would feel good, he'd make sure of it. They'd be together and she'd understand how good it could be, how good he could be.

Her squirming didn't last very long, but while she struggled he felt himself growing bold; his body fueled by her slightest movement as he tried to wrestle her in to position, thinking solely of his need for release and not at all about her comfort. Dingo hooked one side of her hip with a foreleg and pulled, but that didn't help either of them. He sighed a breath through his clenched teeth, through her held scruff, and the heat of his own breath became a thin whisp of white.

She finally managed to get loose - just a moment, a hesitation - and as she got to her feet he found his own balance. This time when he grappled at her hips it was better, easier. He pulled her in to position and sighed again, his breathing becoming a heavy pant. Dingo's grip on her scruff lessened only slightly as he adjusted himself. He voice rose over them both — swallowed by the blackness of the trees, warped by the forest's paths. If anyone could hear her, they wouldn't be able to find her among these trees.

Dingo's panting breath became a series of slurred words, at first illegible. He roughly squared his hips to her own, kicking at her legs, repositioning her tail — and through all of it he sighed, shhh, shhh, it'll be fine, it'll be good, you'll see, you'll like it, shhh — but he didn't placate her for long. Everything was perfect; he rooted around for a moment and then, as he leaned in to her, he let out a long breath of white smoke among the long-dead trees, feeling the smouldering heat spread between the two of them.