Sunset Valley love makes hunters of us all [m]

a low, brief whine slips past his lips when contact is finally made, and he closes his eyes, relaxing into the embrace now. another time, he might feel inclined to continue their game, to keep up his facade of resistance — but right now, he only craves to be touched. he savors the feeling of the man's forelegs gripping him, his warmth against his back, the hint of restraint behind each thrust; the feeling of being wanted. the change in intensity draws soft sounds of pleasure from him, and he grows more pliant by the moment. "tell me your name," he gasps in his mother tongue, not realizing in the heat of the moment that the man will not understand him. it matters little; he hardly has the presence of mind to realize he's said anything.