The Sentinels uncomfortable all the time

“Tag!” The nose shoved to his shoulder meant war. No matter how much he enjoys the view of Blossom bounding away, Fynn is forever up for a challenge. Rebellious and competitive as per always. “You little shit, get back here!” He calls after his boyfriend, sprinting after. Alas, Blossom has always been a touch faster than he, and Fynn is left in the dust.

Trees, some ashen and crisp, tower in the distance, and it is there that he finds Blossom’s scent trail leads. A cheeky smirk curves across Fynn’s muzzle as he powers on, charging towards the familiar red form ahead with his tail wagging. He attempts to tackle his boy gently, nipping playfully at an ear closest to him. Alas, they aren’t alone, and his playful antics are temporarily paused.

“Hey, sup?”