Bearclaw Valley the wake [m]

The way the coy stares back to him gets the navy tinted wolf hungry in a different way. The unspoken thrum between the two is almost intoxicating and for the longest time Uly has tried keeping it that way; unnamed. Though now a types of ideas are swirling through his busy mind. All of them coincidentally involving the man before him.

Then he speaks and Uly can’t help the smirk that appears across his maw. “Oh?” He sounds back as a reply. A deep barely audible noise. “Shall I?” He asks.

Then, with the coys permission, the wolf with twins moons for eyes leans down to meet the coy. His own blue tongue running across the whiskers and fine hairs of the others muzzle. Then dipping further to nibble playfully at his jawline before licking the flat of his tongue over the others cheek. Silver eyes never leaving the single eyed stare of the wolf before him until he nibbles his jaw, allowing his eyes to close and enjoy this most unusual feeling that crawls up his spine and into the pit of his stomach.

Uly pulls back to allow his gaze to linger and eager to see the others reaction. Hopefully to not be turned away, but awaiting for rejection or acceptance.