Bearclaw Valley the wake [m]

Holy shiiit! They’re getting spicy! Is this too r rated on my part?? Hahah I wasn’t too sure but I went ahead and said fuck it. (͠≖ ͜ʖ͠≖)

His reply interests the great Russian wolf. The only woman for him. He supposes that’s the green light. Though he doesn’t want this apparent she-wolf skinning him later over jealousy or something of the such Uly still treads carefully. Even though he wants nothing more but to throw caution to the wind. He already decided that he wanted to follow this man, to possibly join his ranks and serve him. 

Then he’s studying that single eyed fiery gaze. Pulled into a thicket of trees by the smaller male, his teeth are attached to the plume of his neck. Uly follows him eagerly, black and pink tongue flicking out to skim over whiskered lips. The wolf’s own icy gaze lingers upon the others frame, eyes sliding down the red fur of his shoulders, taking in raven locks the further down the others body he goes. 

Breath is blown into a misty haze between them and his scruff is finally let go. The intake of breath from the coy makes his ears flick forward, he likes what he hears. Ulysses gaze has become something to rival with, the pure intensity in those ivory hues could burn a hole into the coys head. A new heat raising within them that he hasn’t yet shown to the coy. Or so that was the case until the needy whine that whispers from that coal muzzle; it brings heat to Uly’s face and rushes it throughout his core. The way those hips slink against him, a clear, telltale sign of what he desires. Of what he’s sure they both desire.

Uly easy dwarfs the other, could probably stand over him without putting too much weight on him as well. He wants so bad to become one with Merrick. Allow heat to run through them both is the heat of passion. Yet, Uly wants to tease him, make him want him even more. He loves the stark contrast between the usual sadistic devil of a coy he normally portrays from the version he allows Uly to see. He wants more.

Lifting a thick, heavy arm of his, he steps over the coy, his back to the navy wolf’s chest. Licking and nibbling ears then neck, he finally reaches the red of the coys scruff he takes a hold of it in his teeth. Knowing the coy will revel in the pinch pain that his rough grip will give him. He only hovers, pelt to pelt, the contact is electrifying. Ulysses wants to take it, but ultimately decides to wait. He wants the coy to want him even more. Or maybe he just wants the coy to say it.

The navy wolf grins around his mouthful of fur and releases his grasp on his scruff. He stands above him teasingly. “Is this what you want?” He questions lowly, a genuine need for approval within him.