Shadowwyn Moor beauty was your armor

a shiver thrills through him, eager and fascinated by the nips and the soothing rasp of a tongue over them. alamar wishes they bruised, left a mark in their wake instead of the ghosting feeling that fades a beat later. a low noise settles in his throat—a mixture of pleasure and disappointment when the gladiator pulls away. yet not without the beckon of a taste himself. half-lidded eyes peak towards him, drinking in the devilish grin. a twist of his own plays on his lips as the smaller of the two takes the invitation hungrily; he nips, following the other’s lead by a comforting lick over-top. hmm… not bad. a sway of his long, bushy tail.