Hoshor Plains Never in the daylight

Donovan watches him intently and chuckles slyly when he hears his last sentence. Leaning forward more into the other space his voice becomes husky — low. “Something tells me happy isn’t the whole story.” He hums, flicking a long, flat tongue out to drag it along his throat. Daring to open dangerous jaws and rest them gently on his neck. A dominating gesture if it was done in a different, more aggressive, way. Though Donovan doesn’t want to be aggressive, sometimes anyway.

Then after he retracts his fangs and soothes over the area with a black tongue, he hums against the plume of his neck once again. A sultry, “Maybe I could make you sore in a different way sometime.”