Wapun Meadow the nasty words of a hateful song

Donovan likes the game they play. The spar always tainted with something else. Or at least for Donovan in this case. The thoughts of the coy do not deter him from the task at hand, or they don’t deter it too drastically. The smaller hits him head on, reaching higher and higher to run fangs along his chin in a deadly, painful kiss. The pain electrocutes him from the inside out, spreading brought his nervous system to all the right places.

With an undying vigor, Donovan slaps a heavy paw on the coy’s shoulder blades almost draping an arm around his shoulders, and grips. Nails biting into onyx fur as his forearm flexes at the strain it takes to shift his body closer to his own. At this point, Donovan is throws all his weight into the smaller wolf mix, causing him to crumble to the ground but not without a fight of course. He takes no time caging him in with massive forearms and legs. Effectively trapping him and craning his head down to Merrick’s face. Meeting his eyes shamelessly, the sultry smirk that contorts his face handsomely gleams down to him.

“I think I like this position better, dear.” The tone that follows is just as suggestive. Donovan is brazen in his wants, unafraid to reach for something he finds interesting. Or perhaps someone he finds interesting.