Felltree Marsh [m] alive!

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Mud-slick skin against skin; chests heaving, hot breath mingling, so much heat trailing lower and lower and —

and it felt good. Tybault's arms tightened possessively around him, muzzle dipping to press into the muddy fur at his neck. For a long moment his only response to the tease was a low growl, a further tightening of his grip. His hips shifted of their own accord. He wasn't quite sure why.

Yeah? He breathed after a moment. You gonna do somethin' about it?