Bearclaw Valley they served you venison and morphine

1000 ❤

Heat pulses through him at Outlander's words, overwhelming him with the desire to touch and be touched in every way imaginable. The nip draws a soft, needy whine from his lips and he trembles. Only if you promise to keep me warm, He murmurs just as playfully, breath hitching slightly. His muzzle traces through the fur of his lover's neck, nipping and licking delicately at the skin as he trails over sensitive places.
He needs this more than he can admit — but it is not love. Lust, certainly — and perhaps friendship, too, and trust and maybe the barest hints of something else blossoming. Something he's not ready for. He doesn't love Outlander, because he can't. Not with the pieces of his heart so scattered, one buried under the cold dirt at Broken Boulder and one roaming the world just to be away from him and one in a willow forest at the base of a mountain somewhere he'll never see. No, he doesn't love Outlander; he just needs him.