The Sunspire Death Is A War[M] Blanket

Oh fuck. Is all that goes through his mind when a smaller paw nestled itself roughly onto his cheek.Grinding dirt from his paws into his face like he’s absolutely nothing. Surely the spot will be covered in granulates of mud and rock. The male beneath the offended area sucks in a quiet hiss of air at the toughness of the action. Donovan is being straight up treated like he’s trash and he’s living for it. Lucky for Donovan, he doesn’t stop there. The word alpha is spit out in question and, yeah, he doesn’t quite look like an alpha at the moment, but he couldn’t find a fuck to give.

Though finally, Clay says something Donovan peeks his ears up to. The name Clay Apaata. So fitting for the pallet of grey his coat carries and a prince?! Oh baby, there’s a storm coming and it’s not the one currently raging around them. 

Mentally he notes that he’s Ira’s brother, interesting information if Kaistleoki ever wanted beef with the Saints. Though unless they actually cared about each other it wouldn’t matter. 

Then as he not so slyly shifts his foot beneath him he gives Donovan a rather comical look accompanied with raised brows, a quick look down, and then once more their eyes meet. ...you better try harder. Donovan’s expression has such obvious signs of a heated pleasure and his circular, cream brows in challenge.

“Fuck.” He mumbles lowly, taking a second to really roam his fiery hues over the others form. “As you wish.” Is all he hums before he’s thrusting his body to the side. Kicking out the other males hind legs and causing them to switch positions. “Perhaps my tongue could convince you in a different way, darling.” He purrs as lowers his chest closer to Clay’s own, running an unusual black tongue over his ear, then neck, and lower to nibble on his chest. All the while those heated yellow eyes that resemble the fiery surface of the sun gaze up to him. He pauses, awaiting a reaction.