Wapun Meadow the nasty words of a hateful song

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he woke in a lustful, malicious mood. it was just before twilight, and merrick had slumbered the day away. passing tongue across the proud ridges of his well-sharpened teeth, the boy cast off over the borders. he still refused to near his rook too closely; the scars she had left ringing his remaining eye was warning enough.
and with ulysses gone, there was no one else who might embrace merrick.
it was not loneliness he felt; it was loss, and keenly aware of it, the bearwolf fucked off into the night, searching, searching, for the warmth of an anonymous body —
— or blood.

I like to be detailed about the setting so if it’s okay, I’m gonna give it a bit more detail. ;>
Setting: Evening — 1900. 68 degrees — Clear skies.

The large wolf-dog has wandered far from his own pack lands. I’m search of nothing in particular. Perhaps he will meet more followers on the way or perhaps more foes. 

Only time can tell as his heavy paws carry Donovan forward. His own golden orbs gaze along the horizon on the grand meadow of tall grass and wild flowers before him. Though he takes in the sights, his stride doesn’t stop. His head is level with his shoulders, the males straight back leads down to a tail that curls enticingly onto his hips. He is well muscled and they shift beneath his thinning summer coat. The stripes and different hues of browns mixed with blacks are striking in the odd lighting. Surely he is unmissable in the bright background of the vibrant plant life that surrounds him.

Though off in the distance, something catches his own eye. A black shape. Though from this distance he’s unable to tell what type of four legged animal it could be. Surely one of wolf or fox decent. To satisfy his, always hungry, curiosity he continues onward, canary eyes fixated on the thing. Though his first intention isn’t to attack or eat, for now it’s to investigate. Then those decisions come into play.

the bear-god seemed to have heard the demand of merrick's body, for presently the deity provided a vision of a rogue traipsing into the meadow. merrick stood tall as the figure grew larger, bright gaze clawing at his own dark robes. the cyclops tilted a toothy smile in the tiger-brute's direction, admiring the play of dimming glow across the other's lithe form.
an inclination of his slender muzzle, and the boy trotted off, invitation to join clear in the relaxed air of his flank, the way that he scudded across the handsome cruelty of the beast with his single eye.
some diversion, here; some ineffable thing that, catlike, must be toyed with until its end.

Upon further inspection, the raven furred coyote appears to be smaller wolf. Unaware of the coyote that taints his blood just as dog taints his own, his golden eyes rake down the others form unable to place what he could be mixed with or if he is just wolf. 

Most curiously, as he approaches closer and closer, a single fiery eye graces his own form. Then the spreading of lips to reveal fine, sharp canines. The other indents their head in a type of greeting, they’re aura is mysterious yet alluring and Donovan cocks his own massive head at the invitation. The intense gaze of the coy is upon him and seems to shift along his muscled form. Donovan, intrigued, cannot help but follow. His maw revealing his own pearly whites in a devilishly interested smirk. With this, he trails after the coy wolf.

he got to see now the way that the other flowed toward him like oil upon water, how the greater beast tracked after him with a proud gait. merrick fell back at once, so that they could walk together, and grinned with all his scarred face and well-honed teeth at this new companion.
"you're a catch," he struck out, completely unashamed of his aggressive interest. merrick had no reason to simper or whine or tiptoe about when he felt such things. ursus fed this; the very spirit of the bearwolf's pack were varying levels of male companionship.
"have you decided what you came for?" he asked after a moment, shifting his single eye forward as he matched the gait of the other's broad, powerful paws.

Donovan seems to play into the Bruin-Witch’s plan as he predictably trials after the smaller, raven furred male. Only soon after the smaller of the two slows into a languid pace to match Donovan’s one. The males shimmering, gold orbs slither over Merrick’s body as he slows his gait. Taking in the numerous scars, and multiple parts that are missing, but most definitely should still be there. This man’s been through the wringer and that means he knows his way around a fight. Considering his confidant stance and tone — straight to the point. Donovan likes that.

Finally nestled beside one another, Donovan shamelessly gazes into that singular fiery eye. “Aren’t I?” He hums with a positively devilish smirk.

Then as if he’d read his thoughts, Donovan releases a low laugh to cover the mild surprise that courses through him. “I’ll let you decide that outcome.” He suggests to the smaller. “You seem like you’re up to something. Almost couldn’t help but follow and figure out exactly what.”

a churlish grin, one that lit merrick's features with a boyish light. "i'm always up to something." a sidelong swing of his narrow hips, and he was closer to the large tiger-man, who wore coingold eyes and raked them over the boy's scarface demeanour.
a survey of his land then, and at length merrick slowed to lift his muzzle toward the air.
"it certainly isn't boring having you around. what's your name?" for once he did not offer his; tonguetip between teeth, he turned a teasing glance back at his companion and was silent.

The smaller gives a cheeky reply, to which Donovan can relate to. Then the slithering onyx man closes the distance between them interestingly. This doesn’t escape the mutt’s tentative shimmering hues; rather an excitement trickles down his spine at the sly nature of this stranger.

So as the male slows, Donovan twins his speed, staying beside the other as he watches that singular glowing eye flutter along the horizon and a narrow snout rise skyward. A interesting assumption by the coy is made and then he’s asking for his name. The poke of teeth worry shining white fangs and then that eye is turned once more upon his own. 

Donovan follows the motion with his eyes and at the others teasing smirk Donovan chuckles. It’s a smooth and enticing noise, resonating from deep within his breast. “Donovan.” He dips his head inquisitively towards the coy. “Yours?” Then as he cranes his head the coy’s scent fills his nose more than it already was. He’s a pack wolf. At this new discovery, Donovan’s smirk remains. “You’re a pack wolf, no?” He asks lowly, almost teasingly.

he enjoyed donovan's title; the sound of it carried a dark romance that fit the man's eye-catching aesthetic. merrick was one for details, for beauty; he had always been so. an attractive companion would always bear more weight in his estimation.
"i am the leader of ursus. we live in the valley, there," he gestured, turning a prettied smile to donovan. "merrick." know my name.
the other did not seem to carry the scent of affiliation, but his ferocity perhaps ensured that he needed no strength of others. and so the boy did not attempt to turn their conversation toward recruitment, preferring to let each moment play as it were.

His eyes continue to watch the coy’s face as he speaks of his pack — Ursus. An interesting name; he vaguely wonders what it means or at least wants to know the origin of the title. He’s the leader too then. He’s impressed and his interested gaze shows it. Donovan maintains eye contact with the smaller the entirety of the moment. His brows perk up briefly at the mention of him being the leader and his smile remains as he nods.

The smile the male sends up to him has him furrowing his brows slightly with something other than irritation or anger. Rather, it’s Merrick turning into Donovan’s devilish curiosity. So to hearing the name Donovan hums in approval and a single word comes from his lips. “Cute.”

The word is more teasing than anything, yet truthful to some extent. Rather it’s meant to jest at Merrick’s rather viscous appearance that wouldn’t resemble anything cute at all. No. Donovan doesn’t want cute. He wants someone fucking deadly, straightforward. Merrick seems to be the type of guy. His sleek yet deadly form attracts him. Not to mention the plethora of scars that riddle his frame. Telling many stories that surely start and end with violence. 

At that, Donovan continues. “I am rebuilding my own fallen pack.” He says simply then. “In a forest where the trees bleed and are tall enough to touch the sun. Tell me, what’s your pack like?” His eyes twinkle with a mysterious curiosity. “Perhaps I wouldn’t be to opposed to an alliance. As long as our views are aligned.”

merrick was unsure if he had ever been called 'cute' before. the myriad toothmarks in his face had by now removed any sense of the word from the lexicon of anyone close.
but not this donovan, it seemed, rogue tiger-man with a name leapt from the cover of a romance novel. but merrick only read his companion, finding comfort in the open nature of the man's purring demeanour.
an alliance. a woodland that bled. the images twined and galloped together, dilating the last pupil left to the bearwolf. he traced cyclops'-gaze across the feral stare, the visible musculature beneath the dazzle of odd markings, even to the way donovan's lips set against his teeth.
"it is a place of teeth," merrick answered at last, a bit hoarsely for the sudden plunge of lust in his throat. and now he pressed on, focused on their path once more. "every wolf in ursus is not bound here. they choose to stay of their own accord. anyone who comes to us is met with wounds if he is not here to submit to the will of the bear. and i do not seek control over what is done outside the lands."
his eyes, resting upon the taller companion again. "ursus is a place to earn scars."

Donovan can’t help but watch the way the moon bounces off of the raven male. Then as the smaller stares at Donovan, his own interest is piqued by the widening of his solo pupil. That’s a good sign then. A better sign than Donovan could’ve hoped for. This even confirms his suspicions when he answers the brindled male with a throaty reply that betrays other emotions settling inside the coy-wolf. 

It is a place of teeth. Is his answer and Donovan unconsciously flicks a black tongue over his whiskered lips. Then the male is continuing onward and he can’t help but follow closely behind. So Donovan listens intently to the remainder of his speech. Describing a pack that is secure in their ways, uncaring of what others think, and most of all savage. Donovan would be daft not to snag an alliance with such a pack, with such a man — a leader. 

“I would say our stars are aligned then.” He says lowly, gazing down to the male beside him. “I like the sound of your pack. My pack is much the same, though with our small numbers, we have to pick our battles carefully.” Then canary meet fiery orange. “I’m sure you’re a worthy opponent in battle.” He almost wants to spar with this mysterious man.

a smirk, one that briefly showed the breadth of his glinting teeth. a cheshire grin for a brindle boy. "i'm a worthy opponent in everything," merrick boasted, for he knew that the bloodthirst in him could not be quelled. not by spars, not by violence, not by lust. and to each he applied himself wholly and with the mien of a man who had seen the underworld and feared it no more.
the bright, seething yellow of donovan's stare vied with the single leap of fire in merrick's own; they twisted into flame, and the witch was moved to laugh. "if it is a test you want," and he lengthened his step to pass his companion, and stand before him, "then i'll let you set our kind of battle." for there were more ways to strive against one another, and more than another to win.
he grinned upward toward the tall knight, tail lashing at his heels as he backed some feet away and awaited an answer.

Spar Roll here!

The grin the other meets him with only causes his own smirk to trickle into his lips. At Merrick’s confident words an, “Oh?” escapes him.

The male steps ahead in the brindled wolf-dog, seeming to take Donovan’s weak attempt to start a spar and make it stronger. Bringing the ember to a steering, white-hot flame that might as well tickle Donovan from the inside and out. His words only encouraged him further and Donovan’s curled tail waves in hardly kindled excitement.

His eyes follow the coy as he begins pacing to the right, head level with a strong back Donovan hums pleasantly. “I’m down for any type of battle you might have in mind, dear.” Practically growling the pet name huskily from his throat, he wastes no more time.

It matter not which direction the raven furred coy faces, for the result will be the same. Donovan form, confident in his steps, nears the smaller’s rear, giving the plume of his tail a lively tug. A more jesting way to begin their suggestive dance. The stripped mutt gives a teasing glare in the coy’s direction as he goes on the defensive. Knowing his last attack could lead to him being open for some of Merrick’s own.

donovan purled in his throat; merrick responded, and only chuckled when the larger jaws plucked at his dark plume. for a moment he did not respond, gathering himself; a breath, and he had whirled toward the grinning beast.
they were not far apart; his own teeth raked teasingly through the odd-marked fur of the saint-wolf's shoulder, before he sprang back and grinned with a brash light toward donovan. yet this was not a dance of blood; he could see nothing in his opponent that wished it to be so, and circled to the right with a lolling tongue, single eye locked onto the rolling musculature of the wolf before him.

As predicted the coy is able to get the jump on him. The males teeth meet his skin, biting hard enough to cause a pinch of pain. It is only directly after does Donovan attempt to get into a position to grab the others leg, which is met by failure. The quickness of the coy is something he easily trumps Donovan at, resulting in the Saint to come out fruitless. The bite he planned to plant on the coy’s throat even more so. 

Yet it does not deter him. His fiery eyes continue to flash with confidence and determination. The real fight is on now and the playful nips and bites first dealt are gone, though not entirely.

despite his greater size, merrick's hardened frame lithely evades. he scarcely saw himself in the movements; tantalized, the boy circled to the right and then lunged forward. teeth snapped upward toward air; the conflict would be the tuck of his shoulder colliding into that of the saint.
forcing his strength into the motion, merrick had little impetus left to move away, and so braced with a sly narrowing of his remaining eye for donovan's next attack.

At the smaller males attempt to snap at his face or neck he smirks, thinking that surely he’d have him this time. The but to his shoulder causes him to stumble a step or two the opposite direction. Due to the shoulder bash from the coy, when he shoots a massive head down towards Merrick’s leg to snatch it out from underneath him, he fails miserably. It seems they’re both still dancing around each other. Two wolves skilled in the art of battle. The constant dodging and evading proves they’re both well enough to avoid the others attacks. He enjoys the game they play.

All he gives in reply to the raven wolf’s dodge is a breathy, “You’re fucking fast.” that bubbles past his lips with a teasing smile. 

Still, Donovan knows that when his attack misses there must be consequences. All he can do is physically brace himself for Merrick’s next attack whenever it comes.

a grin greeted donovan's praise, something twisted and filled with the lurking mien of a skittering arachnid. fast, but he had felt the wind of the other's broad jaws closing just over his flesh, a steel hunter's trap slicing through boot and foot of a hapless wanderer — fangs like stone spires.
toward the man he surged again, this time colliding chest-first into the greater beast; single eye caught fire as gracile jaws parted and snapped up, up, up — he closed them around whatever was close, tightening until just teeth-ends pricked thin muzzle-flesh. a growl bubbled in his throat; he stayed as he was, daring, dancing.

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.

the spar was over; merrick's slender jaws had given a valiant defense, but now he found himself below the tiger, scarred features fluted with warm breath that tasted of his own fur. 
he had not at all minded the loss, he found; how could he suspect a blow to his ego when donovan filled all his senses? merrick blinked slyly up toward the striped warrior, tilting his own chin beneath the burning smile upon those weighty jaws.
"no doubt you could make such worthwhile." lower paws flexed; he could bring up his legs and cast off the beast, but for what reason? a grin sparkling upon the teeth well-oiled with blood in the boy's harshened young life.
intentional, that, and intentional the shift of himself beneath donovan, a settling of figure to form, an invitation to the tableau of their alliance that the warrior had made for them.

Mature Content Warning

This thread has been marked as mature. By reading and/or participating in this thread, you acknowledge that you are of age or have permission from your parents to do so.

The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: Sexual Content

BEWARE! THERE IS MATURE CONTENT IN THE POSTS CONTINUING BELOW THIS. 18+ PLEASE!

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Donovan hums back parroting the coys words. “No doubt.” Before he slinks his muzzle further down, closer to the other males neck. His black tongue licks flat against the plume of his neck. Traveling upwards he allows the appendage to now caress an ear before smaller front teeth nibble on it.

He only pulls back for half of a second to look the coy in the eyes. His gaze is as hot as the sun, the color rivaling it as well. His onyx tongue swipes over his own lips and teeth, hunger settling in.

“Tell me to stop, or I might just give you quite the night, darling.” He purrs down to the Bruin-Witch. Eyes holding the promise within them.

merrick closed his eyes, arching upward toward the coy ministrations of the tiger. they were exposed in their entanglement, but he did not care, could not care. "no," came his challenge, his refusal to surrender to propriety. all thoughts of warlike sparring past; merrick was a creature who desired flesh above all things.
the single eye glowed upward as if it were a torch alongside a gate, and presently merrick squirmed a bit, nipped the inside of donovan's thick foreleg gently, desirously.
"is this how you solidify every alliance?" teasing, grinning; a petty word for the casanova who held him in thrall.

No. Merrick states simply. Donovan is grinning pleasantly at the word and his eyes show the satisfaction. Then the brindled man can’t help but let loose a chain of smooth laughter at his next sentence. “Surprisingly no, but it seems this alliance has more benefits then perhaps I initially thought it would.” Comes his sly voice as his eyes follow the movement of the coy’s slim muzzle nipping at his forearm. 

He wastes no time dipping his head to bite at Merrick’s neck once more. Maw opening up a bit further to allow pearly white fangs to brush the males throat enticingly — dangerously. It’s only a tease with no real threat and he’s slipping lower and lower. Shamelessly liking down his chest and over an arched, healthy stomach. His tongue fondles with the others member and he’s eager to continue his administrations for a solid minute or two until the coy can’t take it.

Though Donovan has an idea of exactly what the other alpha could take. He bites the meat of Merrick’s thighs while golden irises gaze up to him. His pupils blown in his shameless lust for the onyx male. 

“You wanna tell me what you want me to do next?” He gums deeply against his naughty bits. He loves it when his partners are vocal with him. He wants to hear what Merrick want Donovan to do to him.

whew.
merrick had prepared for the tight clasp of donovan's cruel arms about his waist; he had expected, anticipated, ravaging. 
not this torment, pinned by the heavy forelegs of the saint and turned to ash in the tiger's mouth.
his eyes closed tightly; hips moved of their own accord, and then suddenly the other's voice was washing over merrick, demonic tugging at every sensation that thrilled through his sinewy body.
"fuck," he hissed, tongue narrowly snapped by his own jaws as he sat up, pawing toward the broad muzzle. "anything. surprise me again," and he shook with lust, pupil dilated as he made himself malleable and coy in donovan's embrace.