The Sunspire Death Is A War[M] Blanket

The male eventually joins him, and as his large form is settled under the overhang, Clay is forced to be beside him; To be nearly touching him—he can feel it, the tips of the fur on their sides brushing against each other. It unnerves Clay, and he quickly tucks his feet in the other direction, away from the beast.

But despite the offending movement, he continues to glare his hardest, his head angled downwards as he stares up at Donovan, water dripping from his fur like a drowned rat. "I'd rather not taste garbage again," A jab, hopefully, one that hits and causes the male to back off.

But it doesnt—no. He just gets closer.

Clay stays still, willing his nerves to settle even when the wet leathery nose of the other touches his cheek fur, his cheek bone, the bridge of his nose. It's in that moment that he realizes just the sheer size of the man. He's giant, thickly corded with muscle and fur. His nose is twice the size, maybe thrice the size of Clay's own—and he hates it. Loathes it. But moving away would be admitting defeat, and Clay doesn't do defeat.

"What is an oaf like you looking for?" The vale wolf questions, slightly unnerved by the man's words. By the underlying tone that reeks of sex. "Are you that desperate to feel something from me? Pathetic."