Redsand Canyon My time is running low

It felt like he was inside Donovan's chest.
The walls of the den seemed to hum and pulse with his heartbeat.
His touch electrified his skin and heated up his underside; his cheeked flushed hot.
This was it.
He had Donovan all to himself.

Donovan washes over him like a wave.
His scent, his touch.
Derg returned the lapping tongue down the man's brindle neck. The coarse fur ran smoothly under his touch. He asked for permission, and he could have given it. Maybe he would. Eventually.

But for now, Derg growled softly, a playful glint to his muddy gaze, and Derg nipped harder into Donovan's scruff, another soft growl rumbling from him.
Donovan was his now.
For tonight at least.