Machidael is by me!
Perhaps it was the stranger that had first gotten his attention so -- a lovely specimen of a Luperci, well-fed and perhaps even of a pack (how very daring). It roused his blood to see such a creature in such a state of unrest, but his gaze was quick to shift toward the speaker, who introduced names clanging and harsh to the jackal's ears. He doubted he could pronounce either without butchery, but that was alright, as the wolf's gaze left Machidael and refocused on the pair against the floor. The rust-hued hybrid's gaze followed almost longingly, and Machi tried not to think how long it had been since Sebante. They were wolves, he saw that plainly enough -- but they were men, and all three lovely in his own way -- and two of them in magnificent full arousal.
He was still thinking of how to respond, and whether to do so -- perhaps it was safer to just walk away -- and had just thought of how to respond, and was in the process of speaking the first such word... when the prone man exploded in another wailing exclamation. Irritation crossed the rust-colored hybrid's face, and he growled low and guttural in the back of his throat, though it faded into a higher note and then disappeared altogether as the slimmer of the wolves touched the prey in a way that made Machi ache all over. He was staring openly. He, too, wanted the prestige of dominating and mounting such a creature as the well-fed southerly wolf. But the struggling man was not his prey, and he saw plainly enough his disadvantage with the two siblings.
He jerked a little as the larger wolf with the bole arms and legs spoke. Only the faint smear of grayish dye was still apparent beneath them, giving Machi a frightfully hollow look. His fur did raise on the invitation provided by Halaki -- Ki, in Machi's mind, for this was the simplest syllable for him to pronounce. Yet it was not aggression evoking such a response, but the discomforting pressure against the wrap around his waist. He stepped down from the raised part of the floor and approached warily. As he did so, with a flick of his wrist, the jackal tossed the crown aside. It clattered against the floor, and Machi stopped, still a distance away from the pair thanks to the length of the room.
Fuck prey, ah? he said, too desirous to grin. A small ghost of it lingered on his lips, displaying the golden tip of one tooth. I help, he suggested, almost coyly, lifting one arm above and behind his head while the other traced along his abdomen. While small, the rust-colored jackal was graced with an athletic figure, which he honed however possible. Some of the best exercise, he'd found, and the most enjoyable, was the sort where he had to fight for his will to triumph over that of a prey animal's. While the wolf looked cowardly, curled on the floor and moaning in wordless terror at Twensu's caress and stroke, he might well begin to fight at any time. Small, he agreed. Fun for small take big. Just as quickly, though, he spoke again. Or I see, just see, he added, stepping back and sticking both hands up in the air. That much, at least, he hoped was not quite so much to ask -- his higher hope, however, was the one stirring his arousal.
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