The Cave

He mimed looking left and write as the piebald male addressed him. “Hardly divine.” He purred, slinking toward the male with a small sway in his hips. “Not when compared to yourself mi amor.” He rumbled with a grin, stopping just before the male, his thick tail lifted to align with his body in a silent greeting. “Who is it that Segar Flores has the pleasure of being exalted by?” He asked with a cheeky grin, his own name deftly given to the man with the rolling lilt of an Iberian accent.

The man was covered in braille-like burns where his skin was thinnest and pale; a pang of pitty entering his heart as he looked the male over. He was a beautiful swirl of pale pinks and ebony blacks that reminded the wayward wolf of an archaic symbol he had seen in a distant land. A balance between light and darkness, a duality of nature; the yin and the yang. He would save the floral observation for later, filing it away under the endless stream of platitudes that came naturally whenever he was being philandered.

speaking Thinking you