Escaping Steak

Things had been easy for the male since he'd left that hell hole he once dared call home. He did things when he wanted, took shits when he pleased, hell, he even slept for an entire week without even a second thought. So, he'd admit, when the older male said 'no' like some elder asshole he was a bit confused. Someone... Said no? To HIM? What in Canids name was he going on about? What kind of male -- or wolf for that matter -- would pass up the opportunity to better themselves and score a bit of doe?  So it was a no, then? On top of that, he'd called him 'sport', as if the first insult wasn't enough. "Oh? Well, that won't do... No, that won't do at all." By this point, the alabaster brute had stopped dead in his tracks, a sound in which he hoped the mutt had heard, along with his audible sighs and of course the silence that followed afterward. Whitfield, while arrogant in his ways, wasn't a stranger to waiting for what he wanted, though sometimes waiting was the hardest part, he always figured out a way to jumpstart the clock. Literally.

Trotting with his paws at ease did the male ready himself for takeoff; his body arched and butt wiggling in the air as though he were some domestic feline. The fact of the matter was Whit didn't know how to hunt deer, and his tongue was too far up his ego that he didn't want to admit it to himself or the stranger. Which in itself was odd, because it was unlikely they would meet outside of this weird circumstance anyway. Whit was still a glorified puppy, and it showed in his mannerisms and lack of proper edict, and he knew damn well the ashen male had taken note, and if not, he certainly would after what he was about to do. "GET UP!" Racing up the hill on long legs did the heavyset male aim to jump upon the hind of the other, his body at the ready in case things went awry. Of course, if the male did manage to miss, he'd just roll down into the grass below.

atop his head a crown of thorns   ━━━━━━━━━━━━ ✦