Shroud of the Lost too much candy gonna rot your soul (m)

Loach reciprocated his advance and flattered him further with decadent words, making Clouse feel downright spoiled when not too long ago he'd been resigned to monotony and loneliness. Perhaps others would consider the seafaring wolf a grouch, but this young man was nothing less than charmed thus far. Loach had managed to inspire only toothy grins and deep laughter from his companion, earning certainly enough adoration to at least last the night.

Clouse snuck nearer still, intermixing fur and breath to get more of the other's presence. He rather enjoyed flirtatious games, but nothing bested the heat of another's body.

"Think I'm a winner," he murmured back, tail happily keeping beat in the snow. He gave a toss of his muzzle toward the gnarled roots of the tree, a large enough structure to offer a bit more privacy than where they currently lay, and wiggled his own dark brows in invitation.

Loach needed no more coaxing or invitation. No more apples or slushes. He was content now to play his role and pretend that they were star crossed lovers for the night.

He would welcome Clouse.

For as many times as he may see the man again, too. And there would be no regrets in him whenever the sun returned to them.