DOGTEETH

It starts off slow as these things often do. You get comfortable, settle in, stop thinking so much about quirks that seem a little strange and just sort of let ‘er rip. Sonar certainly takes a no holds barred approach to physical affection which makes it all the more simple to give in to your reciprocal urges. 

He’s sitting with you on the couch the first time it happens. You’re not even really conscious of it. His head is buried right between your breasts—his signature position—suckling at a mouthful of tit when you feel more than hear the inquisitive hum against your skin. When Sonar pulls away with a wet little pop, suddenly your mouth is very empty and the tip of his right ear is soaked with spit. 

“Did you just bite me?” 

He asks it like he’s asking what you want for dinner. Casual, like it doesn’t matter either way, he just wants to know. 

“Yeah, I guess so. Sorry?” you reply, but he shrugs, more interested in going back to laving over your nipple with his tongue. 

A moment later though, his ear’s flicking across your face tickling the skin on your cheek until your lips part again and draw it in. Your teeth scrap lightly against the thin, sensitive skin membrane, front teeth dragging on the fur. Sonar grunts and happily carries on mouthing at you while you try not to think too hard on how satisfying it feels to tense your jaw, increase the pressure by increments and relax. The restless itch to fidget you’re often plagued by subsides, soothed by something to occupy your teeth and tongue. 

It’s sort of a slippery slope after that. 

Much to your surprise, Sonar continues to remain unphased when you start ramping things up. Giving in rather than trying to curb the habit of getting in a bite or two as the opportunity presents itself. 

When you’re out for the weekend, stopping at the farmer’s market and grabbing a latte you nip thoughtlessly at the back of his hand while perusing artisanal loaves. In the office, he’s often sporting a small damp patch at the edge of one ear where you’ve mouthed at it from over the cubicle wall while he’s doing paperwork. It’s…nice. The mindlessness of it, being able to indulge in the calming compulsion to sink your teeth into skin. It makes something warm twist and writhe in your chest that he doesn’t rip his hand away. Let’s you run your tongue over his knuckles, bite softly at the delicate joints. 

And at home, when you’re blissfully alone, that particular vice has crept slowly but surely into your bed. 

“Do it harder,” he frequently whines, all pitchy and soft by your ear while you work through the fur of his neck and work your blunt teeth against the skin that almost never gets touched. 

You’re more than happy to oblige as he cants his hips up into yours where you’re riding him, pinning him down by the throat while you gnaw at his exposed skin. Finally you get a good opening, sinking in and letting your jaw tighten. The satisfaction rolls through you while you suck a bruise that’ll stay all safe and hidden under his grey locks. 

Just enough for him to feel the ache. 

Sonar squirms, tilting his head to expose more vulnerable skin while both his hands find your hips, feet planted on the mattress to thrust up in a sloppy rhythm that’s got the headboard slamming against the wall. When you finally feel yourself cresting that peak, you groan against his skin, sink your teeth in hard enough to taste copper as every muscle in your body locks up and releases all at once. 

It’s a rush, especially when he lets out one of those choked up chirps and slams up into you once more before letting himself go inside. 

You rest like that for a while, unlatching from the sore patch on his throat in favor of letting your teeth gently rest around the human skin at his shoulder, soothing that restlessness in your limbs. 

Sonar sighs happily, pets up and down your spine. Out of the corner of your eye you can see him press against the shallow wound on his neck and shiver. That warm thing in your chest purring at the sight. 

So yeah, you definitely get it now—why he’s got such a thing for stealing a taste of you. 

There’s no flavor in the world like it. Nothing else that satisfies the itch. Just like that, you’re hooked. Thank god there’s no end to this particular supply. So many inches of skin unblemished, all waiting for you to take a bite. 

I've touched quite a lot on Sonar and what is essentially primal play I suppose but more like I assume some of the animal instincts carry over for him. It doesn't seem that far a stretch to assume that pain might play a role in arousal for him either. Or that he likes to get as good as he gives. When y'all get going--really get going--it's no holds barred, all teeth and claws and he wants those blunt little humie canines trying to break skin anywhere you can get an opening. The taste of copper on his lips settles something in him he doesn't often feel satisfied.