// I'd take the fall—I got you covered when there's no one at all //
There is absolutely a protest rising at that offer. One that threatens to swing wildly away from peaceful if she thinks his face remotely resembles worry. He'll scrub her deck later if need be, and promptly slip into the role of a pool boy and all the duties that go with it if need be. He'll improvise on the pool part.
He can't keep back the complete wreckage amusement makes across his face as she supplies leftovers of all things. "WhUh—yeah!" Maybe it isn't the direction he'd been headed, but he could get on board, or already had. Though a sheepish look streaks in, caught when he thought he'd been clever. "You know, kings and queens have been poisoned all throughout history," he says, suddenly well educated on the past and the risks to rulers. "So really, it's my humble duty to taste test everything you might eat, even at risk to my own well-being." He nods slowly, letting the gravity of the situation and his sacrifice sink in, played up as it is.
He might pull his own John Cena move on her and hoist her up as proof, but he's certain that'd be met with consequences and delays he'd rather not wade through right now. Another time perhaps. Instead, he opts for encouraging her to pick up the pace, swiping one of her new tits free completely. He cackles behind her in pursuit, fruit raised aloft like a threat of what he'd do to the other if she let him close enough. "These ones aren't as saggy!" With his shirt stripped free too, he doesn't have much of any remnants of his rack remaining. Her dick has long since slid free of its once proud station, little more than a smeared silhouette on her waist now.
She clambers aboard as he reaches the bottom of the ladder, the sight of her ass dipping away over the railing followed by a flash of feet, the creak of rope, and the faint hum of her laughter drifting down. His head tilts up after it, a rough grin answering the golden glimpse of her as she calls down. Framed against the sky, her curls a wild spill around her, she seems to glow on every edge, as if the light had been waiting just for her. Her grin, sharp and knowing and impossible, is every bit of his heaven, and he aches to climb toward her.
Chucking her fruit tit back at her, he gets to work on his plan. "Very considerate, but I have this handled sweetheart!" he responds as one hand already works to undo his belt. The leather slides free easily, responding to a sure flick of his hand as he yanks it free of a few belt loops. Just enough to feed the handles of his makeshift bag onto the side of his hip, locking it in place as he feeds the tail of his belt back around, hooking it secure with a sharp tug. His head lifts again, a hand with it, ascending the ladder with all the sureness of a man climbing to salvation.
He arrives on deck with a ta da of his hands raised above him, fruit holstered on his side with only the mildest threat of one or two pieces spilling over. "Now I'd be happy to have any of your hands help me," he grins with suggestion as he steps across the distance between them, extending the same offer of helpful hands towards the bottom of her shirt.
He can't keep back the complete wreckage amusement makes across his face as she supplies leftovers of all things. "WhUh—yeah!" Maybe it isn't the direction he'd been headed, but he could get on board, or already had. Though a sheepish look streaks in, caught when he thought he'd been clever. "You know, kings and queens have been poisoned all throughout history," he says, suddenly well educated on the past and the risks to rulers. "So really, it's my humble duty to taste test everything you might eat, even at risk to my own well-being." He nods slowly, letting the gravity of the situation and his sacrifice sink in, played up as it is.
He might pull his own John Cena move on her and hoist her up as proof, but he's certain that'd be met with consequences and delays he'd rather not wade through right now. Another time perhaps. Instead, he opts for encouraging her to pick up the pace, swiping one of her new tits free completely. He cackles behind her in pursuit, fruit raised aloft like a threat of what he'd do to the other if she let him close enough. "These ones aren't as saggy!" With his shirt stripped free too, he doesn't have much of any remnants of his rack remaining. Her dick has long since slid free of its once proud station, little more than a smeared silhouette on her waist now.
She clambers aboard as he reaches the bottom of the ladder, the sight of her ass dipping away over the railing followed by a flash of feet, the creak of rope, and the faint hum of her laughter drifting down. His head tilts up after it, a rough grin answering the golden glimpse of her as she calls down. Framed against the sky, her curls a wild spill around her, she seems to glow on every edge, as if the light had been waiting just for her. Her grin, sharp and knowing and impossible, is every bit of his heaven, and he aches to climb toward her.
Chucking her fruit tit back at her, he gets to work on his plan. "Very considerate, but I have this handled sweetheart!" he responds as one hand already works to undo his belt. The leather slides free easily, responding to a sure flick of his hand as he yanks it free of a few belt loops. Just enough to feed the handles of his makeshift bag onto the side of his hip, locking it in place as he feeds the tail of his belt back around, hooking it secure with a sharp tug. His head lifts again, a hand with it, ascending the ladder with all the sureness of a man climbing to salvation.
He arrives on deck with a ta da of his hands raised above him, fruit holstered on his side with only the mildest threat of one or two pieces spilling over. "Now I'd be happy to have any of your hands help me," he grins with suggestion as he steps across the distance between them, extending the same offer of helpful hands towards the bottom of her shirt.
Kaisel
// When you need somebody to turn to—Nobody got you the way I do //
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
