And they lived comfortably ever after, boob in hand
Not quite an empath, Quentin nevertheless has an eye for detail, and there's no denying that Asta's pleasure sounds like something too dry that means to chafe instead of glide. The casual, suave smile falters for a moment on his face, and he quickly pops open his notebook and peers down into the pages as fresh, wet ink scrapes and darkens a scrawl of thought over the page.
Werefiends don't understand pleasure.
"Oh, yes, very good," he hums thoughtfully, attention lifting off the page back to the men winding around one another. He pinches his chin in thought as he crosses the room to the inevitable, cuck chair that awaits. "Well, you're both completely feral with lust, and with no outlet, you turn to one another, but it's a power struggle because you're both alpha werefiends." One leg crosses over the other at the ankle, and Quentin sinks back into his throne of observation. "So lots of power and proper growling." A wink cast to Danta at that.
"I hear, by the way, you go by the Butcher now." Quentin's brows lift with the emphasis of the weight that earning that name carries. "Dare I ask, did you earn that title in the bedroom?" It could either mean he's a terrible lay, literally butchering the experience, or that he's quite skilled with meat enough to make it his profession. Quentin can only assume the latter if he's wooed the owner of the Dusklight, but he wants to ensure his source material is properly credited. "And congratulations, I know when Danta and I first discussed this, you weren't so crowned."
Werefiends don't understand pleasure.
"Oh, yes, very good," he hums thoughtfully, attention lifting off the page back to the men winding around one another. He pinches his chin in thought as he crosses the room to the inevitable, cuck chair that awaits. "Well, you're both completely feral with lust, and with no outlet, you turn to one another, but it's a power struggle because you're both alpha werefiends." One leg crosses over the other at the ankle, and Quentin sinks back into his throne of observation. "So lots of power and proper growling." A wink cast to Danta at that.
"I hear, by the way, you go by the Butcher now." Quentin's brows lift with the emphasis of the weight that earning that name carries. "Dare I ask, did you earn that title in the bedroom?" It could either mean he's a terrible lay, literally butchering the experience, or that he's quite skilled with meat enough to make it his profession. Quentin can only assume the latter if he's wooed the owner of the Dusklight, but he wants to ensure his source material is properly credited. "And congratulations, I know when Danta and I first discussed this, you weren't so crowned."
Quentin
