And they lived comfortably ever after, boob in hand
"No," his agreement cuts in after Danta, gaze following suit with something glittering to it. "But the most believable stories start with a truth." His words need the proper thing to drape themselves around or else they'd lift off into something too abstract for anyone to recognize, much less enjoy. He needs the mucus of it all.
A pleased smile carves out his cheeks as Danta acquiesces to being his skeleton, and even better that he's got the right bone structure to start with. Content to use the button that goes flying for his lips, Quentin adjusts the notebook in his hand and swings his gaze between the pair of them from beneath the hood of his brow. They begin with the exact sort of intentions he'd expect of a proper werefiend, and thoroughly delighted at the promise of this all, his mind lays itself to the page.
With no regard for clothing, the fibers only ever a cruel prison to his lust, Shmanta begins the discussion of their territory by staking a new claim.
The growl that Astaroth lets slip sends a shudder rolling through him, the ink growing messier for a moment before halting as Quentin's mouth parts around approval. "Perfect," he murmurs, and jots down a note about pet names for later as he continues.
Hastarot responds with all the unkindness of his own tightly wound desire, the sound of it berating the space between them with a different sort of negotiation. "Surrender your mouth to my balls" he growls dryly.
A pleased smile carves out his cheeks as Danta acquiesces to being his skeleton, and even better that he's got the right bone structure to start with. Content to use the button that goes flying for his lips, Quentin adjusts the notebook in his hand and swings his gaze between the pair of them from beneath the hood of his brow. They begin with the exact sort of intentions he'd expect of a proper werefiend, and thoroughly delighted at the promise of this all, his mind lays itself to the page.
With no regard for clothing, the fibers only ever a cruel prison to his lust, Shmanta begins the discussion of their territory by staking a new claim.
The growl that Astaroth lets slip sends a shudder rolling through him, the ink growing messier for a moment before halting as Quentin's mouth parts around approval. "Perfect," he murmurs, and jots down a note about pet names for later as he continues.
Hastarot responds with all the unkindness of his own tightly wound desire, the sound of it berating the space between them with a different sort of negotiation. "Surrender your mouth to my balls" he growls dryly.
Quentin
