"Well then." Frey sniffed, their fingers spider-walking down their body, goosebumps fleshing across their ribs and, you guessed it, along Loren's too. The deity hummed some nonsensical phrases and the air bloomed with moisture and a breeze that smelled of sweat and flowers. As their hand reached the jut of their hip it paused, their own erection considerable and proud. With intentional but delicate motions, Frey's hand would create a hollow around their cock, though not actually touch the flesh despite the obvious masturbatory motions they were making. Gazing at Loren, their fingers twitching and yet not touching, the Launceleyn would feel a tangible desperation as he was subjected to these phantom ministrations as well.
"So? Why are you still here then? Haven't you flowers to plant?"
"So? Why are you still here then? Haven't you flowers to plant?"
