[ He has enough presence of mind to switch to an uninked shoulder, not wanting to destroy the artwork wreathed over Molly's body. As his fingers hit their second knuckle and curl inside that tight channel, stroking hot walls, he scrapes his tusks in the curve of a neck hard enough to leave pink lines, lapping at them and sucking lovebites on top, kisses wet and sloppy like the bathwater. He shudders as some unspoken, deep-set satisfaction is taken from marking Molly up, doing it again but closer to a pulse as he fucks him on his hand, a low snarl vibrating into soft, scratched skin.
Fjord doesn't know why it feels so good to leave evidence of his bite, giving into the instinct at Molly's encouragement. It's as if a red wave of hunger slips over his thoughts and makes Molly his whole world, digging his claws across the curve of a pert ass to leave his mark there too, groping hard.
Yasha had a mate she loved very much, maybe she can explain it later. ]
no subject
Fjord doesn't know why it feels so good to leave evidence of his bite, giving into the instinct at Molly's encouragement. It's as if a red wave of hunger slips over his thoughts and makes Molly his whole world, digging his claws across the curve of a pert ass to leave his mark there too, groping hard.
Yasha had a mate she loved very much, maybe she can explain it later. ]