[ Nothing is going to happen to Molly again, not as long as the Nein have anything to say about it, and right now that manifests as Fjord channels his own want into tracing the intriguing edge of that forked tongue before opening his mouth in a hot kiss and drawing it in, stroking over its heat with an inadvertent groan. He melts into him with shaky exhale and pulls Molly in with the hand in the small of his back so he's as close as can be, meeting the bulk of Fjord's body, feeling the lean-to as the half-orc lets an old attraction bubble up; the frustration of seeing a naked profile in their bedrooms, being invited to a fucking orgy, wet lavender skin in the public baths. Fjord slept in an inch of swampwater on the floor because he didn't trust himself in a bed with Molly, it got so bad to want him and so routine to deny Fjord felt anything; it wasn't right, men didn't want other men, a life of prejudice as a sailor taught him that. No one really wanted half-orcs, that was life itself's main rule.
Bullshit, all of it. He was just a coward.
He clutches a handful of curls to hold him steady, desire flaring hot and quick in his blood. It's the kiss Fjord regretted never giving him when Mollymauk was alive. ]
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Bullshit, all of it. He was just a coward.
He clutches a handful of curls to hold him steady, desire flaring hot and quick in his blood. It's the kiss Fjord regretted never giving him when Mollymauk was alive. ]