[ Tomorrow, in revenge for the Ethereal Step, he's going to do something to those horns in plain view of the others. Right now, he sinks both hands into Molly's hair to run over his horns, back and forth along the curves, dark green nails running over their base where they connect. It's weird (he's never been with a tiefling before) but oddly erotic, touching Molly the way he would like to handling other parts of him, riling up enthusiasm for whatever Molly wants to do.

Fjord wants to ask him about so much. ]

Do you touch these when you're alone?

[ He just has to know now. It's a good distraction from stepping out of his own breeches and standing half-naked in his shirt. The usual dark green of his dick has hardened and with the foreskin slipping back there's a lighter gradient, almost a map of where he's most sensitive all along a thick seven inches. The ridges underneath have stiffened around his shaft to keep him erect so he shoots a prayer to the Wildmother that they won't be interrupted, the ache in his balls (larger than a human's, it's noticeable) settling like lead with Molly's pretty face hovering so close.

Fjord swallows, using the horns to experimentally steer Molly forward, seeing if he'll allow it. ]

I had a dream like this, once. Back then. [ Molly knows what he means, hair being petted. ] But you really are far more beautiful in person.