[ Their friends are gone and there's only the electric lamp in his tent to light any shadows as he leads Molly, lips licked enticingly and all, inside where Fjord sinks down and tugs on his hand to draw the tiefling into his lap. The camp is a muted hum of music and voices as the flaps fall shut behind them and he sees Molly in a chiaroscuro that makes him look beautiful and demonic in one, so lovely with his soft hair and sharp horns and glinting eyes that it makes something ache, deep in Fjord, to have him, and he does so as he leans up to capture a searing kiss. What air from the field that lingers is cool inside the tent but his mouth is hot as he opens up to him, hands running around a slim waist that he's seen on videos countless times and imagined touching a thousand more, intending to gather Molly in as close as possible.
Fjord doesn't say anything because there isn't anything to say, he wants him and makes that obvious, helpless to do anything else. ]
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Fjord doesn't say anything because there isn't anything to say, he wants him and makes that obvious, helpless to do anything else. ]