[ Down on the Menagerie Coast tieflings were always considered more beautiful than most people, alluring and showy. That might have been part of the reason Fjord was initially wary of getting to know Molly, because once he did he wouldn't be just any old hornhead anymore, he would mean something and that would be so unfair on top of his good looks and charisma. But here they are, he thinks (while he can), with Fjord spreading the thighs on his lap as a tail cinches onto him like Molly might die if he leaves, sucking in a sharp breath as he lets some of his weight swing him into heat, so fucking hot, the oil easing the way just enough that Fjord doesn't stop until he bottoms-out. He brushes back Molly's hair with a faintly trembling hand when he does, sweat beading across his shoulders and nape from the sheer effort of giving him a moment to adjust to at least twice the girth of fingers provided. It feels like Fjord is filling up every inch of space he could, the fit a little snug around each ridge. ]
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Molls ...