Barrow Fields i would ask, almost insist, on treating you kind and fair

tachyon swung his head towards her limb, doing his best to scrape the offensive mucus from his skull before lusca caught wind and wisely retracted her arm. her admonishment did little to dissuade him, and in an effort to rid himself of the trickling slobber  he threw his head back on the dirt floor and rubbed his forehead earnestly along the brambly soil.

this didn't have the intended effect -- if anything, it made it worse -- tachyon now looked like a messy, soggy dog someone had glued detritus to. it was even worse he was snickering -- nay, giggling -- like a little school girl. still on his back, he started to wriggle, aiming to scratch an itch on his spine while removing the malodorous spit. in a gesture of impish abandon he continued to boogey until he was close to one of lusca's legs -- and then he parted his jaws to deliver a quick but gummy nip over the broad surface of her wrist.