Sunspire Mountains all the butterflies have turned to vultures in my stomach

Riley turned truculent, his gaze averted. Were it not for his dark fur Esme would see a stain of red flushing his cheeks; the mark of utter humiliation. He did not rise from the ground, only flinched as she flicked pinestraw at his face.

A doleful expression stole over Laurel's boy, who in this moment lacked any sort of defense against this kind of psychological warfare. Anguish stole in soon after, coloring his eyes with a soft and watery glint. He had enough self-awareness to not utter his first thought (I don't want you to) and he was reflective enough to avoid his second (He'll hurt you). But the third choice fell as short as his half-spear, and was mumbled into the dirt with a certain self-reservation.

"I don't know." Riley admitted in a downcast state, ignoring the part about kinks, and definitely ignoring the really ugly image that rose to his mind of his paramour and Donovan bumping uglies. Who was he to tell Esme what she could do? All he could do was sit and wait; either she would turn around, or she wouldn't. This thought was far from comforting and did little to ease Riley's mind. "You can do whatever you want." But please god, don't do that.