Shadewood all the saints of notre dame

Riley, for a lack of a better word, was male — and the male brain dedicated a fair number of brain cells towards well, certain acts. He’d fantasized more than once about this moment — their future moment — but it had been tinged by other memories, too.

As Masque pressed herself to him he gave her the full spread of his physical touch — like her, feeling that despite their contact not all corners were filled.

Her question pulled him into a world he’d tried to forget. He did not pick up on the phrasing right away, though when he did a small smile graced his lips. No. He answered, drawing a long sigh similar to hers as he realized that wasn’t patently true.

Esme.

In that moment he was awestruck by how healthy for one another Masque and he were — how different she made him feel, in ways Esme had only hurt.

At the time, Esme’s rejection and physiological warfare had wounded him deeply. In a twisted sense he now recognized she’d done him a favor all those years ago. I tried, once. Years ago. His gaze fell to the floor as shame burned his cheeks. But it didn’t work out. He preened her fur, realizing talking about this might stir some sense of jealousy in her that he didn’t want to be the reason for. It’ll be both our first time. His voice came in apprehensive breaths. I’m nervous I’ll let you down.