Duskfire Glacier [m] diet mountain dew

perhaps yesterday she would have obliged him, but today lousine didn't want to listen.

or, her voice was lilted and smooth as molasses compared to the audible struggle in his. her eyes were bright and playful, yet hooded. we could try something else. do you trust me?

she hadn't realized until now just how powerful he truly was. his grip was so strong yet so gentle; he could have easily smashed the bones of her wrist when she pulled her paw away and yet he chose not to. right now, he was choosing not to hurt her.

he didn't want to hurt her.

it all came crashing down then, that realization of what he had been trying to communicate this whole time. it wasn't that he didn't see beauty in the world — he did not see beauty in himself. lousine, in that moment, made a vow to change that.

she looped her forelimbs around him and slowly, methodically, she began to kiss every part of him that she could reach. his eyelids, the bridge of his nose, the lobe of an ear. the veins that popped out in his foreleg when he flexed his muscles, the ruff around his throat.

has a woman ever touched you like this, faust? she suddenly asked, tracing her long nails along his shoulder blade. ever made you feel good?