[Stolas chases after Blitzø’s lips as he pulls away, already feeling cold from their absence. The geotia was like a thirsty man in a desert, and the imp's lips were like the first drizzle of water to wet his parched tongue. He wanted more. The little taste wasn't enough to put out the fire smoldering in his stomach.
But then those soft lips come back, for a quick peck, making the owl coo. Really? Now a question? Riding the high, a deep chuckle hummed in his throat as he nuzzled the crooked of the imp's neck, peppering the line of his jaw in kisses.]
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But then those soft lips come back, for a quick peck, making the owl coo. Really? Now a question? Riding the high, a deep chuckle hummed in his throat as he nuzzled the crooked of the imp's neck, peppering the line of his jaw in kisses.]
A question? Now? What is it Darling?