…W-well maybe he ain’ a bad guy—he’s contractually obligated t’ do tha’ koinda stuff…
Oi mean, he.. loikes.. me cookin’ n’… Bu’ Oi guess… -frowns- <8(
HOW’D……THA’…
(He’d probably curl into a ball.)
Go Anon ask my character something uncomfortable.
[Ask about Dorian guys. 8)]
*NSFW*
I think I really like those stuff.
Second one is my old pic.
Come to me.
… just got to casually save later
8)
(Source: non-noah)
Cold Nights
Dorian just smirked down at him, “Mmm… Bon. Zhen I will be your first… oui?”
The first moments were… blank. The bushman did not know how to respond as their lips brushed so tenderly against one another.
Eugene’s flavor filled the spy’s mouth and he pressed his tongue inside, greedily lapping up the sweetness of the aussie. He could even taste the bitterness of the cheap coffee Eugene drank earlier.
This was not professional. This was not professional. This was not professional. The words kept playing in his head like a broken record.
Every touch given to the sniper was light and almost too gentle. Every move of his body was planned, his face remained cool and collected.
His ankles rolled together and his feet crossed. It was such a simple bliss, human contact…
No Rush
In the few minutes it took for him to begin hearing shouting from down the pipe, Riley took in the sight of the water he was hiding under.
Eugene hesitated, the sound that came from the BLU was enough to stop even that Soldier rearing at him headlong with that pick in his hand. It was more of something straight out of the waters of the Bush than something they would hear in the middle of the desert…
Dorian you ass.
((Two pictures that describe these two the best.))
(via frooblitzwing-deactivated201202)
In honor of being able to equip the Itsy Bitsy Spyder…
Eugene.
Cold Nights
Dorian just smirked down at him, “Mmm… Bon. Zhen I will be your first… oui?”
The first moments were… blank. The bushman did not know how to respond as their lips brushed so tenderly against one another.
Eugene’s flavor filled the spy’s mouth and he pressed his tongue inside, greedily lapping up the sweetness of the aussie. He could even taste the bitterness of the cheap coffee Eugene drank earlier.
This was not professional. This was not professional. This was not professional. The words kept playing in his head like a broken record.
