No different than any other Boy with a new toy, the Doof Warrior clung to the instrument like an over excited pup. Writhing and hissing and grinning, and she found that she was not only enraptured with the dark magick of his music, but also with his enthusiasm. The witch would let him have his fun, maybe even let him keep the noisemaker she traded black-market to the Buzzards. Coma was certainly a lot better plinking away at it than she had ever been. She slid up beside him, fingers slithering beneath the collar of his pajamas to seek out shoulders and sore muscles and tangled knots, working free the pinches and pains that troubled him as he got himself acquainted with the new instrument. A perfect excuse to start picking at buttons with the intent of coaxing him out of his clothing as he coaxed music from the guitar.
He almost grew annoyed at her nimble-fingered interruption of his playing, but once he realized what she was up to, he did what he could to get a shoulder free from the worn grubby red jumper without missing a beat. The song crawled on in a heated rhythm, but by the time he had made it to the wailing solo, the tinny voice of the instrument seemed to give him as much a thrill as her coaxing fingers did.
His shoulders were indeed knotted, but clearly not from stress. His head lolled against her touch, nuzzling and nipping as the guitar quivered and groaned where his throat couldn’t.
