Feb 8, 2017
◝ * ｡ @rotwar
WET MUSCLE MOVES to moisten lower tier; whiskey hues darting to doting decay. lithe digits work to fuss with his attire-- busying herself instead of answering gruff inquiry. it was more often than not the assassin watched him with microscopic precision. & there she sat, neatly upon the elder’s lap. exasperated sigh fleeing plush mouth. ❝ mon dieu. ❞ shaking her head, palm moving to push against carved features. ❝ i understand togetherness, oui? ❞ a fib, obviously. ❝ but-- why must we dine together. i am afraid i do not yet share your love for... flesh, gabriel. ❞