♅ !
MAKE MY MUSE BLUSH
♅ Your muse ends up in a compromising position with mine and someone walks in.
Pieces of armor fell to the ground with a heavy thud, a long, low moan spilling from Blakk’s lips. Muhren pressed him firmly onto the sofa, prompting a helpless gasp. As Muh’s skillful fingers began to slowly snake beneath the fabric of his shirt and peel it upward, Blakk’s teeth worried at his lip, breath catching, sensitive skin and abs jumping at his light, teasing touch.
“Muh …” he whispered, voice rough and pleading.
“I KNEW it!!” The unholy, gleeful shriek of Muh’s roommate jumped them both into the air like frazzled cats.
“What the frak?” A flailing limb sent the medkit sailing off the caffa table.
“Zanula!”
“This proof is golden! It’ll be worth so many credits!”
“What proof? I have a broken rib, you …” But Zanula had already fled the room, trailing laughter. Blakk doubled over, clutching his exposed midsection, huffing and wincing as the brief exertion pinched his side with pain. He glanced up at Muh.
“What do you suppose she …?” Their eyes met, Blakk’s cheeks colored as he abruptly realized what she’d been seeing. He coughed into his fist. “Um. Anyway …”
