Fun fact: Robin Goodfellow got what he wanted. He got what he wanted because it was normally just easier to give it to him than to listen to the incessant bitching that withholding object of said desire would create. And so, when he had loudly proclaimed that if he couldn't have a drink the least he could have to relax him that day, dammit, was a good, deep dicking, he had not been refused.
In fact, he had currently been (literally) engaged with Ishiah for a lazy, sweaty nooner when the inevitable happened and Caliban Leandros ruined his day. Water was wet, pucks were sex addicts, geese flew south for the winter, Cal Leandros ruins lives. These were facts of nature.
So when a body suddenly appeared in mid-air and tumbled into the bed, Robin immediately - or mostly immediately, because the jostling had actually managed to make him feel even better sitting, as he was, on top of a portion of Ishiah's lovely anatomy - turned around to glare. The expression softened. Because he recognized that fugly mug and he'd missed it very much and
( ... )
As it turned out, Rafferty had apparently missed something. Maybe the shot from Cabal had distracted from a brain aneurysm that Suyolak had snuck in there for shits and giggles, because I was clearly dead and I was clearly in hell, doomed to watch Goodfellow and Ishiah buttfuck for eternity
( ... )
Robin did not put on pants. In fact, not only did he not put on pants, but he managed to tug the sword from Ishiah's grip, the grip that had immediately loosened as soon as the other man had realized Cal was not, in fact, in possibly mortal peril from grievous internal wounding.
Slipping off of the surface of the bed with only the slightest grunt of discomfort from the general direction of his moderately-abused posterior due to Cal's unintentional act of coitus interruptus, Robin held one sword aloft.
The other sword, naturally, had not yet reacted to the bonerkill in the room.
"He isn't hurt yet. But he's going to be. He's going to hurt so bad he will weep like a baby in a fetal little ball. He will hurt so badly his mother's dead ancestors will sit up and take notice!"
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In fact, he had currently been (literally) engaged with Ishiah for a lazy, sweaty nooner when the inevitable happened and Caliban Leandros ruined his day. Water was wet, pucks were sex addicts, geese flew south for the winter, Cal Leandros ruins lives. These were facts of nature.
So when a body suddenly appeared in mid-air and tumbled into the bed, Robin immediately - or mostly immediately, because the jostling had actually managed to make him feel even better sitting, as he was, on top of a portion of Ishiah's lovely anatomy - turned around to glare. The expression softened. Because he recognized that fugly mug and he'd missed it very much and ( ... )
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Slipping off of the surface of the bed with only the slightest grunt of discomfort from the general direction of his moderately-abused posterior due to Cal's unintentional act of coitus interruptus, Robin held one sword aloft.
The other sword, naturally, had not yet reacted to the bonerkill in the room.
"He isn't hurt yet. But he's going to be. He's going to hurt so bad he will weep like a baby in a fetal little ball. He will hurt so badly his mother's dead ancestors will sit up and take notice!"
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