[ There's very little he doesn't like about Harley, but the tattoos are a particular point of interest, coinciding with his own idle interest in symbolism and meaning. He has a fondness for tracing them with a fingertip or his tongue when they're lying together in whatever motel bed or broken-down old couch in the back of a warehouse they've ended up in, likes telling her stories about what they might mean in other cultures, the power and protection of those eyes.
And, of course, he likes the fact that they make her look so sexy, though the fact that this particular one is right above the perfect globes of her ass also gives it certain points in its favour.
When she makes her way over he follows her with keen interest, tongue darting out to lick his lips as she sways into his personal space, until he can practically feel his own heartbeat along his slowly hardening dick.
He plays it cool, or at least as cool as a guy can get in cargo shorts and a regulation B.P.R.D. t-shirt, which is to say not especially cool, propping his right arm up along the back of the booth, knees spread wide and tail curling up against the floor. His gaze drifts down to her tits and, with an effort, comes back up again. He wonders if she can tell what he's looking at, given the lack of pupils, or if she's just really good at guessing.
He raises his eyebrows, his voice a low, pleased rumble. ]
How'd a good girl like you end up in a place like this?
no subject
And, of course, he likes the fact that they make her look so sexy, though the fact that this particular one is right above the perfect globes of her ass also gives it certain points in its favour.
When she makes her way over he follows her with keen interest, tongue darting out to lick his lips as she sways into his personal space, until he can practically feel his own heartbeat along his slowly hardening dick.
He plays it cool, or at least as cool as a guy can get in cargo shorts and a regulation B.P.R.D. t-shirt, which is to say not especially cool, propping his right arm up along the back of the booth, knees spread wide and tail curling up against the floor. His gaze drifts down to her tits and, with an effort, comes back up again. He wonders if she can tell what he's looking at, given the lack of pupils, or if she's just really good at guessing.
He raises his eyebrows, his voice a low, pleased rumble. ]
How'd a good girl like you end up in a place like this?