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sqlkfdjkslfdj tired. Laid awake for three hours after going to bed at two AM. Which, yes, means I've had all of two hours of sleep. *dies* Note to self: No more naps on Sunday afternoon!
Yo, Meryl, did you get the textslash I sent you?
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Yo, Meryl, did you get the textslash I sent you?
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*twitch* You're such a delightfully bad influence, darling.
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No one ever called Bole by his first name without explicit permission. Marcus did, once, and ended up pinned against the wall by a snarling Bole. Sometimes he's almost tempted to do it again, just to have it happen again. Almost.
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Marcus liked to be in control. Control, actually, was one of the few things Marcus had *ever* been good at. Why, then, why did he like it so much when he was helplessly writhing under Tarq Bole, moaning his name, gaspingly, deliriously? He was Marcus Flint. And he didn't want to admint that Bole f*cking owned him.
(Askterix for the sake of not getting hit by my job's filtering program.)
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