Angel Dust

Just playing.

There's a whimper as that grip tightens, but it's true. They must be playing, or Angel wouldn't have the air to manage that much. Did Angel always get off to this sort of play, or is it just an adaptative things? Either way, there's shame weighing down as Angel plays right along, grinding against Val's leg, while a lower hand starts to fondle that hardness at his hip.

His eyes narrow, hating the heat he can feel colouring his face beneath his fur. "...you have cars waitin' for all of 'em too?" he counters, "Vox not in the mood for your shit tonight?"