Work Text:
“You know, I believe I'm starting to see the appeal,” Kazuma mused, after getting in a few jabs at Klimt’s unprotected belly.
“Stop that, Kazuma,” Barok growled. He encircled the ball of fluff that was the puffy Pomeranian in his arms, and pulled him close.
Klimt whimpered, downtrodden.
“There, there, big brother,” Barok soothed, caressing his back with small strokes.
Kazuma snickered, earning himself another glare.
“You're only making it worse, you realise. He'll take longer to turn back after your goading.”
Kazuma broke into a wild grin.
“I accept those chances; I think I much prefer him this way.”