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    Summary

    The poison must've been doing shit to Jabber’s mind, because he brought the staff to his mouth, his hand on Zanka's, and licked a looooong stripe up to the fork before dropping it back to the Cleaner’s chest. He could've sworn the breath that left Zanka fogged in the air. They did say vital instruments held a piece of their giver's soul.

    This was too good to be true. Did that mean whenever this guy stroked his lovely stick, he was jerking off? Did fighting feel so good because they were beating each other's meats? Touching tips? Sword fighting? Whatever people call it these days. It was hella gay either way.

    or simply

    freaky soul shit

    Language:
    English
    Words:
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    Chapters:
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