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    Summary

    Alistair wants nothing more than to see the line of her back, or maybe see how it'd arch up from a perfect line beneath him, and he wishes she'd just jab him with her elbow again to interrupt the tightening in his groin. "My mistake," he says. "I'll be oh so grateful for this dirt now. Just like a featherbed."

     

    Marta's lip quirks in a tired smile. "Soft as every human."

     

    He feels rather the opposite of soft right now, but he can't very well argue that particular point. "Right. Best set the tents."

    --

    Alistair jerks off. That's it. That's the fic.

    Language:
    English
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