14
Khent raises an eyebrow. “Actually?”
He looks a little concerned, probably because he’s not following my thought process.
“Um, I mean, only if totally necessary. I mean,” I fumble with my words because that definitely sounded more like a threat and less what I really meant.
I try to reach my pockets, but my hands are a little preoccupied, keeping me from falling off the Orc holding us to the side of the building and all. “Can you...?”
He takes my meaning and nods. He cups a hand under my ass to support my weight as he shifts us down to some kind of ledge. The window that the architecture frames is covered up by curtains on the inside. It’s not quite a balcony, but it’s somewhat less precarious.
“I don’t think you can get the Blood Fever to restart on purpose–” he’s starting to say, when I pull the vial of oil from my pocket.
His eyes widen and I know he knows what I mean now.
“I want to do the claiming ritual,” I say, just in case. But also because saying things out loud is important, and I need to tell him how much he means to me so he knows without a doubt. “I want to do what we would have done if I’d understood what the Blood Fever meant from the beginning.”
He looks bashful for a moment, and then like he’s going to say something, and then he decides against it.
“If that’s still possible, and if that’s something you want,” I add quickly, but my attempts to give him room to say no are cut short by him drawing me close.
Khent tries to kiss me but he's so happy that he's just smiling against my mouth, the dork. But I say nothing, I’m smiling too. Then I casually slip my hand down the front of his pants.
Khent bites down on his grin, trying to hide that he was enjoying every second of it.
“I don’t think we’re allowed to mate on the side of the building,” he murmurs out of the corner of his mouth.
“Don’t see you stopping me.”
Unhinged Janice is now in charge. I’m letting her have free reign because Calm and Collected Janice has not had great success with decision making.
“I think I know roughly how this works, but maybe you should start it,” I say, undoing the vial's cap.
Khent moves us, so that my back is pressed to the window and he knelt on the ledge before me, one hand still holding the brickwork, locking us in.
“There's not much method to it,” he said, taking the vial from me. He tipped the vial into my palms, showing me how to let it flow out in rivets along my fingers. His hand joined mine, soon the both of us had the oil covering our hands, our palms entirely stained with the ink.
“Alright,” he said, nodding his chin to me, ready with enough oil on the top of his fingers.