>>5935951With the gradual disappearance of the moon from the early morning sky, Oncyth’s black coat begins to melt away as well, revealing the pale nakedness of his elven flesh, leanly muscles in the manner of an elven warrior. Costella squeaks and averts her eyes, while Izirina regards him with her adoptive mother’s scientific curiosity—so transparently clinical you can’t quite muster an objection or jealousy.
And then there’s Pearce.
“Hh,” he exhales. “Guh.”
The unfamiliar, choking sound draws your concern, and you look over at him. You quickly realize that it isn’t what you at first expected, though: not a sound of alarm, not exactly.
“Oh,” you say, embarrassed anew at another oversight.
Logan Pearce is what some might politely call ‘a confirmed bachelor’, as you’ve long known. Ever since your first adventure with him out in the Goblin Wastes, when he had nearly died and nearly confessed his more-than-friendly feeling towards you, it has been an unspoken undercurrent in your friendship: that he is, in fact, physically attracted to you. However, to your knowledge his attraction has only EVER been to you—that is to say, in all your partying together, you have never really caught him ogling or eyeing anyone else, nor has he ever expressed his attraction to another man explicitly or by implication.
Apparently, the way he does so sounds rather like: ‘Hh. Guh.’
Logan’s eyes are fixed upon the chiseled and unashamed nudity of Oncyth the werewolf. With a subtle sniff of the air, the wolf-elf turns his violet eyes upon your friend as well, eyebrows lifting slightly and forehead creasing in confusion, as if smelling something unusual. It occurs to you that the lycanthrope’s keen senses can likely detect, ahem, chemical changes accompanying mating urges, and you prepare to intercede again to prevent a second confrontation between the two…
Only Oncyth’s body language does not exactly, ah, communicate hostility. Even Izirina averts her eyes when she sees the rather ‘turgid’ response as the werewolf sizes up your dear friend with a much less clinical assessment than Izzy had given him, but no less thoroughness.
“Oh,” you whisper to yourself a third time, cheeks heating up a you hastily avert your own gaze. “Can we get this man a—a tarp, or robe, ANYTHING?”
