The News is Grim (Noah)

19 11 7
                                    

A/N: roll-call, who's here? 

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A/N: roll-call, who's here? 

A/N: roll-call, who's here? 

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The room smelled like sex

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The room smelled like sex.

My eyes rolled back into my skull–it was like lips formed by the gods were wrapped around me, which I guess was the case. "Fuck," I moaned, gripping at his hair and thrusting into the warm, holy temple of his mouth. "Oh fuck–fuck! I'm so close! I'm so.... Wait, wait, stop."

Madrick was breathy as he surfaced from underneath the mess of sweat-covered, white blankets. "Stop?" His eyebrows furrowed. "Not what I'm used to hearing from you."

Now my eyes rolled for another reason before I focused on the TV screen, which was mounted to the hotel room wall, and then I turned up the volume of the news report that had been playing on mute. I had only seen it for a second–actually, it was a fragment of a second, but it was enough to make me lose my erection.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," I murmured.

The tagline read: PRINCE DARIEN ESCAPES MONETARY BAY. I watched the television in utter disbelief as it showed the jail, which had apparently been blown to smithereens–killing hundreds...HUNDREDS of vampires.

"Well, fuck," said Madrick, rolling a joint with grave precision. "I don't know whether to be impressed or concerned."

I stared at him. "Concerned."

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