“I heard,” Varka says, “that you took some snowbloom pollen to the face.” Oh, well, that’s a nightmare. Flins can’t believe the Traveler told on him. “And I wanted to make sure you were… doing well.” Fixing Varka with an unimpressed stare, trying not to stare at his mouth, Flins crosses his arms. “The effects will dissipate in a day or two.” “They say the effects are miserable,” Varka says. Flins lifts both brows and barks out a disbelieving laugh. “Grand Master—” He clings to Varka’s title because if he uses Varka’s name, it will come out a moan. All of those unsatisfying orgasms have come to the fantasy of Varka in his bed, in his body. “Grand Master, we both know there is only one want to alleviate the effects of snowbloom pollen, and while I appreciate the intimation of your offer, I do not particularly appreciate being the butt of this joke.” “What joke?” Varka asks. Flins presses his lips into a tight smile. “Your presence here,” he says through a clenched jaw.
A Sticky Solution—After Flins inhales a most troubling pollen, Varka lends his assistance.
🔗 archiveofourown.org/works/73389486
#varflins | #knightlight
