turps

But he wrote about growing a beard. A beard!

I am! Words from minutes ago.


“Jesus,” Bob says on an out-breath and Frank knows how he feels, his own imagination racing as Mikey keeps talking, almost directly in Gerard’s ear.

“You know you want to draw that, Bob’s spine arching and Frank’s mouth, you want to capture his whimpers and put them on the page, when Bob first fucks him open and then after, when he’s fucked out and exhausted.”

I'm now battling my badfic side which has the urge to add something about dripping come, and how it would be aesthetically pleasing.

You are going to be a writing supahstar this weekend. I can feel it.