‘Why, then? It’s a good bed,’ Harry huffs. ‘Because I said so,’ Iain grumbles. ‘That’s not a reason,’ Harry says, crossing his arms. ‘Why not?’ Iain snorts and squeezes his eyes shut. ‘Because, Harry, if you absolutely need to know, I feel like a cat in heat right now and as soon as you leave I’m going to defile myself every single night and probably go and fertilise the moss on your stone too, and spilling all over your nice bed is definitely bad manners.’ ‘Iain, you’re disgusting,’ Harry frowns. Iain opens one eye and glares at him. ‘And you do not know when to drop a subject, Harry.’
Filters, anyone
