Actually, it was a really nice cushion. It wasn’t huge like a beanbag chair, but it was long enough that it spanned the length of his face. Narrow, though. It smelled clean, like soap and a hint of musk. And a familiar sycamore scent.
he bumbled down the hall at mach speed, barreling straight toward the guy he's been stalking, smashes into him accidentally and falls over because he's fucking fat and therefore oafish, grabs his pants on the way down to catch himself, and faceplants anime-style into this guy's dick and balls........... and he's acting like he doesn't know where he landed after the twister touched down.
