“Who opened the tomb?” Des repeats. “Suck on my prick!” “Mmm, tempting,” Des says, cocking his head. “Is that a genuine offer?” His magic unlaces the man’s crudely made breeches, and then it begins tugging the cloth down. The fairy’s eyes widen, and he yanks the material back up, fruitlessly trying to keep his pants on. “What in the bloody ferking gods’ names!” “Cherub,” Des says, glancing over at me, “I think the man’s shy. One moment he wants my attention, the next he’s being a coy minx.” I pull my sixth marshmallow from the fire; it’s perfectly golden brown. Success! “Men give such mixed
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