wont feel nothin' better

Dagfinn shivered delightfully as she agreed with him. She was a creature sent straight down from Valhalla. Just the sight of her, all pink and yellow and lovely. Or was it purple and blue? "Oi, a princess! I knew it, you royal thing," he purred, standing back up again. It seemed like no matter how he shifted, he was still uncomfortable. In fact, he was burning up. Dag was convinced that the only thing to satiate this hot itch was to be closer to her.

"I've always wanted to ravage a princess," he said, almost thoughtfully. He mouth was suddenly very, very dry. The storm raged on around them, the electricity in the air further fueling his lust. All of a sudden, he got the queer sensation that, despite sitting right there in front of him, Deathbelle was right next to him, pressing closely into his side. He could smell her everywhere. Dag bit back a groan.

"What d'you say to a little tussle, yndisleg? I'll go easy on ya." His voice was low and guttural. The male stood up, his hackles raised from the static in the air and the fungi. "Just me, your loyal servant, givin' you a good roll in the sand."