[ Doesn't know if he can share it accurately. Doesn't know if he wants too, doesn't know if he likes the feeling of passing something so hot and precious to someone with so many teeth. But he thinks of Cesare's fingers hard around his face, his demands to have every goddamn thing he's told to stay away from, his accusations of Quentin being a liar and an oathbreaker and a whore--
[ The woman that sketches into Ianthe's mind is white and soft as marzipan, cheeks to bare breasts to the swell of her hip. The rich blonde of her hair almost tilts into red, but stops short of the color of her lips. He pushes his memory of the way it felt, too: a swell of affection and obsession, a ribbon of panic and guilt lacing through. ]
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[ Doesn't know if he can share it accurately. Doesn't know if he wants too, doesn't know if he likes the feeling of passing something so hot and precious to someone with so many teeth. But he thinks of Cesare's fingers hard around his face, his demands to have every goddamn thing he's told to stay away from, his accusations of Quentin being a liar and an oathbreaker and a whore--
[ The woman that sketches into Ianthe's mind is white and soft as marzipan, cheeks to bare breasts to the swell of her hip. The rich blonde of her hair almost tilts into red, but stops short of the color of her lips. He pushes his memory of the way it felt, too: a swell of affection and obsession, a ribbon of panic and guilt lacing through. ]