He had hoped that if anyone were to bother to drop their gaze that far below that it would be Marco who was not only another guy, but a stranger. At least then he knew that someone would not only understand that this organ was not exactly straining voluntarily but that they just wouldn't care. Unfortunately for him it was Heather who noticed first and, as always, had to make a grand production<em>from</em>noticing. It wasn't the first time she'd caught him giving a handless salute but that did not make any bit of this easier on him, face going red as the blood tried to salvage what was left of the young man's dignity and flee to the opposite end of the torso and up into his head. Again the laughter rang out, dizzying this time and when the same reptilian sensation worked its way around him from base to tip he felt his head drop back, eyes rolling to the back of his head.<em>No no no, this isn't right! Damn it, find a way to get it off you!</em><br/><br/>It had the same idea and recoiled, almost disgusted that suggested it was either not after the poor fool's innocence or his tool wasn't quite up to par with what it wanted. Instead it moved around his chest, under his right arm, and followed the barely noticeable knobs that indicated his spine to the back of his neck, almost purposely running against the sensitive area there as well that sent gooseflesh down his back, arms, and even legs. He only broke free from the trance of pleased confusion when he heard his name hissed out, echoing in a cavernous roar inside his mind. It knew his name? How? Surely he hadn't given it back when it caused all this death and destruction, no, he would have been too busy trying to escape like everyone else. But it knew nonetheless, mentioned meeting before, and... what?<br/><br/>A weight was added to his arm, not as forceful as Heather when she tugged on any limb or leaned against him, but solid and real enough to let him know it was a full grown person. Glancing over he nearly had a perfectly round, perfectly erect and taut nipple thrust into his eye like an erotic needle. The blood doubled in his face, turning the pale flesh almost violet at this point, and he tried putting as much distance as he could between them despite her leeching. Perhaps if she wasn't wearing a demented Cheshire Cat grin he could say she was a 12 on a scale of 1 to 10, but even if she hadn't there was something in her eyes that spoke of darkness, the end of days, and the worst flavor of madness anyone could ever taste and barely live to tell about. Even that was debatable. Something in the back of his mind growled animalistically, a lion finding another predator in its path, which caused the fear to almost entirely drain like a pus-filled sore to give way to metallic anger.<br/><br/>"Psycho bitch!"<br/><br/>Without hesitation, the pen, before only a tool for creation and beauty, swiftly became a weapon of pain and sordid ugliness as his hand brought it up and aimed the sharp point straight for one of her wide, almost too-excited eyes. "No means no, goddamnit!"