This was going swimmingly. Methuseld had totally relented to the promise of gratification from self-indulgence for the first time since, what, ever? And Aza was all sorts of indulgent. The smaller woman snuggled up between the blonde's bare thighs, making an appreciative murmur as Methuseld's otherwise so-competent hands stroked the shapeshifter's soft figure. Naturally, Aza loved to be petted. Her warm mouth lingered over the blonde's breasts, leaving blushed lip prints on pale skin, and encouraging more of that gooseflesh to ripple over her. One small hand began to explore the edges of that loincloth. There was no reason to rush beneath it, not until Methuseld was ready.<em>More </em>than ready. Ready to start<em>begging </em>for... The general's body tensed, in a manner Aza had not meant to evoke. It was too early for tension; these moments were for preparation, for ebbing, before the building tide of pleasures would surge. Thickly lashed eyes half-lidded, she glanced up from Methuseld's stomach, tongue just about to slink across her navel on its way further south, then followed the other woman's stare to the now-opened door.<br/><br/>Two. Two men were at least one too many. Aza's palms moved to the bed on either side of Methuseld's hips, and she brought up her head with a growl that was far more assertive than sensual. The fox was pretty sick of interruptions. First a kidnapping, then an attack and and arson, then stupid elves and magic sleep... actually, the sleep had been nice, but still. Post-coital cuddles first would have been nicer. And all of it was the fault of these two, wasn't it? Maybe like eighty percent their faults. Well over half, anyway. Aza didn't do math.<br/><br/>Donovan did not quite look his dapper self, propped up on Dean, who looked exactly like the handsome jerk he was. Dean was where her blue stare remained, as the shadowy contamination within her stirred and rose, not certain whether to welcome the degenerate as kin... or face it as competition. With the depletion of Donovan's powers, Aza might be just a little more Shadow than Dean was, for a very brief moment in time...<br/><br/>All the candles guttered and then blazed, illumination leaping crazily across the room, making the real shadows waver. Her growl deepened, beyond what such a slender throat ought to be able to produce, and she laid a clawed hand on Methuseld's naked chest, like<em>stay put, I got this.</em>"Fuck off," she decided, directing it mostly towards Dean, who of course was the less likely of the pair to listen. "Or I shall<em>make </em>you..."