"Hands down, the cutest butt, the pertest lil' apple I just wanna--Heeey, Gramma Gen," Asher changed his tone mid-ramble, a flush staining his cheeks as he wandered away a step or two away from their huddled pile to continue the phone conversation. Imogen Blanchard's voice was loud enough to be heard even from a distance, pinched with worry, and Asher immediately started in on both reassuring her and explaining the situation. When Penny siddled up and pressed against him, he sighed, softly, in gratitude, wound his arm around her waist and laid his head into the curve of her neck while he quietly 'yes ma'am'd' and 'no ma'am'd' and gave details when they were asked for.
When that phone call was over, and Terry and Ty had shuffled off to the bedroom, he finally released a bit of a shaky breath and wrapped both arms around his mate, buried his nose in her hair. "You and Terry doing that whole psychic connection thing? I'm okay, just. Rattled." He played with the phone for a moment, watched the little pops of glitter imbedded in the case of Tyleigh's phone catch the light. "I guess it's one thing hearing the word 'war' and a little different seeing it up close and personal."
"I know what she meant," Ty replied with a soft huff of a laugh, letting Terry steer her toward the bedroom on her slightly unsteady legs. "I speak fluent Girl. The pants you fat-ass around the house in." She had a pair herself, some cropped red sweats that made her ass look enormous and her legs look stumpy, but they were like wearing butter, so she fat-assed in them rather than tossing them into the fireplace. Maybe she and Penny should trade fat-ass pants, they probably wouldn't make her legs look stumpy.
For some reason--probably because blood-loss and adrenaline crash--the thought was funny to her, and Terry's remark didn't help, so she had to duck her head to smother a giggle. She was still trying not to giggle as she let him steer her into the bedroom and started carefully peeling off her ruined clothes. "I'm almost literally dead on my feet, Terr," she drawled, pausing to wince and hiss as she peeled her ripped jeans off her hips. "Hankying my panky, is...Okay, I mean, it's not the last thing on my mind," Especially not while standing in a bedroom just reeking of sex, saturated with the scent of sweat and pheromones of her...her mates. "But it's probably, like. The third. It's fine. Just--stay close to me. Ah, fuck."
The wince became a genuine grimace of pain as she leaned heavily on the closest wall and had to bend and flex her legs to get her jeans off. "Dammit. Hurts."
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When that phone call was over, and Terry and Ty had shuffled off to the bedroom, he finally released a bit of a shaky breath and wrapped both arms around his mate, buried his nose in her hair. "You and Terry doing that whole psychic connection thing? I'm okay, just. Rattled." He played with the phone for a moment, watched the little pops of glitter imbedded in the case of Tyleigh's phone catch the light. "I guess it's one thing hearing the word 'war' and a little different seeing it up close and personal."
"I know what she meant," Ty replied with a soft huff of a laugh, letting Terry steer her toward the bedroom on her slightly unsteady legs. "I speak fluent Girl. The pants you fat-ass around the house in." She had a pair herself, some cropped red sweats that made her ass look enormous and her legs look stumpy, but they were like wearing butter, so she fat-assed in them rather than tossing them into the fireplace. Maybe she and Penny should trade fat-ass pants, they probably wouldn't make her legs look stumpy.
For some reason--probably because blood-loss and adrenaline crash--the thought was funny to her, and Terry's remark didn't help, so she had to duck her head to smother a giggle. She was still trying not to giggle as she let him steer her into the bedroom and started carefully peeling off her ruined clothes. "I'm almost literally dead on my feet, Terr," she drawled, pausing to wince and hiss as she peeled her ripped jeans off her hips. "Hankying my panky, is...Okay, I mean, it's not the last thing on my mind," Especially not while standing in a bedroom just reeking of sex, saturated with the scent of sweat and pheromones of her...her mates. "But it's probably, like. The third. It's fine. Just--stay close to me. Ah, fuck."
The wince became a genuine grimace of pain as she leaned heavily on the closest wall and had to bend and flex her legs to get her jeans off. "Dammit. Hurts."