Bobo laughs then, those words setting off a hard gleam in his eyes. "That's how you like it? Well then, you've definitely hit the motherload."
Beyond two out of three Earp heirs, Bobo knows no other way to be than a right bastard. Another time and place and this could get bloody fast. Hell, Bobo isn't sure it won't but then that's part of the fun. What's the point of getting riled up if the outcome is determined. Too many years of the world not being an easy place and a man starts wanting things to be hard. Best way to get the most out of anything and everyone.
"Probably should have left the shirt off. Would save me some trouble," he growls, voice a lower rumble then, the teases definitely working against him. Even the tight dig of the rope in his skin tantalizes and excites. Even as it tempts him to see just how far he can turn this despite the bondage. Hell, because of it. Restraint is not normally something Bobo is keen on, but the right place, the right animal induced pheromones, and suddenly he's finding himself turned on by the prospect of a lot of things he might not normally enjoy.
The restraints keep his upper arms effectively pinned, but that doesn't stop him from gripping the fabric of that shirt. Tugging hard, harder than he should in a place where clothing and commodities are at a premium, but he also did have a bit of an oral fixation and he can't help leaning in to drag his tongue along the line of muscle just above the collarbone. A bit of tasting, a lot testing to see how far this particular game of chicken might go, and how much of it isn't a game.
And that's what I get for doing tags at work.
Beyond two out of three Earp heirs, Bobo knows no other way to be than a right bastard. Another time and place and this could get bloody fast. Hell, Bobo isn't sure it won't but then that's part of the fun. What's the point of getting riled up if the outcome is determined. Too many years of the world not being an easy place and a man starts wanting things to be hard. Best way to get the most out of anything and everyone.
"Probably should have left the shirt off. Would save me some trouble," he growls, voice a lower rumble then, the teases definitely working against him. Even the tight dig of the rope in his skin tantalizes and excites. Even as it tempts him to see just how far he can turn this despite the bondage. Hell, because of it. Restraint is not normally something Bobo is keen on, but the right place, the right animal induced pheromones, and suddenly he's finding himself turned on by the prospect of a lot of things he might not normally enjoy.
The restraints keep his upper arms effectively pinned, but that doesn't stop him from gripping the fabric of that shirt. Tugging hard, harder than he should in a place where clothing and commodities are at a premium, but he also did have a bit of an oral fixation and he can't help leaning in to drag his tongue along the line of muscle just above the collarbone. A bit of tasting, a lot testing to see how far this particular game of chicken might go, and how much of it isn't a game.