If you masturbate, would that make you an incubator?”
I eyed him sideways, struggling not to laugh at his nonplussed expression or the sharp bark of mock outrage that followed.

Not that I knew just what an incubus actually looked like, but judging by the darkness that was sliding up the back of his neck, it wasn’t overly human. Hysterical visions of people running for the exits pursued by a massive cock and balls filled my mind, and I let out a gasp of laughter despite myself.

You’re going to have to do better than that if you want to get into my metaphysical pants.

Lok’tar ogar!” The daemon holding me pulled my head back, exposing my throat.
“Victory or death,” I retorted at my captor hoarsely. “For the Horde. And for the record, shouting World of Warcraft battle
cries kind of kills the whole ‘imminent death’ expectation.”

The daemon paused. “What server are you on?” he demanded.
“Blackhand.”
“Righteous. Guild?”

I couldn’t imagine what the hell that mattered at this point, but it was keeping me alive so that was a bonus. I’d gladly spit out
the rest of my Warcraft stats if it bought me a few more minutes.

“Yeah,” I coughed. “ElfhunterBitches.”

He blinked and then grinned, tapping himself on the chest. “No shit. I’m TartBarbie. Undead DeathKnight.”
I stared at him. “TB? Seriously? I’m Baconator. Blelf Warlock. You did a hell of a job tanking on that raid the other night.”

“Yeah, I am pretty awesome.” He glanced over his shoulder, releasing me. “Look, if I’d known it was you, I’d never have
agreed to this. Go on.” He nudged me with a leather boot. “I’ll tell them you got away.”

I didn’t have to be told twice. “Thanks,” I said softly. “I’ll make it up to you, somehow.”
“No worries.” He winked. “See you next Thursday.

I wish you could see what I see when I look at you.

Too bad the things that make you mad are my favorite things.