[Victor's grin is all gold teeth and nasty promise. He gives Boomer a look over and considers, for a moment, playing on that corpse-fucking fear, but dismisses it quickly. He wants the guy to agree to fuck his husband and give him diamonds, not cut contact.
Rubbing his chin, he thinks about a few tame freaky things Boomer might wince but not run for the hills at.
Then he slips off the stool and turns around, pulling his shirt up.
There on his lower back in big, burned lettering is RBS.]
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Rubbing his chin, he thinks about a few tame freaky things Boomer might wince but not run for the hills at.
Then he slips off the stool and turns around, pulling his shirt up.
There on his lower back in big, burned lettering is RBS.]
That was my wedding present.