[McGillis, however, doesn't so much as blink at any of those options. He's just scanning down columns, across rows, taking mental notes and comparing it to his own card but otherwise refraining from any sort of judgment. In fact, he's almost disturbingly calm, eerily nonchalant—almost as if he's seen it all before, done it all before. Probably because he has.
Except for one square. Truly the most wretched of preferences, the foulest of kinks, the square that reveals Prompto as the sick son of a bitch behind that cheery smile. It could only be...]
Cuddling...?
[McGillis just raises a thin blonde brow, equal parts skeptical and suspicious.]
That's your sweet spot? Being held like some sort of deprived child?
no subject
Except for one square. Truly the most wretched of preferences, the foulest of kinks, the square that reveals Prompto as the sick son of a bitch behind that cheery smile. It could only be...]
Cuddling...?
[McGillis just raises a thin blonde brow, equal parts skeptical and suspicious.]
That's your sweet spot? Being held like some sort of deprived child?
[So much shaming, son. All of the shaming.]