Thread: Meet the Author [Goody + incendo]

With interest, Mahon looked at the large flat box, bag, and metal containers Mara brought over for him, blinking at the strange items with little to no idea what they contained. As they were pushed forward to being his, Mahon glanced at them again, noting the smell of meat and bread from within the box and bending to look into the stiff bag with a curved finger and curious lean to crane his neck. Despite her reassurance that he was fine wearing his own clothes, that seemed silly to him. Here, she'd gotten him attire for his stay in this strange land and she was setting it in front of him while trying to convince him not to put any of it on. Glancing after her as she drifted to the other side of the room, Mahon reached into the bag and brought out a fistful of strange feeling fabrics, running the fingers of his other hand over the blue, tough fabric of the trousers. Intrigued, Mahon set that and the clumped shirt he'd removed onto the table, pulling his own shirt out of his waistband before lifting it easily off and over his head. Tossing it lightly onto the cushioned seat, his muscular back facing Mara, Mahon picked up the shirt, a light gray, the fabric softer than the tough, weathered fabric he'd been wearing. Lightly sniffing it, finding it to smell a very neutral way, Mahon found the hole for his head and slipped it on, then inserting his arms one at a time. Turning slightly, Mahon gave Mara an expectant look as he tugged the hem down over his scarred, muscled stomach. It was tight on him but fit him well, the clothing clinging to his broad shoulders and his thick biceps, ending just above his elbows in an odd way that made his arms feel bare and unprotected. His leather bracers on both forearms at least afforded him some armor. As what Mara said finally came back to him, Mahon snorted softly, a frown contorting his brows in irritation as she continued to push for her ridiculous theory. Toeing off his boots and unlacing his leather trousers casually, Mahon huffed a soft breath as he said, You didn't create me. You're basically saying that you're my God, if that were true. And you speak as if you had control over the events in my life. Pushing his loosened pants down his slender hips, baring his tight, muscular ass and flaccid, thick, 8 cock dangling loose and inert between his thick, muscular thighs, Mahon shook his head in denial again, unbothered by undressing in front of her. In fact, it didn't even occur to him that it was inappropriate he was a man, a warrior. Surely she'd seen a man's body before. It would have been rude and given him pause if she were to get undressed in front of him, being an unwed lady, after all. Thinking about her curvy body getting naked stirred him, Mahon's slumbering, droopy length stiffening and bobbing with sudden heat. As his trousers were removed, his dick stood at half-mast between his thighs, his eyes of their own accord going to the obscene cleft between her legs in her own version of the pants she'd brought him to wear. Embarrassed by the inappropriate response to her, Mahon looked away with a stout sniff, ignoring his arousal as he picked up the new trousers and set about pulling them on, hunching slightly as he slipped them up, one leg at a time. Obscuring his erection, tucking it forcefully into the pants, Mahon buttoned them, unaware of the zipper he left undone as he looked down and assessed the feel of them. It...would take some getting used to. They fit him tight on his thighs and hips, yet low on his slender waist, and the legs were loose past the knees, the hems resting on the tops of his bare feet in a disturbing fashion. These will hinder me in battle, he murmured in mild complaint, quirking his lips in a disgruntled frown. Then he took in a deep breath, eyebrows raising to his hairline as he looked at Mara, embarrassed again. Thank you for the outfits, he said, correcting his earlier complaint with mild humility now, cocking his head sideways and giving her a nod. I am sure that I will fit in well with the other warriors of America. Heaving a sigh, Mahon itched at the scruff on his cheek, again frowning as he returned to the subject at hand. If you truly were my Creator, Mara, and you wrote everything into existence, telling the tale of my life, then answer me this, he said, giving her a steady frown. Why did you allow Gammon's demon monster armies to kill my son and the woman I loved? Not that he believed her. But he was making a point. She wished to take responsibility for the things that had happened to him, then she needed to explain what had possessed her to do that to him. Why, if she were so powerful, would she ruin his life? It just didn't make sense and no one in their right mind would dare take the weight of that responsibility.