[ To be fair, Hector knows nothing of Fandaniel's crimes. Well, the more serious ones. In his dungeon-blessed (cursed?) mind, this makes total sense, even if they should realistically be no more than distant acquaintances.
(No guarantees that would change even if he knew of his crimes, though.)
"Hector, my dear," sounds like music to his ears. He draws Fandaniel closer into him, his chest, and listens to him speak. The question elicits a surprised little chuckle from him, and it rumbles comfortably in the bottom of his throat. ]
How did you know? [ There's a tease to Hector's own voice as he leans in, plants a little kiss to his forehead. ]
no subject
(No guarantees that would change even if he knew of his crimes, though.)
"Hector, my dear," sounds like music to his ears. He draws Fandaniel closer into him, his chest, and listens to him speak. The question elicits a surprised little chuckle from him, and it rumbles comfortably in the bottom of his throat. ]
How did you know? [ There's a tease to Hector's own voice as he leans in, plants a little kiss to his forehead. ]