“I—” Kit stuck a finger into his mouth, chewing on the nail before looking at his own hand in frustration and shoving itunder his thigh instead. “What else did the Internet get wrong about werewolves?”
Quin had some idea of where this might go, but he wanted to string Kit along a bit. “Well, we can’t change at will. We also don’t bite people to turn them. We’re all born this way.”
Kit peered up at Quin through his pale lashes. “How Lady Gaga of you,” he said dryly.
Quin snorted. “I’ve always been more of a Madonna fanboy myself. I enjoy retro stuff,” he added.
Kit looked suitably annoyed. “Madonna isnotretro.”
“To us young ones…”
“I’m not going to have this argument.”
“That’s because I’m right,” Quin said with a grin.
“You’re something, all right. So, what other werewolf myths are there?”
“Silver doesn’t hurt us in human form, but when we’re wolves, it can do some damage.”
Kit hummed. “To ingest?”
Quin bobbled his head. “Touching it burns, and if it gets into our bloodstream, then it can poison us. Anything less deadly you want to hear about?”
Kit was silent for a few long moments, and Quin waited patiently, thinking that he knew already what Kit might want to know next. “Your… anatomy,” Kit said carefully.
“Oh?”
Kit gave a put-upon sigh. “You’re going to make me say it, aren’t you?”
Quin just smiled in response.
“Fine,” Kit said, throwing his hands up. “Are the stories about werewolf dicks accurate?”
“Kit, if you wanted to know anything about my penis, all you had to do was ask.”
“I can’t just ask you about your knob, Quin.”
“Of course you can. What’s a little hog talk between folk like us?” Quin could barely get his words out through his laughter, and Kit kept a straight face for all of two seconds before bursting into a fit of giggles.
“Oh my god,” Kit screeched, waking Mabel up. She turned over onto her front with a little woof before closing her eyes again. “Sorry, Mabel,” Kit said, continuing more quietly, “but, Quin, that sounded like a not-safe-for-work segment on morning television.”
Quin put on his best impression of a generic talk show host’s voice. “Next up on Cock Talk, do you curve a little bit to the right, or a little bit to the left?”
Quin was alarmed to see that there was blood under Kit’s eyes, but then realised that he was crying from laughter, so continued. Kit needed more laughter in his life.
“Balls—how low is too low? Dick pics—how to utilise soft lighting to show off your assets. What’s the worst euphemism for your penis: velvet-wrapped steel? Turgid length? Rigid member? Heavenly pillar? Love wand?”
Kit shook his head, blond curls bouncing. “All of this, and you still haven’t told me what I wanted to know.”
“Ask me directly, Kit, and I’ll tell you.”
Kit looked Quin in the eye. “Knotting. Is it a thing?”
“No.” Quin hoped Kit hadn’t been expecting Quin to deliver on something he couldn’t. “I can’t grow fangs or claws when in human form. Same rules apply to my dick. Lycanthropy is a curse, remember? Having an enhanced penis doesn’t sound like much of a negative to me.”
Kit pursed his lips in thought. “No, I suppose not.”
“I can tell you one thing that’s true, though,” Quin said. “We enjoy biting.”
