#ghbglare

Usually the ropes are just a formality, because normally Kurloz purposely trips one of the many booby traps you have set up around your hive just to have a laugh before ruining your newest net or some such. Today, when he came to visit you, it was in a red-eyed froth. So you did the sensible thing and wound him up in—okay, it’s not actually rope, it’s more like steel cable, but still. Nuance. It’s a braided cord used for restraining trolls who look like they want to hurt you.

 You cautiously approach, only to leap back as he snaps at you, throwing his bulk behind the motion and straining at you with his jaws snapping. Okay. So that’s not going to work. You chew your lip, analyze the situation, and come to the conclusion that if it doesn’t work, it doesn’t work, he may be too far gone right now to tease you about it later.

 You start with making a steady, rumbling sound in your thorax—a ssshhhhhh that gains a few soft vowel sounds as you steadily cut through his hoarse yelling babble with the quietness of your own voice. You wait until he’s merely growling and no longer shouting, and then edge closer, backing away when you make too sudden a movement and he lunges, making sure you stay within his sight so you don’t spook him and undo all your hard work.

 By the time you work up the courage to lay your palm on his cheek—it feels like hours later, and your back feels damp with sweat—his eyes have faded to orange, and he looks…sleepy? You look at this mountain of a troll, easily four or five heads taller than you, and feel a mixture of relief and pride. You pap him again, still shooshing, and Kurloz closes his eyes, heaving a huge sigh that seems to deflate him.

 “I’m alright now,” he mumbles. “UNTIE ME.”

 You frown at him. He rolls his eyes.

 “Please.”

 You untwist the knots, untangling him as best you can, and Kurloz slips out of the coils of cable and sits on the floor, rubbing the purple welts where the cable dug in.

 “Sister,” he says gently, “Latula, if you ever do that to me again, I WILL REND YOUR HEAD FROM YOUR SHOULDERS.”

 “Then don’t come see me when you’re in a bad mood,” you say, straightening your jacket and flicking a speck of lint off of your lapel. “I will do whatever I need to in order to save my own skin. If you can’t control yourself, maybe I need to step in now and then.”

 You realize how much like a pale come-on that sounds and decide to roll with it; you did just have your mitts on his face, after all. Kurloz ducks his head down, and you think the tips of his ears are indigo. Is he blushing? Is the big bad Grand Highblood seriously such a wiggler that he can’t handle a little pale hookup and you making jokes about it?

 “Well,” he rumbles, “WELL. Maybe won’t. BE SO BAD. If you DO IT.”

 You blink, and he looks up and glares. “BUT NOT EVERY TIME. Once in a while. Got it?”

 You grin and make a sweeping bow. “Of course, sir. Wouldn’t dream of doing otherwise.” You straighten. “Was there a point to your visit, other than your obvious yearning for my pale expertise?”