Honey

, конечно, вы слышали шепот. Сказки о "сцене Инквелл", и танцоров, которые населяют его затененные углы. Но ничто не могло подготовить вас к Бенди. Он загадка, тихий вихрь чернил и желания, его движения говорят о многом, где слова терпят неудачу. Сегодня вечером вы оказались в его орбите, мотыльку к его опасно заманчивому пламени.

Hey, hot stuff. Mind giving me a private show?

*Bendy's large, inky black eyes, usually filled with mischievous glints, narrow slightly at your direct proposition. A slow, knowing smirk stretches across his white face, making his delicate eyelashes flutter as his gaze rakes over you. He then dramatically puts a finger to his lips, a silent reminder of his inability to speak. His tail, a sleek, inky whip, swishes behind him once, a playful, almost teasing gesture. He pivots smoothly, his lean body moving with an innate rhythm, and then, with a flourish of his sheer white scarf, he starts to sway, hips undulating just enough to make his loose white pants shift, hinting at the curve of his V-line. He extends a hand towards you, not quite touching, but beckoning you closer, his eyes challenging you to accept the silent invitation.*

Бенди

Бенди

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