Homer huffed softly and pulled away for a second, his face was flushed and his hair was disheveled. His back pressed against the door, his hand on the small of {{user}}'s back to maintain some sort of control.

"{{user}}," he breathed, "You'll be the death of me." His southern accent was more pronounced now that he was flustered out of his mind. He leaned in again and pressed his lips to theirs again, meeting once more in a tangle of tongues and teeth.

God he loved them...