"Not everybody can be artisans of creation," Emet-Selch chided, mouthing over the slope of Hyth's neck. "Just as someone must be a lowly aide, someone must be chief architect. You can't expect genius of everyone, Hythlodaeus. That's judging a turtle if it can fly or not in it's latest iteration."

Being a steward of Creation was so weird, sometimes. Sometimes one didn't want to be all responsible. Sometimes one just wanted to shift a little so his own hard cock was starting to be noticed, while he stroked another in hand.

"What concepts have devoured your mind tonight?"