If it's love, and it might be...
Faolán's hopes hit the ceiling—only to come crashing back down a couple seconds later from a good smack of cold, hard reality, courtesy of Killian. He stiffened, his eyes widening, before he looked away and tucked his face against the crook of Killian's neck, not caring if he was all sticky.
"I...I know..." he mumbled, and now that the high had worn off...God, how bloody stupid could he be? His face burned with a flash of shame, his pulse racing anew for a different reason now. Foolish, so foolish.
"I know, but..."
Oh God...what if...?
No, no. Don't panic...
With a deep breath, he lifted his head to look up at Killian. "It's okay, though! It'll be okay. I didn't just, y'know, let ya do that recklessly. I've hung out with my share of whores, they all have a way to stop that from happenin'. They take some sorta medicine. I'll just ask one of the workin' girls and say it's for my true love back home or some nonsense." He rolled his eyes at the notion of that, snorting, before he flashed a reassuring smile up at Killian.
In his mind, the problem was now solved.
He did not mention the pregnant whores he'd met.
"Besides, some women try for months to get with child. You're my first. It's not like one night's gonna do it, right? We'll be more careful next time."