[ Who disrespected him? London. The world. This resort. It's all status, all ladders with greased rungs that Alan Ross is clinging to with white knuckles.
He inhales sharply when his hand moves without his input, and his gaze flicks over to their intertwined fingers, back to Sylus' face. Mostly for the look of it, he tries to tug his hand away. When that doesn't work, he--
Relaxes. Not much. His body is still tense in Sylus' lap. But the curl of his fingers softens, both where they're gripping Sylus' hand and where they're fisted in his collar. ]
Take what?
[ His volume matches Sylus, though his tone is hoarser. He licks his lips. ]
You? Control?
[ There's a pink mark starting to bloom on Sylus' cheek, and the part of Ross' mind that's always cataloguing things for future writing thinks Like his eyes. ]
no subject
He inhales sharply when his hand moves without his input, and his gaze flicks over to their intertwined fingers, back to Sylus' face. Mostly for the look of it, he tries to tug his hand away. When that doesn't work, he--
Relaxes. Not much. His body is still tense in Sylus' lap. But the curl of his fingers softens, both where they're gripping Sylus' hand and where they're fisted in his collar. ]
Take what?
[ His volume matches Sylus, though his tone is hoarser. He licks his lips. ]
You? Control?
[ There's a pink mark starting to bloom on Sylus' cheek, and the part of Ross' mind that's always cataloguing things for future writing thinks Like his eyes. ]