( she isn't wrong. he could be colder. hadn't he been, once upon a time? it's odd to think of it, to consider a child faced with the obliteration of his whole family, his whole life, meandering through with ragged determination to kill the source--to the person that he is now, edges sanded down by his buddy, by the devils in his home, by all these little things he's let inside. could she be something else, like that? something that would crawl its way inside of him, twist his insides, breathe a small breath of warmth into the ice around his heart? it's a daunting thought, distracting enough that he doesn't even fully recognize that she's the one that's already closed the door behind them, until he hears the lock click into place.
with a hazy glance, he perceives the room around them. it's dim, and quiet, surprisingly distant from all the loud ruckus outside--the bed looks comfortable, rich sheets and a plush mattress, and though he's tempted to pour them both a drink, as though out of apology, he decides not to. instead, he carefully sets his cigarettes and his lighter down on the counter, instead, next to the sink.
the vibrator--he looks at it with a small purse of his lips in dismay, and moves to carry it to the bed. )
A favor? ( he repeats it slowly, thoughtfully. ) I think I owe you at least three or four, at this point.
( his attempt at a joke, wry and bemused: he's already shrugging out of his suit jacket, showing off the slim lines of his back, his hips, bared to her as he faces the bed out of embarrassment. with nowhere else to put it, he gives it a light toss onto the floor; then his fingers start to work at the knot of his tie, gently loosening it, tugging, as he turns back to face her.
he could do much worse. she looks like she belongs in a room like this, pretty as she is--that she's the type of girl who looks pretty no matter what filth she's surrounded by. )
no subject
with a hazy glance, he perceives the room around them. it's dim, and quiet, surprisingly distant from all the loud ruckus outside--the bed looks comfortable, rich sheets and a plush mattress, and though he's tempted to pour them both a drink, as though out of apology, he decides not to. instead, he carefully sets his cigarettes and his lighter down on the counter, instead, next to the sink.
the vibrator--he looks at it with a small purse of his lips in dismay, and moves to carry it to the bed. )
A favor? ( he repeats it slowly, thoughtfully. ) I think I owe you at least three or four, at this point.
( his attempt at a joke, wry and bemused: he's already shrugging out of his suit jacket, showing off the slim lines of his back, his hips, bared to her as he faces the bed out of embarrassment. with nowhere else to put it, he gives it a light toss onto the floor; then his fingers start to work at the knot of his tie, gently loosening it, tugging, as he turns back to face her.
he could do much worse. she looks like she belongs in a room like this, pretty as she is--that she's the type of girl who looks pretty no matter what filth she's surrounded by. )
What would you like?