I do hate to look at you. [ the lie slips so easily from his tongue, one of hundreds he's told since his reintroduction to life in arles. he doesn't remember the last time he's said a single word containing a shred of truth since — before. before, during all of his strange time in strange worlds with sasuke appearing inconveniently at his side. have you agreed to this makes a laugh bubble up inside of him, but it doesn't make it past his throat, dead like every other thing he feels beneath the confines of this glittering roof.
he lands like a flowered wreath back onto the pallet, golden hair going everywhere. his mouth curves, humorless. ]
Are you concerned that you'll have trouble killing someone? I've seen you try before. Don't worry, you're good at it. [ his wrist twitches against the soft pillows, itching to strike flesh. no one has put him on his back so many times since — he squeezes his eyes shut, banishing all thoughts of his uncle, his spine going rigid. ] What else are you good for, Sasuke? You were made for this. You'll go into that ring. You won't let yourself die, you'll fight back. And everyone will be so impressed with my rabid dog.
[ his hand strokes sasuke's face as he would a lover, tracing the curve of his cheek and the shape of his lips. he holds desperately onto his hatred, onto every morsel of dislike he can summon, because otherwise the worst of the poison will set in — the desire burning low at his core, the heat becoming harder and harder to ignore with every passing moment. he should not have come back to this room, and yet sasuke's presence pulls him as if he's tethered, a constant drag toward the thing he wants to forget the most. ]
Will you fight for me? [ his mouth is dry, the question like a blade driven into his own body. no one has ever fought for him since auguste went to marlas and never returned. an unforgiving grip fists a handful of sasuke's dark hair, and laurent rises, forcing their mouths into a hard kiss so that he doesn't have to hear the answer. ]
no subject
he lands like a flowered wreath back onto the pallet, golden hair going everywhere. his mouth curves, humorless. ]
Are you concerned that you'll have trouble killing someone? I've seen you try before. Don't worry, you're good at it. [ his wrist twitches against the soft pillows, itching to strike flesh. no one has put him on his back so many times since — he squeezes his eyes shut, banishing all thoughts of his uncle, his spine going rigid. ] What else are you good for, Sasuke? You were made for this. You'll go into that ring. You won't let yourself die, you'll fight back. And everyone will be so impressed with my rabid dog.
[ his hand strokes sasuke's face as he would a lover, tracing the curve of his cheek and the shape of his lips. he holds desperately onto his hatred, onto every morsel of dislike he can summon, because otherwise the worst of the poison will set in — the desire burning low at his core, the heat becoming harder and harder to ignore with every passing moment. he should not have come back to this room, and yet sasuke's presence pulls him as if he's tethered, a constant drag toward the thing he wants to forget the most. ]
Will you fight for me? [ his mouth is dry, the question like a blade driven into his own body. no one has ever fought for him since auguste went to marlas and never returned. an unforgiving grip fists a handful of sasuke's dark hair, and laurent rises, forcing their mouths into a hard kiss so that he doesn't have to hear the answer. ]