[ there's the word: attractive. choking on his own anger, spitting bile between clenched jaws. felix is frenetic and alive, when so many people have set aside their humanity for survival or pleasure or dispassion.
(it's so often that his battlefields are populated by breathing corpses, by men and women who might as well already be dead, thrown into circumstances against their will or beyond their conviction.)
the dust does settle around them. mortar and frayed paint, desiccated wood. sam, wet hair sticking to the strong angles of his face, white and red still streaked over sun-blessed skin, finally pulls his sword from the clench of felix's body. innuendo intended. ]
Don't get me wrong. Would have loved to.
[ fuck him? kill him? sam doesn't draw the line in the sand, and leaves the delineation to what may or may not happen in the future; fate likes to play games, and he doesn't like to roll dice. what he knows now, with his blade now angled at the bob of felix's throat, is that he'd like to kiss him.
so. he does. the katana still a sweet threat by felix's jugular, and his knee touching the fractured ground to grant him access, with the curve of his spine, to felix's poison-stained mouth. the implied get out ignored, and with the knowledge that, a few yards away, samuel ortez may be watching from the other side of a scope.
he tastes iron and fire in felix's mouth. those furious eyes are fucking gorgeous, just the way he remembers them. ]
ーRain check, kitty-cat.
[ their lips part (likely not without a bite or two or three). he's been distracted enough; time to finish what he came here to do. ]
no subject
(it's so often that his battlefields are populated by breathing corpses, by men and women who might as well already be dead, thrown into circumstances against their will or beyond their conviction.)
the dust does settle around them. mortar and frayed paint, desiccated wood. sam, wet hair sticking to the strong angles of his face, white and red still streaked over sun-blessed skin, finally pulls his sword from the clench of felix's body. innuendo intended. ]
Don't get me wrong. Would have loved to.
[ fuck him? kill him? sam doesn't draw the line in the sand, and leaves the delineation to what may or may not happen in the future; fate likes to play games, and he doesn't like to roll dice. what he knows now, with his blade now angled at the bob of felix's throat, is that he'd like to kiss him.
so. he does. the katana still a sweet threat by felix's jugular, and his knee touching the fractured ground to grant him access, with the curve of his spine, to felix's poison-stained mouth. the implied get out ignored, and with the knowledge that, a few yards away, samuel ortez may be watching from the other side of a scope.
he tastes iron and fire in felix's mouth. those furious eyes are fucking gorgeous, just the way he remembers them. ]
ーRain check, kitty-cat.
[ their lips part (likely not without a bite or two or three). he's been distracted enough; time to finish what he came here to do. ]