[It does not bode well, when the whispered conversation Peter has with the naked woman drags on longer than a few seconds and the Darkling narrows his eyes at the exchange of crisp notes.
The drink in front of him has a feather floating in it, the dusty taste of makeup and cigarettes clinging to it as he drains it, setting it down carefully on the dark stained wooden shelf. Eyes glued to Peter and the red-head.
The music isn't as bad as it could have been, the slow bass thrumming through his head like a second heartbeat. He blinks, vision filling up with the lady's ample bosom and her glossy smile just a second before her soft hands cradle the Darkling's face. Her painted nails scraping through his beard as her mouth smacks against his skin with a lewd, wet noise.
There's no Science singing under his skin at the contact, no surety raising in its wake and no trembling in his blood from her lips, her fingertips don't leave a lingering sense of warmth behind and he closes his eyes briefly, breathing through his nose to dispel the yearning wanting that threatens to open inside his chest.]
Not just redheads. [But his voice is floating, a hazy thing as the Darkling stares off in to the middle-distance, temporarily lost in what was and what could have been. Visions of Alina and the rising sun playing out behind his closed lids. He blinks again, face turning to Peter as he grabs the feather boa around his neck.] Was?
no subject
The drink in front of him has a feather floating in it, the dusty taste of makeup and cigarettes clinging to it as he drains it, setting it down carefully on the dark stained wooden shelf. Eyes glued to Peter and the red-head.
The music isn't as bad as it could have been, the slow bass thrumming through his head like a second heartbeat. He blinks, vision filling up with the lady's ample bosom and her glossy smile just a second before her soft hands cradle the Darkling's face. Her painted nails scraping through his beard as her mouth smacks against his skin with a lewd, wet noise.
There's no Science singing under his skin at the contact, no surety raising in its wake and no trembling in his blood from her lips, her fingertips don't leave a lingering sense of warmth behind and he closes his eyes briefly, breathing through his nose to dispel the yearning wanting that threatens to open inside his chest.]
Not just redheads. [But his voice is floating, a hazy thing as the Darkling stares off in to the middle-distance, temporarily lost in what was and what could have been. Visions of Alina and the rising sun playing out behind his closed lids. He blinks again, face turning to Peter as he grabs the feather boa around his neck.] Was?