Why does this feel so right? The room ignites again, illuminating him in devastating detail. Strong, proud body slashed in too many scars to count, hair mussed, lips a perfect pillowy shape I imagine pressed against mine, moving with mine, claiming mine— Fuck.
Fuck is right! How tf are you going to go from needing to kill this guy to tie up a loose end, to needing/craving him?? That fast in the survival mode you're in?
