[She nibbles her lip. How far can this sucker be pushed, eh? Looking hot, and bothered and attempting to cover his body in misguided modesty...]
[If she wasn't so sure that "helping" him out would secure his wrap around her finger, she wouldn't have bothered. But it seemed like a pretty effective way to endorse the little charade.]
- but if you get really sick, you could die, right? I'm worried about you...!
[He'd be better off turning off the feed. A million come-ons are in his head, waiting to be uttered, and the only thing stopping him is his assumption that she'd be scared off. That she'd write him off as the whore he was when he'd taken extra pains to be as gentlemanly as possible.]
[The fact that he sort of cares about that disturbs him.]
... Mina, the chances of me dying are slim to none.
[Those poor fingers are busying themselves with unbuttoning that shirt. Again. He doesn't seem to have noticed yet.]
[He's shrugged the shirt off entirely, and worse, consciously, and thus far it's barely helped. Lust had always been his vice but it had never been this maddening before, never threatened to cloud his judgment quite like this.]
... This is probably contagious, it's best you don't... see me for awhile.
I - I didn't think angels could get sick...!
Reply
If they couldn't, I'd be out of a job.
Reply
O...oh. I didn't think about that. [Look at this picturesque concern...!]
You'll...be alright, then?
Reply
I'll be perfectly fine. Perfectly. Don't worry about me.
[He's rebuttoning his shirt for you. Or trying.]
Reply
[You're a not-so-hot-hot-mess.]
You look feverish and - and uncomfortable. I could c-come help...
Reply
Reply
[The trouble would be not laughing at his demise and discomfort.]
Reply
[Snappish? Raphael? Never ever.]
Reply
I'm sorry. But I don't understand w - why...
Reply
I'm just not in a very good mood right now.
Reply
You'll g - go to the clinic if you get worse, right?
Reply
Reply
[She nibbles her lip. How far can this sucker be pushed, eh? Looking hot, and bothered and attempting to cover his body in misguided modesty...]
[If she wasn't so sure that "helping" him out would secure his wrap around her finger, she wouldn't have bothered. But it seemed like a pretty effective way to endorse the little charade.]
- but if you get really sick, you could die, right? I'm worried about you...!
Reply
[The fact that he sort of cares about that disturbs him.]
... Mina, the chances of me dying are slim to none.
[Those poor fingers are busying themselves with unbuttoning that shirt. Again. He doesn't seem to have noticed yet.]
So don't fret. Okay?
Reply
[Her gaze flicks down to his hands, tugging at the buttons of his shirt in a seemingly desperate need to get it off, or at least some air.]
[...yeah, he looks sick. But, fuck she doesn't care.]
Will you...let me know if you need help?
Reply
Of course.
[He's shrugged the shirt off entirely, and worse, consciously, and thus far it's barely helped. Lust had always been his vice but it had never been this maddening before, never threatened to cloud his judgment quite like this.]
... This is probably contagious, it's best you don't... see me for awhile.
Reply
Leave a comment