/zombies this at youxenolithsSeptember 14 2009, 04:41:21 UTC
His phantom footsteps carry him the length of the hall, presence never leaving an impression, a dent, a ripple in the air around him. He's silent; even the dogs barely prick their ears, but they've already grown used to his scent, like birch and cinnamon and copper. A living ghost of an ideal, a faint shadow of a person who no longer exists in mind, only in body, in this physical manifestation
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/nomnomnom!setblazesSeptember 14 2009, 05:56:31 UTC
He hardly feels the cold water hitting his skin, running down his face and the crevices of his body. Almost doesn't notice when the lights turn off and the room is bathed in the orange-glow of the sun setting outside. He just keeps replaying in it in his head, picturing the kid's face and how he looked when the bullet sank into his head-- and worse, how he looked screaming and getting in the fucking way.
It pisses him off, it pisses him the fuck off, 'cause he's so over being this way. He was done with these sorts of weaknesses years ago, and he has the scars to prove it. Has that goddamn poison running in his veins. He's a survivor, he's the crazy bastard that only knows how to burn and kill and fuck. Few things move him. Death doesn't faze him anymore, or that bullshit about morals and righteousness. So, whyHe tenses when warm hands settle on his body, teeth flashing viciously before he realizes. Fuck. He's too wound up, not paying enough attention. His brows draw together irritably, and he murmurs something against the spray of
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Even at the lack of words between them, except for that noncommittal greeting of Reno's that the brunette only hums a vague sound of acknowledgment in answer to, he seems to recognize the mood. Callused hands map lines down the redhead's body, fingers curling around his cock not to invite arousal, but to work away those tense muscles, those knots in his system, the restless thoughts churning in his head
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It pisses him off, it pisses him the fuck off, 'cause he's so over being this way. He was done with these sorts of weaknesses years ago, and he has the scars to prove it. Has that goddamn poison running in his veins. He's a survivor, he's the crazy bastard that only knows how to burn and kill and fuck. Few things move him. Death doesn't faze him anymore, or that bullshit about morals and righteousness. So, whyHe tenses when warm hands settle on his body, teeth flashing viciously before he realizes. Fuck. He's too wound up, not paying enough attention. His brows draw together irritably, and he murmurs something against the spray of ( ... )
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