❪ it's still a bit lost on dean that this isn't some section of the map that highways and backroads might lead to, but he's beginning to get an inkling by the clues grasped from her responses. i'm sure i wore it better—so it wasn't atypical for others to be fussed at by what appeared to be doctors, left to their own devices in the middle of fuck knows where to find some small apartment claimed to be theirs?
it's not uncharacteristic for him to give in to indulgences rather than common sense, and while he'd set into that crowd with the full intention of gathering information on the city and what exactly was up with the carnival of sex charades, he's sinking deeper to instinct. she points out the line that bisects her throat similar to his, and pupils bloom a deep, all-consuming black.
she licks her fingers and it damns him, christ sake, he lacks control but not like this. the toll of the sweets is beginning to have its way with him is visible, written across his features, and even so much as that pretty little powder-blue dress are enough to lure him towards her. but he resists, while he's able; he's got every mind to question the meaning behind this damned mark he couldn't scrub off, the fact that she sports it, too—that she's been here nine months, and perhaps it's not all by choice—but suddenly the playlist of lewd moans leaking over from other booths crawls beneath his skin. ❫
dean is Struggling
❪ it's still a bit lost on dean that this isn't some section of the map that highways and backroads might lead to, but he's beginning to get an inkling by the clues grasped from her responses. i'm sure i wore it better—so it wasn't atypical for others to be fussed at by what appeared to be doctors, left to their own devices in the middle of fuck knows where to find some small apartment claimed to be theirs?
it's not uncharacteristic for him to give in to indulgences rather than common sense, and while he'd set into that crowd with the full intention of gathering information on the city and what exactly was up with the carnival of sex charades, he's sinking deeper to instinct. she points out the line that bisects her throat similar to his, and pupils bloom a deep, all-consuming black.
she licks her fingers and it damns him, christ sake, he lacks control but not like this. the toll of the sweets is beginning to have its way with him is visible, written across his features, and even so much as that pretty little powder-blue dress are enough to lure him towards her. but he resists, while he's able; he's got every mind to question the meaning behind this damned mark he couldn't scrub off, the fact that she sports it, too—that she's been here nine months, and perhaps it's not all by choice—but suddenly the playlist of lewd moans leaking over from other booths crawls beneath his skin. ❫
You, uh, assigned a place too?