（ he excised all his tells years ago. he shows what he wants to. when he wants to. everything's calculated, the shift of a piece on a board. sometimes he likes being scary. sometimes he likes being sad. emotions are just coats of any colour he tugs on across his shoulders depending on his mood and the changing seasons. so there's no unintended pause, no slip in the mask.
he pushes the man down onto the bed, head cocked.
he knows a dissociative episode when he sees it. and what that means, is — ）
Tell you what. You wanna fuck, you come find me when you aren't talking to people that ain't there, buddyguy.
（ he reaches up, plants a kiss against his own index and middle fingers, reaches forward to mirror the gesture against carver's mouth.
and then he vanishes in a curling riot of violet-black smoke. it leaves behind only the smell of gunpowder, undercut with something like iron and blood. ）
no subject
he pushes the man down onto the bed, head cocked.
he knows a dissociative episode when he sees it. and what that means, is — ）
Tell you what. You wanna fuck, you come find me when you aren't talking to people that ain't there, buddyguy.
（ he reaches up, plants a kiss against his own index and middle fingers, reaches forward to mirror the gesture against carver's mouth.
and then he vanishes in a curling riot of violet-black smoke. it leaves behind only the smell of gunpowder, undercut with something like iron and blood. ）