( always hers were the men with bloodied knuckles, the ones who opened their mouths back to the city, a glimmer of teeth for teeth — those who've gotten used to the dark, to the alone, the yawning expanse of always coming up on the other end with nothing soft to show for it. nothing to go home to — a home. she should really start to question why it was she seemed to attract men that knew no better than her how to stay put, that knew only to belong to themselves, offering themselves in fragmented pieces in those brief, stolen moments where they can let themselves believe they had anything to give at all.
and perhaps it's exactly why she is, drawn to them and them her, left stitching them up in the stale light of her kitchen just for them to slip out all too soon, not to be seen until the next chapter in their series of trying to put this city back together. like a moth to a flame — a need for a need; a want that's never had a mouth.
she may not be one to scale rooftops and glide limber and effortless through fire escapes, but she's found her own way to look out for those who need it, to give a voice to those left choked from the smoke of greed, of the wealthy, the corrupt systems that only grow all the more poisoned as the days pass. she doesn't expect anything from him because she knows that this, whatever it was they had, was something fleeting — that every time he slipped back out her window with one last brisk kiss to her lips, it may be the last she sees of him. maybe it'd be easier, leave her worrying less, leave apartment quiet rather than checking for snippets on the news to make sure she doesn't see him, and in some instances, where to find him.
they were far more similar than might meet the eye, a constant catch and release, a wanting without knowing how. and maybe that's why it worked, for now.
but wasn't that all anything could ever be?
so when he hoists her up on top of her dresser with ease, when a gloved hand raises to find a blush-splotched cheek, she's curling a calve around the back of his thigh, using it to lure him closer, yet. they were always dancing with stolen time — she might as well make sure she gets the better of it. karen's already grinning against his mouth, intent to interrupt anything that might sound even remotely like a parting of ways. he'd caught her off guard, apartment chilly from leaving the windows cracked for too long, wearing nothing but a too-big t-shirt and a linen set of sleep shorts. he's never seemed to mind, however he finds her — if she had a say, though, she might prefer something easier to navigate on his end than that green suit.
she hums on the brink of that last kiss, fingers raveling at each of his sides, clear by the hug of her thighs that she's not willing to let him go just yet —) Mmh. That sounds better. ( — or any time remotely soon, for that matter. she's a stubborn woman, and if he catches the glint in her eye, he'll know fighting against her would simply be for naught.
their noses stumble, spine straightening til foreheads meet, content to let their lips stumble with her words, to taste his breaths intermingle with her own. she's already a caricature of want, hungering thing that she is, catching the bed of his lower lip with a pinch of her teeth, a thoughtful note rumbling in her throat. )
no subject
and perhaps it's exactly why she is, drawn to them and them her, left stitching them up in the stale light of her kitchen just for them to slip out all too soon, not to be seen until the next chapter in their series of trying to put this city back together. like a moth to a flame — a need for a need; a want that's never had a mouth.
she may not be one to scale rooftops and glide limber and effortless through fire escapes, but she's found her own way to look out for those who need it, to give a voice to those left choked from the smoke of greed, of the wealthy, the corrupt systems that only grow all the more poisoned as the days pass. she doesn't expect anything from him because she knows that this, whatever it was they had, was something fleeting — that every time he slipped back out her window with one last brisk kiss to her lips, it may be the last she sees of him. maybe it'd be easier, leave her worrying less, leave apartment quiet rather than checking for snippets on the news to make sure she doesn't see him, and in some instances, where to find him.
they were far more similar than might meet the eye, a constant catch and release, a wanting without knowing how. and maybe that's why it worked, for now.
but wasn't that all anything could ever be?
so when he hoists her up on top of her dresser with ease, when a gloved hand raises to find a blush-splotched cheek, she's curling a calve around the back of his thigh, using it to lure him closer, yet. they were always dancing with stolen time — she might as well make sure she gets the better of it. karen's already grinning against his mouth, intent to interrupt anything that might sound even remotely like a parting of ways. he'd caught her off guard, apartment chilly from leaving the windows cracked for too long, wearing nothing but a too-big t-shirt and a linen set of sleep shorts. he's never seemed to mind, however he finds her — if she had a say, though, she might prefer something easier to navigate on his end than that green suit.
she hums on the brink of that last kiss, fingers raveling at each of his sides, clear by the hug of her thighs that she's not willing to let him go just yet —) Mmh. That sounds better. ( — or any time remotely soon, for that matter. she's a stubborn woman, and if he catches the glint in her eye, he'll know fighting against her would simply be for naught.
their noses stumble, spine straightening til foreheads meet, content to let their lips stumble with her words, to taste his breaths intermingle with her own. she's already a caricature of want, hungering thing that she is, catching the bed of his lower lip with a pinch of her teeth, a thoughtful note rumbling in her throat. )
I can think of a few things to bide the time.