[ Heart, mind and body all said different things, and it was a mess of signals. Of wants, needs and the ability to deny themselves such. Harry can feel his ankle hooked around John's knee, and he knows that god, it feels nice to be so close to another human being. Even if that human being is John Marcone. And then it's because it's Marcone that he presses his hands against the man's shoulders and resists going one step further, because one step further tips the scales and he doesn't know if he'll come back from that.
The look in John's eyes takes him apart, piece by piece, deconstructing him clinically and intimately and Harry's heart's in his throat - he'd like to say out of rage, but it's just as likely to be some self-destructive urge to see what happens if he stays there, where he hates to be. Underneath another figure, vulnerable. It takes every inch of willpower not to shove John off, or at least twist them to the side, to be the one to loom over Chicago's Baron.
It's not fair that John's eyes are green. That colors were tied to emotions and manifestations of power, and to Harry, green was the color of life itself, and all the potential within it. The base of a pyramid, from which everything else would be supported. ]
[ He opens his mouth to snarl back at John, but his fingers have twisted into the man's shirt by then, and he pulls John down, closer. A sound seizes in his throat - some strangled fury that's been building all night, ebbing and flowing but never disappointing. Then he's on autopilot, and he's kissingbiting kissing and biting John's lips like he might hate him and might not but can't be without him regardless. ]
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timeasmymeasure
i thought that said 'minecraft' and nodded sagely: 'yes yes he'd be burning the forests'
Date: 2012-11-02 06:06 am (UTC)The look in John's eyes takes him apart, piece by piece, deconstructing him clinically and intimately and Harry's heart's in his throat - he'd like to say out of rage, but it's just as likely to be some self-destructive urge to see what happens if he stays there, where he hates to be. Underneath another figure, vulnerable. It takes every inch of willpower not to shove John off, or at least twist them to the side, to be the one to loom over Chicago's Baron.
It's not fair that John's eyes are green. That colors were tied to emotions and manifestations of power, and to Harry, green was the color of life itself, and all the potential within it. The base of a pyramid, from which everything else would be supported. ]
[ He opens his mouth to snarl back at John, but his fingers have twisted into the man's shirt by then, and he pulls John down, closer. A sound seizes in his throat - some strangled fury that's been building all night, ebbing and flowing but never disappointing. Then he's on autopilot, and he's
kissingbitingkissing and biting John's lips like he might hate him and might not but can't be without him regardless. ]