𝑭𝒂𝒄𝒆𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝑭𝒊𝒙𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 {𝘚𝘢𝘭 𝘍𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘳}

Cry For Me [24]

"But it's too late to turn back now
Oh, God I tried but I don't know how
If I could escape it
I'd trade in the blame, you can take it
If it doesn't take me first..."

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TW: SMUTTTTTTT 

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"Then come here."

He didn't have to tell me. Not even once. 

I move my feet, quickly walking over to him. Sal watches me with those pretty, nearly translucent blue eyes and gently grabs my wrist once I make it to him. He yanks me into his room, my pursuit stopping when my chest slams into his.

His tattooed fingers squeeze my wrist a bit as he shuts his door behind us. My body reacts almost immediately, goosebumps forming along my skin.

For a moment, just a moment, Sal simply stands with my body pressed to his. Doesn't do anything else, doesn't move-- like he's contemplating.

I already know what he's contemplating, doesn't even take a full second for it to click in my head. It's about the prosthetic.

I breathe in shakily, gazing into the eyeholes of his mask that show me so little of him. "If you're uncomfortable," I whisper, "You can keep it on."

He takes a big, stuttering breath that I feel through my own chest. I can't tell if I should be flattered for nearly making him choke or if I should be nervous about being so upfront.

But then he releases my wrist, using the same skeleton-tatted hand to grab the chin of his prosthetic and lift it over his face. The action rustles up his hair to the point that he reaches back and pulls out the pony tail that had held up his hair for the day. And when he looks at me again, brandishing his handsomely marred face like my words gave him the little bit of confidence he needed to bare himself to me, I fear I may fall apart.

Big doe eyes, long lashes. Furrowed brows to accentuate the little bit of clear apprehension he still feels. Parted lips to show off the tips of his sharp canines that left bruises on my skin that haven't yet faded-- teeth that'll no doubt leave more bruises by the time we're finished. His would-be straight bridged nose that's missing certain parts and still littered with scars and freckles alike. The sunken in left side of his face and the long scar stretching up his cheek. The assortment of discolored skin and glistening scars all over him. 

I truly can't get enough of his unique beauty. 

He may be a total ass, but something about him-- something about the way he acted like a normal person today-- makes me want to kiss all the traumas on his body and let him know that it'll be okay. The same way he did for me today.

I don't. I refrain, if only for his peace of mind because intimacy as gentle as that would no doubt confuse both of us and probably put an end to our situation too. I have to fuck him at least once before something happens and we end up hating each other again.

Sal's vulnerable expression drops into one of mild aggravation; pinched lips and a lazy, uninterested gaze. He's tired of his least favorite part of himself being ogled I guess. 

I mirror his expression even if he can't fully see it with the mask, but stick my tongue in my cheek for added effect. His cobalt irises narrow in response and he smacks his lips to combat my attitude, which is his fault by the way.

"Aren't I lucky that we made a deal and you can't get snappy with me right now," I chirp, knowing that it's going to tick him off just a little more.

"I can disrespect you in more ways than one," he replies in his slightly raspy, smooth voice that feels like ice dripping down my spine. Oh, he's good.