
V.M
357 posts




—and then the distance, his fever-warm palm stroking up Makarov’s spine, his other hand coming up to cradle the Russian’s cheek as he kisses him cautiously.

—“Dunno. Weird to be talking to yeh at all. I don’t hate it. Just…weird. Weird to think about anything else. No’ tha’ I’m opposed.”

—A grimace twists briefly across his features. “Suppose I do. Dunno wot kind of favor I can do for a bloke who has it all, but…” A little sniffle. “…suppose yeh do got me to blame for your life of crime.” A faint jest in turn. Sort of. He has less fond memories of the act.


“Heard yeh got into more than drink.” Eden reaches out to accept the glass and takes a grateful swig before pausing with the drink to his lips. His gaze drops to the photo and flickers back up. “Did yeh come all the way out here wiv that to set this shite up?”


—Maybe some petty vandalism if you’re feeling spicy. Fock if I know.”

