( he barely notices reggie's hands connect with his chest — though, somewhere in the back of his head, he wishes they'd stayed there — yet his eyes flicker down anyway, as if sizing reggie up again, trying to decide what exactly he wants to do with him.
he feels like a bull getting ready for the charge, his nostrils flared, his jaw tensing; every word out of reggie's mouth is a red flag and sweet pea swears he can feel his blood boil beneath his skin, his cheeks flushing in rage. his hand slips roughly up reggie's neck, but he doesn't quite press hard enough to be uncomfortable. no, he just wants reggie to know that he could. but he won't, because that isn't who he is. or, it's not who he is at this very moment.
he leans in, his barely an inch away from reggie's. he can feel the heat of reggie's breath on his face, the quickening beat of his pulse under his fingers. )
You don't have a fucking clue, do you? All bark, no bite. ( which isn't strictly true, but sweet pea isn't going to admit that. it doesn't matter how many times he gets called trailer trash; it's always going to hurt, and some stupid part of his brain is going to tell him it's true. that he isn't worth anything, that he's just another lowlife who crawled out of sunnyside with a knife in his mouth. some days, he believes it. but today isn't one of those days. today he's got something to prove. ) You think I don't notice the way you look at me?
( his lips barely brush reggie's, there and then gone. he lowers his voice to a husky whisper. he could be completely wrong, and they'll just end up punching each other, but he has a pretty good feeling he's not. reggie has never been terribly sutble, and sweet pea is a lot more observant than reggie thinks he is. is this a worse idea than using their fists to solve their problems? probably. but there's a different kind of tension buzzing between them that a fistfight just won't resolve. ) Come on, Mantle. Admit it.
no subject
he feels like a bull getting ready for the charge, his nostrils flared, his jaw tensing; every word out of reggie's mouth is a red flag and sweet pea swears he can feel his blood boil beneath his skin, his cheeks flushing in rage. his hand slips roughly up reggie's neck, but he doesn't quite press hard enough to be uncomfortable. no, he just wants reggie to know that he could. but he won't, because that isn't who he is. or, it's not who he is at this very moment.
he leans in, his barely an inch away from reggie's. he can feel the heat of reggie's breath on his face, the quickening beat of his pulse under his fingers. )
You don't have a fucking clue, do you? All bark, no bite. ( which isn't strictly true, but sweet pea isn't going to admit that. it doesn't matter how many times he gets called trailer trash; it's always going to hurt, and some stupid part of his brain is going to tell him it's true. that he isn't worth anything, that he's just another lowlife who crawled out of sunnyside with a knife in his mouth. some days, he believes it. but today isn't one of those days. today he's got something to prove. ) You think I don't notice the way you look at me?
( his lips barely brush reggie's, there and then gone. he lowers his voice to a husky whisper. he could be completely wrong, and they'll just end up punching each other, but he has a pretty good feeling he's not. reggie has never been terribly sutble, and sweet pea is a lot more observant than reggie thinks he is. is this a worse idea than using their fists to solve their problems? probably. but there's a different kind of tension buzzing between them that a fistfight just won't resolve. ) Come on, Mantle. Admit it.