From the figure to the attitude, Izzy all at once understands why he drunkenly solicited this man's attention. He is in every way so much like the man he is yearning to beat out of his system, that it is almost joyful to see the drink stolen out from right in front of him.
What a fucking bastard. He's perfect.
Izzy gives Arthur a look, but keeps his mouth shut and peels off to follow. His heart beats faster, but honestly? He's been in worse situations by his own hand and he is just on the other side of a death with these days so what does it fucking matter, anyway.
The only thing he doesn't understand is why he didn't go home with the cunt last night.
Duty, maybe. Or maybe it was the fact he was anticipating another rotten run in with Edward. Izzy's throat is still sore from it, to be honest. Ed is never gentle when they meet like that, always pent up and furious, there's nothing tender about it. There never has been. Izzy tells himself that it suits him fine. He isn't good for more, anyway.
"I have two rules," he says, voice worn and smoky once the door to the room closes behind them. He barely looks at Arthur as he slips his gloves and unbuttons his leather waistcoat, intent of leaving all his clothes in an orderly pile to locate later when his brain is barely firing. Luck providing, of course.
"Don't break anything if you can help it, and no emotions. I'm here to get fucked, I don't care about your life or whether your mum hugged you enough."
no subject
What a fucking bastard. He's perfect.
Izzy gives Arthur a look, but keeps his mouth shut and peels off to follow. His heart beats faster, but honestly? He's been in worse situations by his own hand and he is just on the other side of a death with these days so what does it fucking matter, anyway.
The only thing he doesn't understand is why he didn't go home with the cunt last night.
Duty, maybe. Or maybe it was the fact he was anticipating another rotten run in with Edward. Izzy's throat is still sore from it, to be honest. Ed is never gentle when they meet like that, always pent up and furious, there's nothing tender about it. There never has been. Izzy tells himself that it suits him fine. He isn't good for more, anyway.
"I have two rules," he says, voice worn and smoky once the door to the room closes behind them. He barely looks at Arthur as he slips his gloves and unbuttons his leather waistcoat, intent of leaving all his clothes in an orderly pile to locate later when his brain is barely firing. Luck providing, of course.
"Don't break anything if you can help it, and no emotions. I'm here to get fucked, I don't care about your life or whether your mum hugged you enough."