little bit from my latest bloodymary fic where simon is a dead body grace finds floating outside the Mary bcs i cant stop thinkin abt it
The corpseās skin, though cold against his own, hasnāt lost itās pigment, itās still tan and covered in gashes and scratches and weeping burns that Grace had tenderly wiped earlier, making sure they wouldnāt get infected. Not that they could because, well, the guyās dead...but itās the thought that counts. Heās got freckles on his cheekbones and long, sweeping eyelashes that touch his eyebags. Not to mention the guyās body! Heās got abs for days, his bicep is thick (he definitely worked out), and, well, Grace had had to remove his trousers to clean him. He has nice thighs.
He frowns, drifting over to his whiteboard; reads the scribbled writing about San Fran and his work and hobbies until he finds gay?
He rubs the question mark away.
He drifts back to the corpse. āI should probably find you some clothes, huh? Maybe a hair tie or something...?ā Heās gone insane. Still, it isnāt like thereās any better company around here. āI wonder what your name is.ā He brushes a stray hair from the corpseās face. āYou look like a Mark, but I canāt name you that. Thatād be corpse abuse.ā He chuckles to himself. āHow about...hmm.ā He thinks through some of the names he knows: Carl (ouch), Noah, Lars, Deanāthose are all very AmericanāSebastian, Colt, Ken... āAh! Iāve got it.ā He cups the corpseās face. āIāll call you Simon. You like it?ā The corpse doesnāt respond, obviously. Grace pats his cheek. āYou like it.ā
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