My muse shoves your muse against a wall, breathing heavily. “Tell me to stop, and I will.” | Carlos :)))
inprometheanfire | inbox.
their conversations are both a battle of wills and strategy, each trying to keep the other from looking too closely. he'd say it kept things interesting and he's partially right. more than she wanted him to be, the stakes in mind. he thrives on confirmation and she's resilient in her attempts to deny him of it; on and on the game continues and they keep playing. it's hard to say who was winning this round, or where the points stood if either had been keeping track. she wouldn't put it past him if he had. maybe that's what made him take it a step further, catching her off-guard. not in a way that hurt, just caught her by surprise. first instinct is always to mock him for it. tease about touching a nerve like she so often does. he couldn't deny being defensive this time when it was him that crossed the line to make it physical. he's just upset he's transparent. she can only imagine how it must chafe at his pride that he isn't as indifferent as he claims.
"now where's the fun in that?" gasoline meet fire. it's hard to tell which label she falls into in that analogy or if there was much of a difference between them anymore. telling him to stop would be admitting defeat and she's aware he'll take any victory he can.
