@bellenquisiteur, continued from here (x).
another fucking blonde. he’d promised himself he wouldn’t fall into their charms again, not after amy. perhaps it was wrong to associate a hair color with pure evil, but it couldn’t be helped. not after all of the time and emotion he’d wasted on that sham of a marriage. but this wasn’t marriage, and dinah was not amy. no ---she had all of the venom of his ex wife with the added bonus of all of the charm that amelia focused into her work instead of having any semblance of a personality. of course ... priest found the rough edges of the investigator appealing; that and she could knock him flat on his ass.
“ you wouldn’t have made it a day in the military. ” priest conceded, huffing a rush of air from his lungs and holding her icy gaze with his own. if she wanted to stare, then she could suit herself. he was unblinking when he pulled the tie from his vest and jacket, thumbed the knot down and tugged it away from his neck with one hand. he needed to change. he probably needed a shower but that would come before bed ---he wouldn’t trust her to his apartment where he couldn’t keep his eye on her. not that he had anything of pertinence that she could nose into ... it was the principle of the matter.
he shucked his jacket off of his shoulders, tossed it aside to the hamper in the corner of the room before he plucked the buttons of his vest open. if she insisted on staring. “ yeah? i disappointed you already? you’ve got low fucking expectations. ” he made quick work of the vest, tossing it into the same abyss as his jacket and moved for the dress shirt next. always three pieces. the slight variations in each turk’s uniform were so indicative of each of their personalities, priest noticed. the little chains and nuances on rude’s insisted the edge to his person where reno’s flirtatious and carefree nature came in the reveal of his chest - like a tease. tseng was the image of perfection, and priest was charisma. three piece suit, little details in the color of the vest and tie and how it matched what he was meant to do for the day. pr? have a splash of something dark. wet work? all black, maybe a filigree here or there. always a sleeveless shirt beneath and when he had no more layers to shuck off of his torso his fingers made for the belt of his pants. last chance.
fresh bruises kissed at his chest, a healing gash across his stomach and if dinah were to catch sight of his back she’d find a few peppered punctures with butterfly stitches there. work. he didn’t mind it, much. it just meant he was still alive. regrettably. “ gonna expect a tip from you when i’m done. i don’t do free shows. ”