@epicentered // continued
a long pause and he’s contemplating the scrunched up expression that seems to say i just smelled shit or i’m not sure how to feel with you looking like you want to eat me. hell maybe if he’d had more empathy then it might’ve struck him as an intimidating thing to do. as it was –
well. the guy was his type.
gunnar was anything but shy about admiring what was in front of him. smoke hides his expression and he’s flicking his cigarette to the side.
“yeah? and just HOW AM I STARIN’ AT YOU?”
a step closer and yeah, the guy is definitely the type he’d go for if push came to shove. mouthy, confident, and short as hell next to him. just the kinda spitfire that he liked getting into bed and finding out what fresh filth could come out that big mouth.
either that or a fight really, gunnar wasn’t picky.
in his head, both were more than GOOD.
reaching up, gentle touch contrast sharply with his sharp words. but it’s worth it to pluck the little bit of tree crap that’d fallen on shorn hair. patting his pack of cigarettes against the heel of his palm, he’s holding one between his lips and looking the other man square in the eye.
yeah, just because he’d been called on it didn’t mean he was intending to stop.
“well, very least, you got a light?”
IT’S NOT THAT HE WASN’T USED to being gawked at. With a face covered in strange, jagged scars, it was nearly impossible to avoid the gazes that burned holes into his flesh. Sometimes they were sympathetic. Most of the time, though, they were just horrified. As if Jesse had done something terrible of which he deserved to be reminded every single day -- as if the scars were there to teach him a lesson.
But that wasn’t how this man was looking at him. This man was looking at him like he wanted to devour him. And that wasn’t something that Jesse was used to.
“I -- I don’t know.”
He didn’t like not knowing.
Jesse felt smaller, suddenly, when the stranger stepped closer to him, towering over him in a sinister way that made Jesse feel sick to his stomach. He couldn’t stand being looked down upon like that. It reminded him of that awful pit. It reminded him of the way Todd would throw off the tarp covering the bars of Jesse’s cage, letting the morning sun filter in, and smile in a way that a predator smiles at its prey. The stranger reached out and Jesse flinched.
“Hey --”
Jesse took a step back in spite of himself.
“... Don’t... don’t touch me.”
It wasn’t a command -- more of a desperate request. He looked like he’d seen a ghost, suddenly; breathless and white in the face. There were a few moments of tense silence between them before he produced a zippo from his jacket pocket and handed it over, fishing his own cigarettes out to stick one between his lips and wait, eyes locked on the stranger, for his lighter to be returned.
