@facetiiious // continued from ims
IT HURTS WHEN SHE LEANS on his bruised shoulder, but he doesn't mind. It's almost comforting, the throb of the welt, grounding in a way. He doesn't know why, but he doesn't question it as he revels over her touch. He was too drunk. He shouldn't have called her. This was too hard.
Tears well in his eyes, already blurry from the liquor, he might as well be blind now. He couldn't see a damn thing anymore, just a distorted gleam from the moonlight on the river and the shadowy figure of Malia to his left.
The initiation had taken a toll on him mentally and physically, leaving him beaten down in more ways than one. He felt like he could just go home and cry and scream into his pillow, but his body is too weak to perform the action. So he sits on the less than comfortable rock, stagnant, with her by his side as the snake skin tightened and strangled him like a python. He was suffocated by the inevitability of Serpenthood for the rest of his life and he needed something not as set in stone. For one more night.
A shaky breath rattles through his lungs as he struggles to stand, his whole body swollen and sore, and he wraps his arms around Malia, stumbling into the deep hug, knees trembling with the weight of himself. "I hope we're okay, y'know, like us," he breaths into the crook of Malia's neck and shoulder, smothering himself in her before he breaks the hug, watery brown eyes catching reflections of light.
He's going to regret it when he's sober. His eyes bleed sorrow into her, begging to be swindled in comfort and care and the unsureness of them. His heart acts before his head and his hands are suddenly gripping her face, pulling them together in a crash of lips. He needs her tonight, even for just a second as their lips meet and teeth clang together, Scott's brow furrowed, conflicted with pain and yearning and everything in between as he leaned deeper into her, drenching her in passion and desperation.
