Rick’s one of those guys, the kind that doesn’t get naked, even during sex. The kind of guy that unzips his pants, fucks, and then zips them back up, not even once playing into the illusion of future nudity or the genuine intimacy that comes from it. He’s just not about it. But he’s also hot. Sweaty. White shirt clinging to his shoulders, and sweat pooled between his shoulder blades, making the fabric stick. Uncomfortable enough, and feeling secure enough in the dark living room, lit only by another classic black and white horror film, to do something about the overheating - even with the company of Gaea stretched out beside him, freshly fucked - to remove that one article of clothing. White fabric bunched between his fingers as he grabs the back of it and tugs it over his head and then promptly tosses it elsewhere. Shoulders rolling before he reaches for a smoke to light it.
And, if by chance the movie flashes, and illuminates the room, and Gaea looks over at that same time? If she sees the old marks on his skin, the scars that were a decade old and had faded into faint lines on his back? Well, that’s her fucking problem, not his.
@verbalissm / you liked a starter call and then bullied me. but i kinda liked it so.
