[ William’s mouth clamps shut before he can take a gasping breath, before he can give John that satisfaction. Arms stiff at his sides, fingers curled. ] Stop touching my pants. [ He chides, feeling himself slipping into a familiar cringe of a smile. He's being fucked with, he knows it as certainly as he knows John, but there's still a second's doubt—a little bloom of dread as he realizes there's nothing stopping that hand from dipping lower.
He takes half a step back, rolling his eyes extravagantly at the parlor trick. Crossing and then uncrossing his arms, embarrassed by his acute sense of relief.
Nevertheless he lets John trail his fingers over the tattoo, looking on in silence, absorbed more and more in the play of the light. ] It was just there, I don't remember— [ William shakes his head. He sounds captivated, rather than confused. ] Does it mean anything to you?
[ He turns his gaze on the other man, a kind of insistent curiosity—a kind of fearlessness—in his eyes. ]
no subject
He takes half a step back, rolling his eyes extravagantly at the parlor trick. Crossing and then uncrossing his arms, embarrassed by his acute sense of relief.
Nevertheless he lets John trail his fingers over the tattoo, looking on in silence, absorbed more and more in the play of the light. ] It was just there, I don't remember— [ William shakes his head. He sounds captivated, rather than confused. ] Does it mean anything to you?
[ He turns his gaze on the other man, a kind of insistent curiosity—a kind of fearlessness—in his eyes. ]