[He manages to keep a straight, grim expression roughly ten seconds before Fred is tugged into a fierce hug, pressed against Skye's ridiculous prison jumpsuit -- he escaped about three hours ago, and has had better things to do than find some decent clothes.]
Oh, I'm not picky. 'Long as there's skin splittin' like a burst seam and red gushin' out, I couldn't possibly give less of a flyin' fuck who's bleedin'.
[He looks positively feral, all bared teeth and ridiculous prison jumpsuit from his all-too-recent escape, the outline of a knife at his thigh.]
Don't happen to be a masochist, d'you? That could work for us both.
What about havin' pain inflicted upon your own body? Or d'you just like to watch?
[The knife is slipped out and played with in such a haphazard way -- palmed and balanced and slid over callused fingers -- that it slices Skye's hands up pretty good. He doesn't even notice until he handle is slippery and slick with red.]
Well hey there, baby. I'm Skye. Are you a knight? You kinda sound like a knight~
[Yeah, Varney's all smiles too, but it probably isn't because you noticed how pretty he is. So much of that goes on in his head constantly that any actual compliments pretty much register as white noise.] My blood ain't free, love, sorry. Eye for an eye, drip for a drop 'n' all that, mmm?
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[He manages to keep a straight, grim expression roughly ten seconds before Fred is tugged into a fierce hug, pressed against Skye's ridiculous prison jumpsuit -- he escaped about three hours ago, and has had better things to do than find some decent clothes.]
I fuckin' missed you, asshole.
(The breath wooshes out under the fierce embrace and he clings to Skye)
And you...
[He runs a sharp, red-painted nail up the inseam of Fred's jeans by way of pointed emphasis, keeping him forcibly close.]
Well then, where y'been? Busy playin' with your master?
They aren't one's clothes. They were left...
There was no play. No.
(he blinks, finally noticing the jumpsuit)
One might ask the same of you. Or has your sense of fashion been removed?
[He grins, slipping his fingers down the waistband of Fred's jeans.]
Yeah, we should do somethin' about the fashion situation. Even I can't rock the jailhouse look.
(He takes a handful of dreadful jumpsuit to keep Skye close, then buries his face against Skye's neck)
You rock every look. (mumbled against his skin)
But we're not talking about fashion, are we? How have you been? It seems like forever since one could touch you...
[He cranes his neck so his chin rests atop Fred's head, pleased-looking, as his hands quite casually move to caress him everywhere.]
Oh, yeah, fuckin' peachy, prison's paradise. Gotta love havin' your liberty taken away, right?
(Skye's hands are like a soothing, long-missed drug, relaxing him slowly)
Is that what it is? Paradise... somehow one has always believed it would be something other than stone walls and dampness... It was so cold...
(He sighs and frowns, burrowing deeper into Skye's arms)
And yes. One... I. Know it is something. Sarcasm. A joke...
Yes?
[He looks positively feral, all bared teeth and ridiculous prison jumpsuit from his all-too-recent escape, the outline of a knife at his thigh.]
Don't happen to be a masochist, d'you? That could work for us both.
Isn't that a rather personal question?
... So, you gonna answer or what, sweetheart?
[A suggestive smirk, and he fidgets with the ends of his pleated rainbow-colored hair.]
Edited at 2013-02-12 08:17 pm (UTC)
My name is Sir Guy of Gisbourne. Yours?
[The knife is slipped out and played with in such a haphazard way -- palmed and balanced and slid over callused fingers -- that it slices Skye's hands up pretty good. He doesn't even notice until he handle is slippery and slick with red.]
Well hey there, baby. I'm Skye. Are you a knight? You kinda sound like a knight~
You enjoy playing with knives, Skye? [Was that even a man's name?]
I enjoy swordplay just as much as the next man. [He had knives hidden away in his leather doublet too.]
Do. You. Like. Pain?
Pain on others or myself? [He backed away slowly.]
Edited at 2013-02-12 08:38 pm (UTC)
On yourself, baby. Why would I give a shit about anythin' else?
Mind if I
tastewatch?Blood fetish, huh? Baby, you can help. Or volunteer. Or just stand there lookin' pretty, whatever.
[Yeah, Varney's all smiles too, but it probably isn't because you noticed how pretty he is. So much of that goes on in his head constantly that any actual compliments pretty much register as white noise.] My blood ain't free, love, sorry. Eye for an eye, drip for a drop 'n' all that, mmm?