Melinoe speaks the precise words he needs to hear in the moment, as much obedient as obstinate. It's that unique combination in her that appeals to him so much, though he would rarely admit as much even to himself. He releases her the moment she withdraws from him, unmoving except to watch her retrieve her things. How can Killing admit to such pathetic and human despair and sense of loss at something so archaic and base as physical affection.
His expression darkens into a slight scowl at her response, his own thought unfinished. It will do. Then her reminder comes and he glances down, as if only now becoming aware that his shirt hangs wide open. His mind sparks with the memory of her fingers on his chest, her nails on his back, and it takes everything in him to face the doors rather than to submit again to his whims.
Phonos works slowly and deliberately to button his shirt again, surprised at how difficult the infantile action is when his mind is so wholly consumed with other thoughts and distractions. He's halfway done when the box dings and the doors slide open: to reveal a worried and suddenly confused Helenus.
Murder says nothing, only continuing in the action of clothing himself once more. He leaves it for Melinoe to explain if she will, curious as to what excuse or description she might offer her friend. There's a small, dark part of Phonos that takes joy in the man's witnessing of such insinuations. Perhaps he will learn his lesson now, that Melinoe is no longer his - or never was.
no subject
His expression darkens into a slight scowl at her response, his own thought unfinished. It will do. Then her reminder comes and he glances down, as if only now becoming aware that his shirt hangs wide open. His mind sparks with the memory of her fingers on his chest, her nails on his back, and it takes everything in him to face the doors rather than to submit again to his whims.
Phonos works slowly and deliberately to button his shirt again, surprised at how difficult the infantile action is when his mind is so wholly consumed with other thoughts and distractions. He's halfway done when the box dings and the doors slide open: to reveal a worried and suddenly confused Helenus.
Murder says nothing, only continuing in the action of clothing himself once more. He leaves it for Melinoe to explain if she will, curious as to what excuse or description she might offer her friend. There's a small, dark part of Phonos that takes joy in the man's witnessing of such insinuations. Perhaps he will learn his lesson now, that Melinoe is no longer his - or never was.