Re: [(After)Life]
Lear didn't say anything to the quip from his sister. He smiled slightly at her, but that was all the reaction he had. He removed his shirt by force, not caring that Nel was watching him. Another time, he might have used her vague attention to his advantage, or, if not that, he would've exploited it or somehow abused it for his own entertainment. Right now, though, he just wanted the fucking shirt off. His pants too, but Nel started walking just as he got his hand to his fly.
He followed her, holding his jeans up by the waistband, denim corners held together in one clammy palm, and he tracked muddy prints through the studio to the bathroom. As Nel let her jacket fall, Lear looked over at her through drooping hair. Her shoulders were bare, the vest and leather pants tight, shifting almost like scales interlocked. She sat on one of the sofa arms in the dim, brown-gold light, and Lear turned his sea-wine gaze to the shower. He sniffed as she offer the words 'chastely reflective,' and he allowed his jeans to drop.
He wasn't wearing anything else underneath. His skin was pale and clammy, and he didn't have much hair. It haloed his nipples and ran down from his navel to his cock and balls, but it was otherwise sparse. He was thinnish, but not narrow, and he lacked any shred of shame. His cock wasn't even hard. He stepped out of the puddle of his ruined jeans and turned to the shower. He ducked into the small cloistered space and flipped on the water.
Still weary, he leaned against the wall opposite the spigot and controls with his shoulders, and he let his head fall back too. The water hissed and heated. He didn't bother closing the door. Water sprayed out like spittle, just into the room beyond.