Re: In-person: Cris/Sam
[These are the moments where a guy's gotta wonder if he's just getting what he deserves, being with somebody so much younger. Sam stands, looking down at Cris where he's pissed and slumped in the chair. She rubs her wrists, and he don't fucking care. He reaches out, pushing her fingers away from raw wrists.] I—JUST—WANT—YOU. [He says it through his teeth, all the volume sieved through.—She tells him she remembers the Bellevue thing different and he already knows that, or she wouldn't be telling him he could deal better before.
When she leans down toward him, her face in his, he glares up at her, a scowl taking the placea whatever tears had been in black eyes. He takes in her insistence, and in how she's looking at him, how close she is. His gaze dips to her lips and bobs back up. He stands up. Bumping into her, he stands up, pushing her back with his chest as he gets to—well, one foot. He keeps his weight off the knee and he bends toward Sam.—His heart hammers, and he wants too many things at once. To beat the fuck outta the bag over there. To hold Joey quiet. To push Sam up against the wall and kiss her or scream at her or both.—Instead, he sits right the fuck back down. He reaches up, fingers wrapped tight around the strapsa that jumper, and he drags her on toppa him, if she lets him, and he gathers her close, close, close, and he breathes hot, heavy, and he tells her,] You're so fucking stubborn. You drive me crazy, you know that? [His hands push down her back, hold her there. He presses his nose to hers and, stubbornly, argues in a growl,] You'd be happier with someone who less of a fuckin' mess, blanca. [He lifts his eyebrows in a challenge.] ¿No? Maybe you want the guy who sits and lets you tell him what to do. [He knows she don't. It's just snapping back, a knotta insecurity.] Maybe I'd be better for you if I didn't yell. ['Course, he's saying that, as he's holding her in his lap. He don't believe it, but he says it, challenging her.]