Re: (After)life: Nel L & Lear L
"There are black people in Sweden," Lear said with a lazy shrug, his eyes on Nel's mouth. They lifted, buoyed on growing grin, as Nel began to pick his skin-shape apart. He lifted a foot when she noted the sandals, to eye the dangling tag he couldn't be bothered to remove. The laugh, when it bubbled up, was low, and the seeming-woman gave Nel a meaningful look, before inspecting the lighter. After smiling and setting it back down, Lear lifted his chin from his palm and sprawled backward. His knees, even now, were spread too wide. His hands were on his stomach after a brush over tits, cigarette there between some fingers. He rolled bare shoulders in another shrug when he was corrected on coquettishness, but his grin never budged, even as gaze slid to the jiggling foot in a slow drag.
Nel stood from the sofa, and Lear asked, wasn't he her type? She corrected him again. This time he laughed more earnest, before it petered out into an amused, "hmm." He'd have to be really invested in her fucking him to do any kind of long con, and Lear wasn't really invested in anything. "The problem with women is they're too slow," he offered as Nel's gaze moved from his tits to his face. When she bent in for the kiss, open-mouthed, he returned it with languor and teeth. Open contradiction, but that was how he lived. Satisfied with this, he reclined again when she walked away.
In the time her back was turned, the man shifted back into himself. Dark skin lightened to pallor, hair shortening and brightening, and he filled his clothes out without the tits, legs long and no curve in sight. The sandals ended up small, and he leaned forward with the cigarette now between lips just as pretty as the last set, plump and pink, to pluck the sandals off. He tossed them onto the floor and positioned himself sideways on the sofa, one arm up behind his head. He was watching Nel by the time she turned—if she did. His gaze flicked from her cigarette case—cute, the skull,—to her face. "I'm never hard up for it, and I'd still have fucked me." He said this matter-of-factly, dryly, his voice much deeper now, but holding the same trace of accent, and he said it as if it was confirmation—yes, it was him. Who else?