Re: Motel 77: Cris & Sam
That was prolly too much, so Cris turned Sam, fingers at her hips over those boxers he recognized, and he held her to him. Slow, he started pushed the jacket from her shoulders, and he started peeling the translucent white from translucent white, tanktop up. It was something to do, and he meant to get her warm, whether it was in bed or in the bath, something to try to bring color back to her in a backwards echoa lighthouse.
"I like you," he told her easy. It wasn't from nowhere, though it mighta seemed that way. He could feel the aftershocksa paranoia, the way you can feel electricity gathering in the air before a storm, prickling on skin, and he sought to discharge it. "And, mami, I'm not gonna let nothin' happen to you."
Cris tapped under shock-white chin and placed a kiss to cold forehead, all way too earnest.