Re: Marta / Seven
[This feels wrong. It feels wrong and right and she has no idea what the fuck is going on, and all the things she's told herself while he was away are suddenly slipping from her mind and she finds that she's internally shouting at herself even as she stares at his outstretched hand. And fuck if that isn't too like the silent request from the night they met in that stupid bar in Vegas, memories of her death still too near for both of them.
Her hand is in his before she has any more time to think about it. In, and curling her fingers around the wide expanse of his palm, ignoring the fact that her own fingers smell like a stolen cigarette from one of the other dancers, and that there are places on her skin that feel sticky with the alcohol that had been on a stranger's hands as she'd given him a lapdance that got too handsy. And fuck if she isn't able to ignore all of that because she's holding his fucking hand again.
She's in so much fucking trouble, and she knows it.]