Re: AHS: Sam A & Cris M
His eyes were pitch fucking black. Ok, so they weren't black, but to someone whose eyes were inky blue, well, anything darker than a light brown was fucking black. But, yeah, she liked it. It made her think of eyes that didn't quite line up with his, but the expression was still somehow similar to the Halloween party, and she liked the reminder. It wasn't a bad night, yeah? As indicated by the fact that she was here, with him, instead of nodding out in her trailer.
He peeled away, and she watched him with a kind of curious disappointment. Not because he was bailing on her, but because the song wasn't done, and she was the worst kind of fucking adrenaline junkie, especially on a low-dose like she was now. But he just slipped off the jacket and loosened buttons, and she was grinning by the time he came back. The song kept on, but it was a slower bit of horns now as the orchestra worked on a sexier version for the night crowd that wanted to dance cheek to cheek.
He'd left his tie where it was, but she loosened it when he got close enough, and then her hands were callouses that caught on the white of his shirt as she smoothed it fruitlessly. "My husband's sisters." The music was slow enough that she slipped her arms over his shoulders lazily, and she was a close rock of hips against him, movement to the beat and slow and sensual. "I got married on my quinceaƱera. Al's sisters were fourteen and sixteen, and we would dance all over the fucking living room, like we were in some club or something," she said, and maybe it was too soon to smack him with her life shit, but she figured he'd already done the math, yeah? Six years married, and she knew she didn't look older than her age.
And she'd lied all over the place with Russ, and she still didn't know who the barber guy she'd lost touch with was. She didn't want to be full of shit this time.