we're already dead. soulless masses of flesh controlled by the spirits of the departed, nothing more than empty bullet casings waiting for you to reduce these lifeless bodies to ashes with your gunfire.
boy with a bloodied nose, boy with purple-green knuckles. boy that knows how to fight, how to bend, how to break. boy that always gets back up. boy that doesn't know when to stay down. boy that lives with knives in his hands. boy with a countdown, a deadline, a shelf-life.
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( a small pause, then his free hand fumbling through the other’s pocket, hastily freeing their wrists from the handcuffs, as it falls right to the floor.)
come here—-
( and swiftly, he carries leon by his legs, ——
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( He never thought keeping their hands linked with a single handcuff would be such a bad idea until Carlos' hands start mapping his waist. )
The key--
( Mumbling softly, he can't even stop just to grab the said key. )
Left pocket-
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( his kisses so eager to taste more of his lips, just couldn’t get enough of him. arms roaming right to the other’s waist in a longing manner.)
god you’re so…fuck—-
( murmured between kisses, the moment heating up.)
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( he is about to say something else, but before any word could leave his voice, he shuts himself up at the request. how could he refuse when he is being spoiled with the nicest kisses?
when their lips meet once again, he pulls the other by his collar, pressing their bodies. )