nothing but teeth

“I’m glad… I'm glad I met you, though.” The words make your closed eyes prickle. I’m glad I’m not alone. Another stop-start in River’s breathing. You turn your head to look at him. He’s not looking back anymore, half-closed eyes turned to the ceiling. One arm is exposed, wormed out from under the blankets, palm turned up. You reach out across the dark, across the worn and dusty carpet, and thread your fingers through his.  His hold is tender, warm, and when he takes a tighter grip you can feel how soft his hand is. Not soft like unworked but soft like— Kind. And you fall asleep.

“I can’t keep dancing if you’re going to do that,” River sighs, combing a hand through Duffy’s hair. Duffy’s lips barely leave the skin of River’s stomach as he mumbles, “Maybe I don’t want you to keep dancing.” River smirks. “Oh, yeah? What do you want me to do instead, huh?” In a flash, Duffy’s hands slide from cradling River’s hips to gripping, firm, around his waist as he just about tosses River backwards onto the couch. River shrieks, landing with a laugh, lapping up the whiskey that’s spilt down his wrist as Duffy closes the space between them. "Just lay back and look pretty for me," Duffy growls. His eyes are dark, hungry, mouth half-open. Dog after a bone.

He starts at the base of her neck, moving as quick and light as he can as he presses against the muscles running up her throat, the back of her neck. Nothing out of the ordinary. He’s ginger as he reaches her jaw, almost ghosting over the joint. He’s seen the deformity on the left-hand side this whole time, the little lump in front of her ear. But Christ, feeling it… Patrice wasn’t kidding, he thinks. This is a fucking terrible reduction. The joint is barely set in the socket, leaving a knot of overworked muscle all over one side of her jaw. It’s a miracle she can eat. He can’t reduce it— can’t re-reduce it now. Not with the muscles like this. Not with how long it’s been. “Christ, Patrice, did you do this bloody reduction yourself?”