i need you.
stop making his face do this thing , the drow wants to scowl and grouch . he resents that ; the way he stops and stares into those sanguine eyes , all wet with supplication , and suddenly as the lights cuts through the dense clouds above , he finds that he has lost all of those sharp edges . his face softens , and it's like classical conditioning : the way he leans against the wall and his lids weigh down , heavy and sluggish as a stretched sigh dribbles from his tongue , sticky and sweet as honey . if only he could really resent him for that .
❝ then you have me . ❞ the drow nonchalantly declares with a flick of his wrist , like it's so terribly simple , like he has already agreed to whatever terms he might propose , before he ever has a chance to ; his participation an unwavering certainty . ❝ tell me , how do you need me ? ❞
