#burieshim

@burieshim​: [ dance ]

Quint had been sitting off to the side of the festivities. Watching others dance about and drink happily with one another. So when his hand is taken in the woman’s, palm and fingers petite against his own, and pulled up out of his seat he can’t help the look of confusion that washed over his features. That was till Abigail began leading them closer to the music. Cheeks warmed with embarrassment and a sense of nervous settled in his gut. Right hand gently wrapping around her own, while the other gloved and stiff artificial limb rested on a hip. The basics were understood, but the movement wasn’t as SMOOTH.

@burieshim​​: ❛   tell me… tell me you want me.   ❜      

They were alone in that moment. Side by side on a rickety old bed. It seemed like they never had any privacy in her camp--- not that Quint EVER complained. He enjoyed what company he got with Abigail, truthfully. Her pale and dainty hand started by resting on his knee before it gradually slid further up his thigh. Cheeks heated--- but it was hard to tell in the dim candlelight. Large hand cupped the back of her neck as he leaned in. Anchoring her against him. Taking her lips in a gentle yet passionate kiss. LIPS  offered better reply than the WORDS he couldn’t even muster. Very hand that cradled the back her of her neck fell. Finger tips brushing over the front of her chest, catching on the fabric of her blouse. Shyly, carefully, hiking up her skirt--- so that cold fingertips could glide against warm flesh of her thigh.

@burieshim​: © put a hand on my muse’s back to steer them somewhere

“Can we not speak freely here, ma’am?” He stepped forward, just away from the palm that was pressed to the center of his back. Quint spared the woman a glance, peering over her features, trying to gather some IDEA of what she might have been thinking about. If she didn’t feel comfortable speaking with him here--- then perhaps something else was the matter. Concerns followed.

“  yeah,  that  so?  ”  jem  moves  himself  to  the  small  stool  in  front  of  the  grimy,  circular  mirror  he’d  found  about  a  week  ago  in  the  trunk  of  an  abandon  cart.  he  tilts  his  head  to  a  certain  angle  to  observe  the  beard  which  had  grown  unruly  of  late,  scowling  at  his  reflection  and  how  weathered  he  was  starting  to  look.  “  i  got  one  thing  i  need  to  do,  is  all.  one  single  thing.  ”  the  shaving  blade  glints  as  he  turns  it  over  in  his  hand  and  raises  it  to  his  cheek,  pulling  it  taut.  “  gettin’  rid  of  this  god  damn  ugly  beard.  ”  you  know,  he’s  quite  handsome  under  all  that  scruff  and  filth.  a  long,  deep  sigh  on  his  lips.  “  i  miss  baths.  ”