Rogues on the Run

Glory and Gore.

 NOT EDITED, YADA, YADA, YADA.

         I'm propped against the wall as Liam lies in front of me, sheets bunched around his waist and his eyes shut, soft breathes leaving parted lips. If I didn't know any better, I'd think he was asleep.

I've made a knot out of the comforter to preserve my modesty as I sketch him. It was a spur of the moment. A, 'hey-I-know-we-just-had-sex-but-you-look-too-good-to-pass-drawing,' sorta thing. Plus, I got to make plenty of Titanic references and Liam got to laugh at them while playing a good model. 

It's also calming, because at one point, I thought I'd never be able to pick up my sketch book again. By the time I'm finished, my fingers are coated in black from the charcoal and various pencils I've switched from. My finger prints are left on his when I lean to kiss him. "There," I whisper gently against paused lips. "Do you like it?"

I display the picture to him. "It reminds me of the one you did at school," he murmurs, green eyes settling on the paper before darting to me. I smile and drape my arms over his shoulders, leaning to examine my work.

It's of him lounging on the bed, arm propped behind his head and the contours of the muscle sketched with an inkier black that will surely smudge if I touch it once more. I can see the similarties between the one I sketched at school and the one present. Back then, I drew him because I wanted to get him out of my head and now I draw him because I wish to immortalize this momemt. Him. Us. 

"I wish I could actually draw," He whispers; I can scarely hear him. Then again, it's 2 in the morning. "So that I could draw you too. Or play music."

"God made you pretty for a reason, honey," I tease and Liam rolls his eyes at me but returns my grin. 

"Are you calling me talent-less?" He asks, drawing me into him and pressing his nose against mine. I trace my fingers against his scar and his hand smooths down my side. He tugs the knot loose and let's the sheets fall to my thighs. I don't object, merely press a kiss to his cheekbone. 

"Never," I shake my head with a laugh. He narrows his eyes at me but doesn't reply but rather he leads me to lay down, his fingers lingering on the white scar on my stomach. The one from the fight with Beckett. "Now we match." I gesture to his scar.

"When I see him, I'm going to kill him." Liam promises me as he hovers over me and he presses his lips to mine with bruising force, as if he is implementing another claim on me. But I push at his chest to stop him.

"No," I say. "I am."

It's a sick thing to smile about, but we do. Because Beckett is not anyone's to hurt but mine, thohgh Adam is agruable. Either way, there is no further debate because as soon as Liam's lips are back on mine and all thoughts from before are gone when the sheets fall from his waist and my legs are soon wrapped around it.

For right now, I don't want to think about Beckett. Or the Purgatory. Or my mysterious aunt, because all I want is to remember us. 

          "Well, look at you. How domestic."

Stella taunts with a laugh as she props herself up against the dresser, arms folded. I roll my eyes at her as I fold one of Liam's many muscle shirts and tuck it into the duffle bag. 

"Have you even started packing?" I question. 

"No," She snorts. "I'll make Jeremy do it."

"Really?" I cock a brow at her. "Cause I heard Rosalyn is helping him pack. You can no longer dictate him."

Stella's smirk falls from her face immediately, twisting into a look dissatisfaction. Jeremy and Rosalyn are practically stuck to each other lately. I barely see the kid without her or her without him. I am not sure if they are true mates, but even if they aren't, I'm sure something will happen between them. Jeremy has made it clear to Cliff - who tries endlessly to hit on Rosalyn - that she's not interested. It's funny.