killer instinct - || h.s. ||

76

DOUBLE UPDATE!
make sure to read 75 before this one.

and TRIGGER WARNING: brief mention of child abuse.

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" a little scared of being someone you're scared to love "

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aurora astor.

And finally, it's quiet.

The silence envelops my entire body, compressing against every inch of my skin to dull the adrenaline lingering in my veins.

My fingertips toy with his own, ensuring he remains close behind, seeping his thick cologne and remedying warmth through my skin just as his breathing still calms from earlier.

I slip the keys from his trembling, ring-clad hands to unlock the door myself, prying the door back open to the stillness of his midnight-coated loft.

He intertwines our fingers further, stepping in behind me while his eyes sweep around the space to ensure it's all in place.

And the rattle of the door shutting into place pierced the noise through our own engulfing placidity while I set his carabiner clipped keys into the ceramic bowl on the countertop.

He curls me into his right side, looping our twined hands over my head to rest over my shoulder while he groans a bit at the stiffness in his left arm.

I melt into his warmth, listening to my throbbing heels lacerate against the wood beneath my feet as his own boots tread beside me. With delicate, tender kisses to my scalp while we ascend the stairs at our own unhurried pace.

And our feet hit the platform, guiding the two of us into the serenity of the bathroom. While leaving the door a crack open, I leave the lights at a mellow dim before slipping from his side to drop the bloodied switchblade into the pit of the sink — the blade I only took out of protection before I left without him earlier which nearly feels like days ago with the timeline in disorder.

I noticed him place his gun on the marble countertop while I carefully shrug his suit jacket off my shoulders — every inch of me seems to just hurt.

Tracing my eyes over my figure, skin spattered in dried blood while my makeup smudges across my features. Then, my eyes drag over in the mirror reflecting our rough appearances back at us, settling my eyes on him while he grips the edge of the counter in weariness while he stares over at me.

The fabric pools on the tiles spilling across the floors, "let me see the wound," I instruct him while I pry open his cabinetry to grasp the antiseptic soap, rubbing alcohol, and a plethora of sterile gauze. My voice furrows a crease between his eyebrows while his gaze seeps into my soul.

He just subtly shakes his head, "'m alright, babe," his raw voice whispers to skitter the sound through the hollow of this compact space.

"Don't fucking try that bullshit with me, Harry, take your shirt off and sit down," I snap at him, noticing his sulking eyes widen a bit at my stern tone.

He vexedly huffs in his own stubbornness while he groans at the buttons on his dress shirt, wandering over to the tub while he fidgets to gradually reveal more and more of his skin.

He heavily sighs while he kicks off his scarlet boots to add to the scattered mess of clothing on the floor. He expels a pent-up breath as he settles onto the edge of the tub beside the sink side with his thighs comfortably spread and his ink on full display in simply his black dress pants with the intricate embroidery on the sides.