this is for the lions

Something about control, that's true. Something else about scrawny emo boys with more jawline than sense. Ivy is perfectly happy right where he is, gaze bright. No longer alone, even if the company has some lip. Pretty face makes up for it. Stretching, sprawling, chancing closer-- why not? Better to get comfortable.

Surrounding him, drawing him in. Ivy's breath remains still, measured. A tilt of his chin, the man remains stiff. Tightly wound, careful. "Why would I run?" Dangerous undercurrent to his tone, smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Ivy can't help himself, not now. Not like this. "You're the one that climbed into close quarters with a strange man."

A murmur, her teeth against his cheek. Though she settled away from Ivy, he's quick to retaliate. Teeth, though he's near-tender in the way he uses them. Down her neck, stopping at the shoulder. Brief-- ah, just brief. He's playing a dangerous game. Fuck it. Makes him feel alive.

"Ivy"