Kimberly/Roy. PG. ~100 words.
Kimberly’s rougher than he remembers.

Kimberly stands in the dark and watches him. People are always so predictable, always doing exactly what they shouldn’t, and he’s no exception.

Cotton brushes bare skin as he rolls over, dark eyes lifting slowly to meet laughing jackal yellow. There’s no shock of surprise, no rejection when Kimberly tears back the sheet and climbs over him, death’s hands buried in the familiar softness of short black hair. The wariness in him is replaced by naked need, a sort of longing tinged with something Kimberly doesn’t recognise, or care to.

Kimberly’s rougher than he remembers, all sharp teeth and bruising hands, ravenous mockeries of kisses.


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