[He knows its a rhetorical question. But he's never been one to follow things as they should be. Buck trends, spit in the face of rules, dance around order and skirt laws. But even so, such a question bears a thought or two to attach to it. Another thought skates in - he has the brief urge to pull up a finger, trace over the man's lips, that wonderful, tantalizing curve.]
[But he doesn't. Instead, he makes a little finger eight with his index finger over the man's arm, a little thoughtful.]
There's a lotta people I have yet to meet. So maybe I have yet to meet another like that. But...you?
[A little poke, in the middle of where that eight was.]
You're the type who wants to blind me where I stand with what you got. Kinda feels like it. Like looking at the sun.
no subject
[He knows its a rhetorical question. But he's never been one to follow things as they should be. Buck trends, spit in the face of rules, dance around order and skirt laws. But even so, such a question bears a thought or two to attach to it. Another thought skates in - he has the brief urge to pull up a finger, trace over the man's lips, that wonderful, tantalizing curve.]
[But he doesn't. Instead, he makes a little finger eight with his index finger over the man's arm, a little thoughtful.]
There's a lotta people I have yet to meet. So maybe I have yet to meet another like that. But...you?
[A little poke, in the middle of where that eight was.]
You're the type who wants to blind me where I stand with what you got. Kinda feels like it. Like looking at the sun.