[ Louis cups his fingers, scooping away the first layer of dirt and mud. Small, hair-like spindles writhe beyond his touch as arthropods skitter away, their own hiding place destroyed. This won’t be difficult to clear.
But the other man’s voice calls his attention, and Louis looks at him again. The dark, scarred ring in his eyes contracts, scrutinizing, first down to the other’s chest and the almost-withheld breath, then his up to his face, as if he can gleam the flourish of heat upon his cheeks despite the darkness. His head tilts.
The movement is natural— too natural, perhaps, or too poised, like a predator recalling how to be merely prey. ]
no subject
But the other man’s voice calls his attention, and Louis looks at him again. The dark, scarred ring in his eyes contracts, scrutinizing, first down to the other’s chest and the almost-withheld breath, then his up to his face, as if he can gleam the flourish of heat upon his cheeks despite the darkness. His head tilts.
The movement is natural— too natural, perhaps, or too poised, like a predator recalling how to be merely prey. ]
Is something wrong?