Work Text:
Eric can’t make sense of anything lately, and tonight’s girl gives a funny look when he fumbles at her buttons like he’s no clue what he’s doing.
Eric Slingby doesn’t fumble.
It should be easy enough with his eyes shut to a warm body in the dark, soft hair twined in his fingers (this could be anyone, this could be—); but Eric blocks that thought just as he blocks their earlier conversation from his mind, words dodged, the number of souls just doesn’t match—
Hints of wine linger on her tongue; Eric wonders how Alan might taste.

flecksofpoppy
Posted Wed 05 Sep 2012 07:37PM EDT
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deadcellredux
Posted Tue 18 Sep 2012 12:18AM EDT
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greenjudy
Posted Wed 05 Sep 2012 10:28PM EDT
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deadcellredux
Posted Tue 18 Sep 2012 12:18AM EDT
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