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Summary
Arthur grabbed John by the face on either side, locking blue eyes with the wild brown ones staring back at him. Brown was a generous color to call them at the moment. John Marston’s eyes were the darkest pits of black Arthur had ever seen. They were blown large and dark and wild, spit beginning to pool at the corners of his mouth.
“You wanna tell me why you’re acting like a wild beast?” Arthur spat out. He held his composure, years of being the intimidator dripping from him. He was the bad cop, the one whose malice and hatred had to drip from his every move to make it clear he wasn’t fucking around.
Black eyes didn’t even seem to respond to Arthur, not moving from his face with a hunger he couldn’t understand. Not knowing what he wanted from Morgan, but unwilling to try to find the strength in his still recovering body to overpower Arthur again.