Adult Content Warning
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Summary
You’re buttoning your trousers in a woman’s gilded bathroom while the love of your life is dying. And the love of your life is not the smooth skin and swell breasts that’s looking at you with questioning, wide eyes, like it’s all in how you hold your body. But you’re still here—and that says something about you, but it also says something about the situation.
Shit, you have urges. Fuckin’ sheesh. Stop looking like that. Men have urges. Men want to fight and fuck and they want to burn an evening into nothing but embers by watching a sport they don’t really care about on a flickering screen in a bar that smells of vinegar and old death. Light—the foolish thing—thinks it travels faster than anything in the universe, but it’s wrong. No matter how fast the light travels, the darkness is as much an entity as the light and gets there first, waiting for the altar to be illuminated once again, waiting.
Men want to talk like they have something to say even when it’s hilariously obvious. And you’re a man. Men want to kiss the tar on the highway, too. Before you’re a person, you’re a man. You’re a man and you’re acting like a teenage girl shoplifting nickel earrings when she’s extra tired of holding the house down.
Series
- Part 4 of The Bittersuite