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Summary
March shakes his head, putting on that stupid voice he does when he’s trying to sound smart.
“It’s a perfectly natural reaction, anyone being touched there would have the same—”
“Being touched where? Here?” Healy’s palm grinds down, and March’s voice breaks around a whimper as he grips his wrist with two hands now. His shoulders lower, his head hanging as his lips part. His thighs press together, his blunt nails digging into Healy’s skin. His hair slides loose from its swept-back styling.
“Jack—”
“Yeah?” Healy twists his hand, his thumb pressing into the button on March’s pants, nudges it out of its holding. “Why’d you say my name?”
or;
Healy is getting pissed off with March, and they fight in the car. It escalates.
Series
- Part 4 of Short Fics