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QIMIR

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[snaggleteeth]

[like you are, now, talking about him? the stranger does not let this minnow slip into the psychic flow. he has a bad habit of taking his oaths seriously. sure, he'd only described himself as curious, as interested in armand beyond sex. he'd hardly done so down on one knee, in a sanctum, following writ of binding order or known ritual. but those formalities are fucking stupid, anyway.

he doesn't hurt people or break things for the sake of harm itself. it's not a rule. just gravity. makes a well you can rest in.

his heartbeat mumbles promises in armand's ear: something about bearing witness, about acceptance, about not leaving. not anytime soon. not unless some vampire cuts those fingers through his ribs and personally punctuates the matter. the shape of 'qimir's thoughts is easy. he has not seen a lap harp. but he can imagine the boy. pictures amadeo's face brown-eyed with humanity, his tempting ponytail, an imagination free of treachery. but it's armand's kneecap that his finger circles.]

What would he have liked to play instead? Did he think about it?