#THIUS IS NOT A SM*T THREAD THIS IS JUST THAT THING WE TALKED ABT

[sunlessea]

"oh my god, i can't do this anymore." frustration is nothing new from him, both his hands falling from where he'd been massaging his temple 'cross from it. what a strange duo they make, occupying space in an otherwise blissfully empty church that morning. he should've just met it at its spire after coming here ... but it's the one who had insisted, and now -

"we're scheduling sex." now ... he's having to deal with this conversation in literally the least fitting surroundings he's ever had the displeasure of being stuck in. he'd thank london's gods for the absence of clergy as he turns to face it on the bench they'd taken in the front, hands pressed together as if in prayer in front of his face. he's not praying, though. he's gesturing to it in frustration, the sides of his palms pressed to his nose, then pushed forward to point in its direction.

there's a polite amount of distance between the two of them, but by this point, it should be pressed against him when they sit together. shoulders touching! legs bumping! hell, even holding his hand! something! anything!

"i can't handle you being this afraid to touch me. it's driving me crazy and you look pathetic. so we have to rip the band-aid off and go all in, pun intended, because i cannot both be open-minded enough to promise myself to a ventrue and also be patient enough to be with someone too scared to touch me. scoot over here and put your fucking hand on my thigh while we talk." he hopes this is the conversation that the elegiast and flowermaker wanted to listen in on this holy morning, when they peeled open the gates to heaven and peered down on the local church, or however it worked. "i'm serious. what day this week are you not working?"

@londonfallen / mr irons