#glad my sweet gueulemer's getting some love

[schattenwerfenkeineschatten]

🔪 (Gueulemer, because internal Patron Minette is tasty)

send 🔪 to put a knife to my muse's throat and see how they react

They made odd dancing partners: one broad and hulking, the other slim and nimble. Gueulemer had to hold back so as not to hurt Montparnasse.

A bit of pain, couple of bruises here and there... There was no harm in that. You had to learn how to take a punch. That was important. But Gueulemer had no taste for violence.

Montparnasse was different. He had the hunger of a growing boy and could always eat. Even if his eyes were bigger than his belly at times, his hunger had taken him this far. And he was no fool.

The feeling of cold steel against his throat made Gueulemer freeze. After a moment, a surprised snort escaped him.

"Not bad," he admitted in his voice like a faraway rumble of thunder.

Years of stares had taught Gueulemer to stare back, stare better, stare until they looked away.

People always stared, but they did not see.

People were like shadows — easier to see when you did not look at them directly. Gueulemer knew this and avoided staring when he wanted to see.

When you wanted to see, faces were traps, eyes the worst of all. Movements, he had found far more reliable.

He made an exception for Montparnasse, watching closely, a glimmer in his eye.

It had been a mean trick well executed. By the time Gueulemer had realised he had been duped, it had been too late.

A large hand wrapped around Montparnasse's slender wrist to force some space between blade and bare skin.

"Now put that down," Gueulemer growled. "I don't need a shave."