#zane flynt x troy calypso
Show Me Your Scars
“Not the only one who’s been through it on this rock.”
Ignoring him, Troy pointedly ran his flesh palm up over Zane’s collarbone, pausing and tensing his hand on the older man’s throat.
He watched as goosebumps pricked over pale skin, and Troy felt the working of muscle and tendons under his touch as the older man swallowed.
Amused, Troy shifted his grip, extending his thumb to brush a shallow line marring Zane’s jaw.
“Cut yourself shaving?”
Troy let out a growl as the sass earned him the threatening bite of dull nails cutting into his hips.
“Dodged when I should'a ducked in a bar fight, smartass.”
There would be bruises tomorrow, Troy thought, pulse quickening, picturing the purple gradient of marks that would accent his tattoos.
Hang Up
“Not in the mood to talk, huh?” Troy needled persistently.
“How’d you guess,” came Zane’s venomous retort.
“Fine,” Troy said in an offhand, casual tone, as if he was idly examining the cuticles on his flesh hand. “You can listen then, can’t ya?”
Refusing to respond, Zane looked through his scope again, noting the bandits milling around between the decrepit shacks and tents that made up their settlement.
There was a brief silence on the line that made the older man hopeful the Calypso brat had gotten bored and hung up.
Rolling his shoulders, Zane was about to take his first shot when he realized the line wasn’t dead.
It took a few moments for his ears to discern the sound of heavy breathing from the constant rush of wind whipping through the canyon.
“What are you-”
Zane’s mouth fell open as a soft, unmistakable sound of pleasure echoed in his ear.
“The fuck’re you doing?!” Zane hissed, trying to shrug off the shiver that spread from the nape of his neck down to his tailbone.
Hang Up
“Not in the mood to talk, huh?” Troy needled persistently.
“How’d you guess,” came Zane’s venomous retort.
“Fine,” Troy said in an offhand, casual tone, as if he was idly examining the cuticles on his flesh hand. “You can listen then, can’t ya?”
Refusing to respond, Zane looked through his scope again, noting the bandits milling around between the decrepit shacks and tents that made up their settlement.
There was a brief silence on the line that made the older man hopeful the Calypso brat had gotten bored and hung up.
Rolling his shoulders, Zane was about to take his first shot when he realized the line wasn’t dead.
It took a few moments for his ears to discern the sound of heavy breathing from the constant rush of wind whipping through the canyon.
“What are you-”
Zane’s mouth fell open as a soft, unmistakable sound of pleasure echoed in his ear.
“The fuck’re you doing?!” Zane hissed, trying to shrug off the shiver that spread from the nape of his neck down to his tailbone.
