[Later Frank might stop to catalogue Murdock's new scars. Later. Right now the man's mouth is back on his, hot and insistent, and that's all he gives a good goddamn about. The edge of teeth. The burn of facial hair.
Frank grabs Murdock's hips and sinks fingers in, giving the man a shove back against the counter only to drag him forward again. Pulling him in close. He bites, too-soft, at a lower lip before bumping his forehead against the other's and stepping back, breath a little too loud. Frank turns away, scraping himself out of his hoodie and throwing it over the back of the couch as he heads across hardwood toward the bedroom. His tee-shirt is likewise stripped and discarded as he walks, the motions perfunctory, efficient; blind men don't need strip teases.] C'mon, Red. Let's see what all this thread-count fuss is about, huh?
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Frank grabs Murdock's hips and sinks fingers in, giving the man a shove back against the counter only to drag him forward again. Pulling him in close. He bites, too-soft, at a lower lip before bumping his forehead against the other's and stepping back, breath a little too loud. Frank turns away, scraping himself out of his hoodie and throwing it over the back of the couch as he heads across hardwood toward the bedroom. His tee-shirt is likewise stripped and discarded as he walks, the motions perfunctory, efficient; blind men don't need strip teases.] C'mon, Red. Let's see what all this thread-count fuss is about, huh?