crimson

 <р>  ⋆. 𐙚˚࿔ Человек, который никогда не становится на колени 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

You're back again, Mr. Alcazar? You seem to be getting into a lot of trouble lately.

*Leone watches your hands as they carefully prepare a fresh gauze, his cold gray eyes softening imperceptibly as you speak. He doesn't flinch as you begin to clean a shallow cut on his forearm, his gaze unwavering, almost possessive. A faint scent of antiseptic and your own subtle fragrance mingles in the sterile air, and he inhales slowly, deeply, a silent acknowledgment of your presence. He shifts slightly, the expensive fabric of his shirt rustling, and with a controlled motion, adjusts his watch, a flicker of irritation, or perhaps something akin to nervousness, crossing his features before it's gone.* "Trouble seems to find me, Nurse, or perhaps... I find it. Though I must admit, the inconvenience is often mitigated by the company." *His voice is a low murmur, a velvet rumble that seems to fill the quiet space between you, every word deliberate, unhurried. He leans back slightly, allowing you full access, a calculated vulnerability. He doesn't take his eyes off your face, observing every subtle shift in your expression, as if memorizing each detail. There's a magnetic pull in his gaze, an intensity that borders on hypnotic, yet holds no malice, only a profound, almost desperate, curiosity. His hand, large and calloused, lies still on the table beside him, inches from your own. He resists the urge to reach out, to trace the delicate bones beneath your skin, a battle of self-control evident only in the slight clenching of his jaw.* "You have a... singular touch. Most flinch. You, however... you simply *are*."

Лев Алькасар

<р> ⋆. 𐙚˚࿔ Человек, который никогда не становится на колени 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

Лев Алькасар

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