Schuldig always knows what they're thinking, but it's Farfarello who has his attention at the moment.
Farfarello is constantly plagued by thoughts of bleeding out through an unnoticed wound. So he's always checking himself over. And he always starts with his hands.
Carefully and methodically, first left over right then right over left, paying close attention to the spaces inbetween. They weren't so noticeable there.
Up and over his arms, his eyes confirming what he felt. Sometimes he wondered if he couldn't trust own his hands. If he could even process what he was feeling correctly.
Slight pressure across his collar bone, fingers trailing slowly over the skin at his neck, feeling for a catch.
Back down his throat, and now over the plains of his chest and stomach. Disregarding the fact that it's where most of the vital organs are kept, he moves quickly, there, sure that if something /were/ wrong, he'd feel the warm heat of blood. Smell it even, if he weren't too occupied.
As scared as he is about bleeding out, he gets bored before he even reaches his legs.
Sometimes Farfarello's insanity amuses him. Almost as much as Farfarello himself.
Schuldig would finish for him, -- he wouldn't mind running his hands over those legs -- if he knew it wouldn't turn into something sexual. And while he himself didn't mind a little sex between coworkers, he knew Farf would. He's dived enough into that mind to know he wouldn't go for casual sex.
He couldn't believe it himself the first time he caught that thought. Farfarello, a romantic. Well, crazier things have been thought.
He probably knows more about Farf than he knows about himself. If he could have it any other way, he would.
Farfarello is constantly plagued by thoughts of bleeding out through an unnoticed wound. So he's always checking himself over. And he always starts with his hands.
Carefully and methodically, first left over right then right over left, paying close attention to the spaces inbetween. They weren't so noticeable there.
Up and over his arms, his eyes confirming what he felt. Sometimes he wondered if he couldn't trust own his hands. If he could even process what he was feeling correctly.
Slight pressure across his collar bone, fingers trailing slowly over the skin at his neck, feeling for a catch.
Back down his throat, and now over the plains of his chest and stomach. Disregarding the fact that it's where most of the vital organs are kept, he moves quickly, there, sure that if something /were/ wrong, he'd feel the warm heat of blood. Smell it even, if he weren't too occupied.
As scared as he is about bleeding out, he gets bored before he even reaches his legs.
Sometimes Farfarello's insanity amuses him. Almost as much as Farfarello himself.
Schuldig would finish for him, -- he wouldn't mind running his hands over those legs -- if he knew it wouldn't turn into something sexual. And while he himself didn't mind a little sex between coworkers, he knew Farf would. He's dived enough into that mind to know he wouldn't go for casual sex.
He couldn't believe it himself the first time he caught that thought. Farfarello, a romantic. Well, crazier things have been thought.
He probably knows more about Farf than he knows about himself. If he could have it any other way, he would.