[ No. He can't blame him. Connor knows when he's being sized up. He plays the game and knows when someone is making their move, lifting a piece, assessing between words. He thumbs the rim of his glass slowly, as if smearing the line where the stranger's mouth had been before. He stifles the nervous "uh" that swims up his throat. There's no place for nerves here--he's already bleeding enough. ]
Law. [ He squares his shoulders a little more. Law school, jackass.
Whatever. Law. That works. ] Among other things. [ Secrets. Lies. Sex. Getting what he wants. Connor may be new to the literal battle field, but he's not new to this. You're a lover, not a fighter--make it fucking work. ]
no subject
Law. [ He squares his shoulders a little more. Law school, jackass.
Whatever. Law. That works. ] Among other things. [ Secrets. Lies. Sex. Getting what he wants. Connor may be new to the literal battle field, but he's not new to this. You're a lover, not a fighter--make it fucking work. ]