Don Juan followed the man's movements with his gaze. He didn't bother to look away when Griffith started slipping out of his clothing, mostly because it didn't occur to him. Privacy and decency were such distant concerns in this state of mind; he hadn't hesitated to strip off his clothing in front of Griffith last week either, even after having just asserted he had no intention of sleeping with him. Then he saw the scars, and of course he couldn't look away after that.
He'd seen the ones on Griffith's hands before but he had never really looked at them, to be honest. When he was sober and in Griffith's presence there was no concern in the world that could distract from the desperation to get his next fix. When he was high he often forgot that Griffith was there at all, except when Griffith was directly interacting with him. For all the times he'd been here Griffith had only indulged twice, and when he was high and Griffith was sober the interactions between them weren't pleasant, so there was no sense in lingering on them. Now that he was looking he saw how they were mirrored palm to palm, and how their form was repeated elsewhere on the man's body. They all looked so raw and angry, as though they're just been done, but Griffith didn't move like a man with fresh wounds. He was used to these. Don Juan had a perverse urge to touch one of them. His fingers twitched but his hand didn't move. Griffith lowered himself into the bath.
A part of me thinks you are someone else. That made sense, Don Juan thought. Sometimes it was impossible to reconcile Griffith's actions with each other, but if his own motivations were conflicted then it was easier to separate them.
"That's why you carried me out of the Orchid," Don Juan said, not a question but recognition. He watched the steam curl around the top of the scar on Griffith's chest. The desire to touch one hadn't dissipated. He slid off the edge of the tub and down to the floor, leaning his cheekbone against the rim instead so that he was propped up in a good position to keep staring at Griffith. "That's why you pulled me back tonight?"
He'd seen the ones on Griffith's hands before but he had never really looked at them, to be honest. When he was sober and in Griffith's presence there was no concern in the world that could distract from the desperation to get his next fix. When he was high he often forgot that Griffith was there at all, except when Griffith was directly interacting with him. For all the times he'd been here Griffith had only indulged twice, and when he was high and Griffith was sober the interactions between them weren't pleasant, so there was no sense in lingering on them. Now that he was looking he saw how they were mirrored palm to palm, and how their form was repeated elsewhere on the man's body. They all looked so raw and angry, as though they're just been done, but Griffith didn't move like a man with fresh wounds. He was used to these. Don Juan had a perverse urge to touch one of them. His fingers twitched but his hand didn't move. Griffith lowered himself into the bath.
A part of me thinks you are someone else. That made sense, Don Juan thought. Sometimes it was impossible to reconcile Griffith's actions with each other, but if his own motivations were conflicted then it was easier to separate them.
"That's why you carried me out of the Orchid," Don Juan said, not a question but recognition. He watched the steam curl around the top of the scar on Griffith's chest. The desire to touch one hadn't dissipated. He slid off the edge of the tub and down to the floor, leaning his cheekbone against the rim instead so that he was propped up in a good position to keep staring at Griffith. "That's why you pulled me back tonight?"
![[Image: 0hYxCaj.png]](https://i.imgur.com/0hYxCaj.png)
MJ made this <3