Wine and Gun

"What do you want me to answer?" asked Herstal, who didn't seem really bothered or really wanted an answer.

"'Yes, just like a lot of men don't want to wear condoms when they go to bed', I think this answer is quite funny." Albarino murmured, he seemed strangely absorbed, as if he was not serious Hearing the other party make a sneer.

His fingers slid slowly over Herstal's knuckles, brushing the bulge of the metacarpophalangeal knuckles, then groping all the way to his wrist. Herstal looked down at his movements and said nothing about it. The corners of Albarino's mouth were still slightly raised, and he pinched the blood-soaked fabrics - he could imagine such a scene, Herstal took off his coat, knelt in a dark alley, handed his hands Buried deep into the chest of the deceased, the pure white shirt fabric was soaked little by little with the blood gushing out from the other side.

His fingers nimbly went around the cuffs of his shirt and undid the cufflinks nimbly. Herstal heard a slight clack, and the sterling silver cufflink slipped from between his fingers, fell to the ground with a series of crisp sounds, and rolled away.

Albarino gently pushed up the reddish-brown fabric a few inches, revealing the pale skin that almost never saw the light of Herstal's wrists. Then Albarino saw the scars on Herstal's wrists: all old, layered, pale indentations, parallel lines.

"Albarino," Herstal warned.

But Albarino's fingers still rubbed slowly over the wounds, the deepest ones with many shallower, messier parallel scars. Albarino used his fingers slightly, trying to wipe away the blood stains, making the skin on the inside of the opponent's wrist a little red. Herstal's shoulders were tense, but he didn't pull out his hand for some reason.

"Try cutting and creating." Albarino said in a low voice.

"Don't analyze me like a forensic doctor." Herstal's voice was as tight as his body language.

"Sorry, occupational disease." Albarino smiled, and then he raised Herstal's hand and looked at it with judgment - then, unexpectedly, he suddenly stepped forward and put the Lips pressed against his knuckles.

Albarino was proud to hear the other party's slight gasp, which was the most vivid reaction he could get from the other party.

And Herstal, who could feel the soft lips against his skin—blood-stained skin—was too soft for the nature of the person in front of him. He rubbed his lips tentatively over the bones, like a carnivore sniffing his territory. Then, Albarino suddenly licked with the tip of his tongue, and a wet soft touch tentatively brushed the blood on his knuckles.

"What does that feel like? Taking someone's life in that way?" Albarino whispered, his voice muffled, given that he was almost dàng to clean the blood between other people's fingers with his tongue, "I even Never imagined...From an artistic point of view, it's not necessary, is it? To paint a picture you don't have to make paint by yourself, so-"

Herstal looked down at him, the other party lowered his head slightly, and this posture was a little shorter than him.

Then Herstal said abruptly: "Like a thereman."

Whether or not it was in return, Albarino rolled his fingertips into his mouth, which was much hotter than his hands.

The other party snorted vaguely, and reluctantly asked a question. Herstal continued: "Your fingers only touch the flesh, never the figurative soul, but following the strings you can't touch, the soul is indeed between your fingers—"

Albarino choked out a vague laugh, raised his head, let go of Herstal's fingers, and licked his shiny lower lip carelessly. He smiled and continued: "Hoarsely—"

"—Wail." Herstal ended the sentence, and Bī looked at him, "It is true."

"As I said, it's quite rambling." Albarino concluded lightly, casually helping Herstal tidy up his sleeves, "Although there may be room for improvement in the way of handling flowers, the overall flaws do not hide the flaws. "

That must be a pretty polite comment from a Sunday gardener, especially when there is still a bunch of flowers on the corpse. Although Herstal knew this, it didn't stop him from snorting coldly from his nose.

"So, did you get what you wanted?" Herstal asked, starting to get impatient with the roundabout conversation.

Albarino smiled silently, he let go of Herstal's hand, and slowly twisted the blood stained on his fingertips. Then he suddenly took another step forward, and suddenly pushed Herstal against the wall.

——In the same second, a cold blade touched his neck.

Albarino didn't even see how Herstal pulled the knife out, but that didn't really matter. The sharp blade pressed into his skin slightly, the tip of the blade trembling with the rhythm of the pulse in his neck, like a thin, cold light in the dimness.

"I want too many things, Mr. Armalite." Albarino kept smiling, and also kept the gesture of pinning each other to the wall with his hands, "As I said, I am curious if I You might get bored with those big and complicated thoughts."

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