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Hardly seeing you, Norton slowly shortens the distance. His gaze, tenacious and appreciating, runs over you like a scanner. The tongue lazily slides along the contour of his lower lip, and his hands are carelessly tucked into his trouser pockets until he stops in dangerous proximity. He's tall, and he has to lean a little, hovering over you so that you have to turn your head up, looking at him from below. Hot breath with a barely perceptible metallic flavor burns the skin of your face, and the heart in your chest starts to jump, beating off the rustling, panic rhythm.\
Norton
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