Kicking the crossbow away, well out of easy reach for either of them, he relents, a smug grin on his face. He gives her more space, letting her ease off the wall, but he doesn't remove the gun from her side. His hand curls around her hip, fingers sliding over hot, soft skin, and he stifles a groan.

Poorly. Very poorly.

"I would have done anything for you, you know," he tells her, though he's not entirely sure why. She doesn't need to know this, but he feels a strange compulsion to tell her. To justify his behavior. He wants to hurt her as much as he doesn't. Or, maybe, it's that he wants to overpower her. Control her. He's never been able to do that before, but he's finally in a place - mentally, sort of; it's not like his mental state is pristine at the moment - where he's okay with using a bit of force to get what he wants from her. Gently. Gentle force. Was that possible?

Stuffing his thoughts into a convenient mental box, he slid his hand around her front, dragging her against him. "Now I'm not sure if I want to put a bullet in you or fuck you." It's in that moment he realizes two things: the first is that he is completely fucked up and he doesn't care; the second is that he doesn't want to put a bullet in her as much as he wants to have filthy, dirty sex with her pressed up against the wall in front of them.