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No one was there, they took you both
I never wanted him out there
let me see you
[ Like he's not coming? Fuck that. It's a fifteen minute walk and it's been weeks and his heart is wound so tight it vibrates like a violin across the line, he needs to see. ]
I never wanted him out there
let me see you
[ Like he's not coming? Fuck that. It's a fifteen minute walk and it's been weeks and his heart is wound so tight it vibrates like a violin across the line, he needs to see. ]
quentin
( does he warn him? about the mud? about the pink petals fluttering from his throat and mouth, like the stem of a dying flower? he'd picked the petals from the black slop, cleaned them off with a splash of whiskey, and with shaky hands pieced them back together into one whole flower, on top of a mossy log, because it'd seemed wrong leaving them there, with the dirt and the worms.
if danny was who quentin thought he was, he would. anyone would. he's got shit leaking from his face. oilslick tears, fattening his eyelashes. he wiped them away, but the tracks are still there, like streaks of mascara down his cheeks. )
something's wrong with me
( he's mourning. but he'll be here whenever quentin arrives, seated on the log beside his reconstructed flower. )
( does he warn him? about the mud? about the pink petals fluttering from his throat and mouth, like the stem of a dying flower? he'd picked the petals from the black slop, cleaned them off with a splash of whiskey, and with shaky hands pieced them back together into one whole flower, on top of a mossy log, because it'd seemed wrong leaving them there, with the dirt and the worms.
if danny was who quentin thought he was, he would. anyone would. he's got shit leaking from his face. oilslick tears, fattening his eyelashes. he wiped them away, but the tracks are still there, like streaks of mascara down his cheeks. )
something's wrong with me
( he's mourning. but he'll be here whenever quentin arrives, seated on the log beside his reconstructed flower. )
okay
we'll fix it, don't worry
I can help
[ It's not a question of what's wrong, or if Danny wants help, or whether Quentin can do anything about it. He'll fix it. Don't worry. Just don't move. For the length of the trip, twelve minutes with his haste and the awful tightness in his lungs, Quentin updates him with all the warmth of a telegraph: what the Duchess offered, what's happening around town, regulars at the clinic, interspersed assurances of I'm almost there.
[ He isn't sure if his lungs are going to release or collapse when he gets eyes on Danny. Each footstep feels like the forecast is changing. Once Quentin sees him, it's a beeline across the sparse campsite, not even skirting the long-dead firepit on his way over. Danny can rise or stay seated; Quentin's arms lash around his neck either way, even if he has to drop to his knees to get there. His ribs are relaxing. His lungs loosen as he sucks a breath in from the crook of Danny's neck. ]
Everyone says--everyone says people come back. [ No sobbing. He's got it together with one determined snuffle, pulling back and dragging his palm over Danny's jaw--thumb smearing the stubborn stains on his cheeks. Quentin scowls, kisses under his eye and over it and into the corner of his mouth before looking closer. Something is wrong. ] ...The waiting's just a fucking bitch.
Danny, does this-- [ It's in his eyes, Quentin sees. There's mud under his ear, in the corner of his mouth. He's already been drinking. ] --are you hurt, or--
we'll fix it, don't worry
I can help
[ It's not a question of what's wrong, or if Danny wants help, or whether Quentin can do anything about it. He'll fix it. Don't worry. Just don't move. For the length of the trip, twelve minutes with his haste and the awful tightness in his lungs, Quentin updates him with all the warmth of a telegraph: what the Duchess offered, what's happening around town, regulars at the clinic, interspersed assurances of I'm almost there.
[ He isn't sure if his lungs are going to release or collapse when he gets eyes on Danny. Each footstep feels like the forecast is changing. Once Quentin sees him, it's a beeline across the sparse campsite, not even skirting the long-dead firepit on his way over. Danny can rise or stay seated; Quentin's arms lash around his neck either way, even if he has to drop to his knees to get there. His ribs are relaxing. His lungs loosen as he sucks a breath in from the crook of Danny's neck. ]
Everyone says--everyone says people come back. [ No sobbing. He's got it together with one determined snuffle, pulling back and dragging his palm over Danny's jaw--thumb smearing the stubborn stains on his cheeks. Quentin scowls, kisses under his eye and over it and into the corner of his mouth before looking closer. Something is wrong. ] ...The waiting's just a fucking bitch.
Danny, does this-- [ It's in his eyes, Quentin sees. There's mud under his ear, in the corner of his mouth. He's already been drinking. ] --are you hurt, or--
take all the time you need, I'm finishing up out here
I'll see you at the tavern
[ His funds are modest, but you can really get away with modest if you're not very picky and not very happy. Good company is half the battle, anyway, and Felipe is always good company. Quentin's warm feelings for him might waver if he ever looked too closely at them, but there's a tacit agreement between them so far: when you look away, I look away. It may not be wise, but it feels safe, at least.
[ He is definitely questioning his feelings when Felipe tries to explain scoring on this card game. This is the third time. He's about three drinks in. His mouth has been hanging open this whole time, eyes glazed over as he tries to listen, but then some absolutely nonsense catches his ear-- ]
Wait, what? When the fuck do you call trump, how do I know what trump is?
[ Dropping his hand face up on the table, Quentin slouches back into the booth with a petulant, coughing whine. His knees bump Felipe's under the table, once accidentally and then again and again on purpose. ] I can't hear this, who makes up these rules? Who has the time?
I'll see you at the tavern
[ His funds are modest, but you can really get away with modest if you're not very picky and not very happy. Good company is half the battle, anyway, and Felipe is always good company. Quentin's warm feelings for him might waver if he ever looked too closely at them, but there's a tacit agreement between them so far: when you look away, I look away. It may not be wise, but it feels safe, at least.
[ He is definitely questioning his feelings when Felipe tries to explain scoring on this card game. This is the third time. He's about three drinks in. His mouth has been hanging open this whole time, eyes glazed over as he tries to listen, but then some absolutely nonsense catches his ear-- ]
Wait, what? When the fuck do you call trump, how do I know what trump is?
[ Dropping his hand face up on the table, Quentin slouches back into the booth with a petulant, coughing whine. His knees bump Felipe's under the table, once accidentally and then again and again on purpose. ] I can't hear this, who makes up these rules? Who has the time?
I told you. Three times.
[ Felipe lets out a frustrated noise when Quentin shows his hand, the sign that the game is definitely over. despite the circumstances Felipe was ready to take this seriously, hoping to get a new opponent of Quentin, but it looks like he has to admit defeat even before finishing one proper game. he gathers the cards into his hands from the table and begins shuffling them – not for another game. just to calm his nerves. ]
We should try another game. One that doesn't involve cards.
[ under the table he hooks Quentin's leg with his own to stop him from the bratty kicking. ]
All we need is a bottle.
[ Felipe lets out a frustrated noise when Quentin shows his hand, the sign that the game is definitely over. despite the circumstances Felipe was ready to take this seriously, hoping to get a new opponent of Quentin, but it looks like he has to admit defeat even before finishing one proper game. he gathers the cards into his hands from the table and begins shuffling them – not for another game. just to calm his nerves. ]
We should try another game. One that doesn't involve cards.
[ under the table he hooks Quentin's leg with his own to stop him from the bratty kicking. ]
All we need is a bottle.
( danny welcomes quentin between the wide sprawl of his thighs, one arm vising his middle, his hand cupping his nape. he's so warm — not like danny, corpse cold in his water-damp clothes, white shirt clinging like milky saran wrap to a lean, strong back, the shuddering plane of his abdomen, fighting and failing to swallow his fucking irrational tears. quentin pulls away to look at him, grope his face, his eyes dipping to his mouth; danny roughly wipes the corner spot that draws his concern, flaky black dirt ground to dusty streaks between two fingertips.
numbly, ) I ain't hurt.
( the duchess returned him to his body good as new, just like home, but it was a long process, two weeks of mindless horror and boredom as muscle restitched itself to bone, one strip of meat at a time. the entity never came for him. not once.
danny grips quentin's waist, palms his hips slow, reverently, then hauls him deeper into the tight cinch of his legs. if he could split quentin open, dig around in his wet bleeding entrails, maybe he'd find bits of pieces of her still in there, her teeth marks on his ribs, her saliva in his kidneys. there's nothing left of her inside danny anymore, he knows that for sure. it was sucked out of him by the duchess' pet spiders in the castle. how is she supposed to find him now when he's been scrubbed clean of everything that made him hers? she'll smell that bitch all over him. she'll smell john all over him. )
She left me. ( still numb, lifeless, but his eyes are hot with tears again, splattered fatly from his eyelashes to his cheeks. as far as quentin is concerned, he's talking about the duchess, she left him, for weeks, for a month. his mouth smears quentin's mouth with salt as he cups his face between his hands, kissing him chastely. )
numbly, ) I ain't hurt.
( the duchess returned him to his body good as new, just like home, but it was a long process, two weeks of mindless horror and boredom as muscle restitched itself to bone, one strip of meat at a time. the entity never came for him. not once.
danny grips quentin's waist, palms his hips slow, reverently, then hauls him deeper into the tight cinch of his legs. if he could split quentin open, dig around in his wet bleeding entrails, maybe he'd find bits of pieces of her still in there, her teeth marks on his ribs, her saliva in his kidneys. there's nothing left of her inside danny anymore, he knows that for sure. it was sucked out of him by the duchess' pet spiders in the castle. how is she supposed to find him now when he's been scrubbed clean of everything that made him hers? she'll smell that bitch all over him. she'll smell john all over him. )
She left me. ( still numb, lifeless, but his eyes are hot with tears again, splattered fatly from his eyelashes to his cheeks. as far as quentin is concerned, he's talking about the duchess, she left him, for weeks, for a month. his mouth smears quentin's mouth with salt as he cups his face between his hands, kissing him chastely. )
Edited 2023-08-21 01:06 (UTC)
[ An argument could be made that no one gets special treatment beyond being expertly rewoven and relaced by Zlatka after death, that a person should be grateful for the difficult of getting that and not ask for more handholding. But when Danny says he was left, it burns between Quentin’s ribs that no one helped him. That she did all that work and threw him out—out here? How long has he been wandering? Is she putting the finishing spitshine on Dwight and kicking him out into the dirt too?
[ Quentin’s lips press back gently, presses a hand broad and flat to Danny’s front. He rubs a slow, wide circle into his chest, warm and heavy, assuring. The touch is a mismatch to the spatter of venom in his mouth. ]
Fuck her. [ The Duchess. But the other her too. ] I’m here. And you’re okay, and that’s pretty good, right? I got you. Baby, don’t cry.
[ His lips press into Danny’s mouth again, into a tear track, up into his temple. When he pushes close, dampness starts to seep from Danny into his clothes. Quentin wraps back around him anyway, combs up the back of his neck to invite Danny to bow into him. His fingertips spiral at the base of his skull. ]
Don’t cry. [ Not into the woods, not into the big sky. If he has to do it, he can empty it against the crook of Quentin’s nice. Safe, clean, and not alone, never alone. ]
[ Quentin’s lips press back gently, presses a hand broad and flat to Danny’s front. He rubs a slow, wide circle into his chest, warm and heavy, assuring. The touch is a mismatch to the spatter of venom in his mouth. ]
Fuck her. [ The Duchess. But the other her too. ] I’m here. And you’re okay, and that’s pretty good, right? I got you. Baby, don’t cry.
[ His lips press into Danny’s mouth again, into a tear track, up into his temple. When he pushes close, dampness starts to seep from Danny into his clothes. Quentin wraps back around him anyway, combs up the back of his neck to invite Danny to bow into him. His fingertips spiral at the base of his skull. ]
Don’t cry. [ Not into the woods, not into the big sky. If he has to do it, he can empty it against the crook of Quentin’s nice. Safe, clean, and not alone, never alone. ]
[ He wants to learn! He wants to learn, and he’s miserable over not learning, but the different between sets and runs and matches and trumps is too much to keep in his head right now and—and Felipe proposes a simple alternative. He likes simple.
[ Quentin’s eyebrows raise, knees pinch around Felipe’s and tug as he winds his fingers around the bottle at the table. Wine, sharp-tasting and strong, just enough to pour half a glass for Felipe and half for himself. He shoots his own. It isn’t fine stuff. The bottle, he sets between them officiously. ]
Teach me. I swear I’m listening.
[ Quentin’s eyebrows raise, knees pinch around Felipe’s and tug as he winds his fingers around the bottle at the table. Wine, sharp-tasting and strong, just enough to pour half a glass for Felipe and half for himself. He shoots his own. It isn’t fine stuff. The bottle, he sets between them officiously. ]
Teach me. I swear I’m listening.
[ that's what Quentin has been saying this whole time and Felipe could swear he didn't hear a thing. he laughs at the serious look on his face and attempts to knock his knees back. ]
Lucky for you, it's fairly simple. You tell me three things about yourself, one of them being a lie. I'll try to guess which one and...
[ he shrugs and gestures at the bottle. it's not difficult. everyone has probably played it before. ]
I'll start, yeah? [ he holds up three fingers, lowering one with each fact. ] I've stolen from my father, I've been married and I've stolen from the Duchess.
Lucky for you, it's fairly simple. You tell me three things about yourself, one of them being a lie. I'll try to guess which one and...
[ he shrugs and gestures at the bottle. it's not difficult. everyone has probably played it before. ]
I'll start, yeah? [ he holds up three fingers, lowering one with each fact. ] I've stolen from my father, I've been married and I've stolen from the Duchess.
My t--no, you have to explain, right? [ That's not in the rules at all, no. He takes his penalty drink without complaint, but he's still scowling when he sets the bottle back in the middle of the table. ] I get to follow up. You can't just drop bombs like that. What was it? Is it on you? Wait--you never got married?
[ usually, explaining is part of the game, but it just hit him that Quentin is going to give him a hard time for stealing from the Duchess, so he decides it's no longer relevant. ]
You're using up all your guesses if you keep talking. [ he makes a face in answer to the questions. starts fiddling with his earring. ] But you got it right, finally. Do I seem like the marrying type?
You're using up all your guesses if you keep talking. [ he makes a face in answer to the questions. starts fiddling with his earring. ] But you got it right, finally. Do I seem like the marrying type?
Yes. Yeah, you seem like the two-divorces type. You seem like you could get anyone to marry you.
[ Good diversion. Quentin's head tips back as he considers his three things, ankles cross behind Felipe's, one foot wiggling absently. ] Mmm. Okay. So--
I went to school for psychology. I can't cook for shit. I didn't have any broken bones as a kid.
[ Good diversion. Quentin's head tips back as he considers his three things, ankles cross behind Felipe's, one foot wiggling absently. ] Mmm. Okay. So--
I went to school for psychology. I can't cook for shit. I didn't have any broken bones as a kid.
[ maybe he was engaged a couple of times. the story doesn't tell. ]
You're obviously a great cook. If you're not, I don't know how you're going to cook me breakfast.
[ joking – or is he? Felipe smiles as he tries to figure out the lie. he's clearly having more fun now that they're actually playing something and he's desperate to win as usual. ]
The first one could be true for all I know, but I refuse to believe that you could have made it through your first clumsy years without falling on your face every other day. It's the last one.
You're obviously a great cook. If you're not, I don't know how you're going to cook me breakfast.
[ joking – or is he? Felipe smiles as he tries to figure out the lie. he's clearly having more fun now that they're actually playing something and he's desperate to win as usual. ]
The first one could be true for all I know, but I refuse to believe that you could have made it through your first clumsy years without falling on your face every other day. It's the last one.
[ His lips curl tight and tickled, fingers stretch out to inch the bottle closer to Felipe. ] Never made it to college. I did, however, have a dad that was never less than six feet away from me. Hard to get hurt too bad when you're being watched like a hawk.
And I think you're really gonna like having fruit and cheese for breakfast.
And I think you're really gonna like having fruit and cheese for breakfast.
College? What? I don't even know what that is. [ he snatches the bottle and takes a swig to drown out his annoyance. they should be both using concepts that can't be misunderstood. otherwise there's no point to the game at all. the bottle makes a noise against the table as he sets it down carelessly. ]
Your dad sounds sweet. Shame he didn't teach you how to cook. I might just have to find some other place to sleep. [ definitely a joke, but he's feeling petty enough to aim low. ]
Your dad sounds sweet. Shame he didn't teach you how to cook. I might just have to find some other place to sleep. [ definitely a joke, but he's feeling petty enough to aim low. ]
Are those your three? Because I'm sure he does sound sweet, and it's definitely a shame--but I know the last one is fake as fuck.
[ Hopefully. The implication that Felipe is keeping him company tonight is fucking great as far as Quentin is concerned. ] Come on. Your turn, we're tied so far.
[ Hopefully. The implication that Felipe is keeping him company tonight is fucking great as far as Quentin is concerned. ] Come on. Your turn, we're tied so far.
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