( 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. )
cw: violent fantasies, refs to ? death by spider, torture
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. )