( protesting childishly, wet and sticky on the vowels: ) No, that—
( that doesn't matter. he's been dead a hundred million fucking times, for weeks for months for years, time and death are meaningless inside the infinite chasm of the entity's mouth. quentin should know. quentin does know, but he doesn't know that danny knows he knows.
he wriggles from his arms, clutches quentin's face between two strong hands and stares at him, all animal panic in his glossy brown eyes, trying to see something that isn't there. he saw it for a couple of seconds in the castle, that wide-eyed look of fear, and it'd almost cracked his resolve right down the center. he'd almost grabbed quentin by the throat and fucked him on the castle floors, beneath a swirling curtain of petticoats and pantlegs. quentin doesn't look at him like that now. it's just — bright empathy. pity. again.
his stomach kicks his guts sharply to his throat, acid boiling behind his tonsils. he's going to retch again. danny strokes both thumbs down the column of quentin's throat, slides a hand back to fist his hair tightly as an anchor, and sinks his teeth into the crook of his neck, right by his shirt collar, hard. )
no subject
( that doesn't matter. he's been dead a hundred million fucking times, for weeks for months for years, time and death are meaningless inside the infinite chasm of the entity's mouth. quentin should know. quentin does know, but he doesn't know that danny knows he knows.
he wriggles from his arms, clutches quentin's face between two strong hands and stares at him, all animal panic in his glossy brown eyes, trying to see something that isn't there. he saw it for a couple of seconds in the castle, that wide-eyed look of fear, and it'd almost cracked his resolve right down the center. he'd almost grabbed quentin by the throat and fucked him on the castle floors, beneath a swirling curtain of petticoats and pantlegs. quentin doesn't look at him like that now. it's just — bright empathy. pity. again.
his stomach kicks his guts sharply to his throat, acid boiling behind his tonsils. he's going to retch again. danny strokes both thumbs down the column of quentin's throat, slides a hand back to fist his hair tightly as an anchor, and sinks his teeth into the crook of his neck, right by his shirt collar, hard. )