( sure, he can be careful. he can take his time. he has work to do anyway, like: holding quentin's jaw steady in his hand, neck stretched out for danny's mouth and his tongue licking into his pulse and sucking, sharp teeth grinding bruising hard into his shoulder. he bites another mark into his throat, and another one for the corner hinge of his jaw, right beneath his earlobe, half-crescent track marks he won't be able to hide away without a scarf or high collar.

his mouth buzzes, high off the salt on quentin's skin. danny's fist over quentin's cock jacks him in toe-curling firm passes, nursing his plump cockhead spit wet. )

I'll take care of you. ( like he always has, here or in the fog. his knee sloshes through the mud, back between quentin's legs to butterfly pin them apart. the hand stroking him to fullness serves him one last squeeze before it drifts between them, thumb hooking into his crease and spreading him, index finger running the length of his shivering cunt. ) Did you ever think about my dick in your hot little cunt and touch yourself? I've dreamed of it.

( danny folds him back onto his elbows, leaving him sprawled for his body behind him, for more spit dribbled onto his hole. one hand soothes over his back, hiking his shirt up his spine, as he fucks into him two fingers at a time, prodding in on resisting muscle slowly, then stroking in deeper, firmer, down to the first knuckles and beyond. tight. hot. the goldilocks of cunts for danny's dick. he fucking knew it. )