( it shouldn't please him the way it does, knowing quentin waited for him. in a fit of post-death fucking madness, he wants to tell him everything — all his dreams, good and bad, sick and sicker and sickest. how sometimes, when he'd catch him unwisely out and about in the woods or in springwood or some derelict location built by the entity's awesome power, his mouth recently bitten red or fucked swollen by one of his undeserving compatriots, he'd imagine stroking his hair and guiding him onto his knees to fill his throat with his cock. nurse him through it, like a lover. slit his throat when he was done, little fucking cumslut good for nothing but his dick and his knife.
he wants to tell him. he wants him to know. he wants him to suffer again, and he hates this fucking place, these fucking people, for taking that right from him. he owns quentin's pain, all of it. danny's fingers quiver dangerously where they're slotted in quentin's insides, fucking him loose in preparation for his cock. )
You're mine.
( every pale, blushing inch of him, every angry and indignant teardrop squeezed from his stupid pretty blue eyes. danny's voice cracks like he's crying. because he is, again. iridescent oil-thin tears drip from his chin, anointing the milky curve of quentin's ass like black squirming beetles. )
I'm going to fuck you up, baby. ( baby, sweetheart, q. his throat squeezes, spasms on a hiccuping gasp. ) Quentin. You fucking slut.
( he's going to make him hurt again. his fingers glide out of him, replaced by his thumb and the plush head of danny's cock, pushing in side-by-side. one to pry his clenching cunt open, the other to fuck him full, little hitches until his cockhead pops his sweet cherry and he can snap in smooth, mean hips rutting him deeper into the mud. )
no subject
he wants to tell him. he wants him to know. he wants him to suffer again, and he hates this fucking place, these fucking people, for taking that right from him. he owns quentin's pain, all of it. danny's fingers quiver dangerously where they're slotted in quentin's insides, fucking him loose in preparation for his cock. )
You're mine.
( every pale, blushing inch of him, every angry and indignant teardrop squeezed from his stupid pretty blue eyes. danny's voice cracks like he's crying. because he is, again. iridescent oil-thin tears drip from his chin, anointing the milky curve of quentin's ass like black squirming beetles. )
I'm going to fuck you up, baby. ( baby, sweetheart, q. his throat squeezes, spasms on a hiccuping gasp. ) Quentin. You fucking slut.
( he's going to make him hurt again. his fingers glide out of him, replaced by his thumb and the plush head of danny's cock, pushing in side-by-side. one to pry his clenching cunt open, the other to fuck him full, little hitches until his cockhead pops his sweet cherry and he can snap in smooth, mean hips rutting him deeper into the mud. )