[ John has nearly forgotten about the knife, and discards it now because he doesn't need it and he wants both hands. Maybe Danny will pick it up from where it falls carelessly to the mattress and try to kill him with it, but he'll handle that if it happens. Right now Danny is being, oh yes, just so very well-behaved, bleeding and begging for him, a familiar form of worship. Heart's blood for the Emperor's wards and pray your hand stays steady as you die so it impresses him enough to bring you back.
Except Danny wasn't born into worship, Danny doesn't know what he is, Danny is a wild viper in his cupped hands. No desperate Second House necromancer trying to lay down their life for him has ever said anything half so interesting as Cum in me.
John finally allows him the respite of a kiss, or maybe is just offering him a place to scream when the skin of his abdomen indents and parts. Cronenberg eat your heart out; John makes himself a sweet little pocket of meat and the satiny outer sac of the intestine near the appendix, rings the muscle a little so it can tighten, his brow pinched as he concentrates on his Good Work.
He could just cut, of course, a jagged incision, but he likes the idea of making Danny come from this, so he's rewiring a few things to make it an erogenous zone, makes sure it feels shivery good when he tests it with a finger slipping in, and then presses his hips inevitably forward.
There's blood everywhere; the head of his cock snags on the edge and he pauses before he loses himself to this to make sure Danny isn't about to pass out, drawing back from the kiss to check his pupils, his pallor. Doesn't heal his thigh, but pinches off some bleeding without looking. ]
You feeling all right, honey? Not gonna pussy out on me?
[ There's genuine concern in his voice, jesus fucking christ. ]
no subject
Except Danny wasn't born into worship, Danny doesn't know what he is, Danny is a wild viper in his cupped hands. No desperate Second House necromancer trying to lay down their life for him has ever said anything half so interesting as Cum in me.
John finally allows him the respite of a kiss, or maybe is just offering him a place to scream when the skin of his abdomen indents and parts. Cronenberg eat your heart out; John makes himself a sweet little pocket of meat and the satiny outer sac of the intestine near the appendix, rings the muscle a little so it can tighten, his brow pinched as he concentrates on his Good Work.
He could just cut, of course, a jagged incision, but he likes the idea of making Danny come from this, so he's rewiring a few things to make it an erogenous zone, makes sure it feels shivery good when he tests it with a finger slipping in, and then presses his hips inevitably forward.
There's blood everywhere; the head of his cock snags on the edge and he pauses before he loses himself to this to make sure Danny isn't about to pass out, drawing back from the kiss to check his pupils, his pallor. Doesn't heal his thigh, but pinches off some bleeding without looking. ]
You feeling all right, honey? Not gonna pussy out on me?
[ There's genuine concern in his voice, jesus fucking christ. ]