( danny's dick obediently goes where john guides it, fucked up in his tight crease and making snug friends with his hole, cum splattered and wet as his orgasm rocks him to whiteout, pins-and-needles agony. the comedown hurts worse than the gaping wounds carved in his thigh and abdomen; he wants to stay wire-taut as he empties his balls all over john's ass, but his body sags forward, corpse-like, teeth rawing his throat bloody and coming away with a little lick over unmarked skin, nothing to show for his efforts. so much for that, he thinks blearily.
he'll bleed out in short order, the natural order of things. he'll come back in short order, the unnatural order of things. unless — )
Don't, don't. ( he rolls john off his lap, dumping him wholesale onto the mattress as he gropes past him for the knife and flicks it grip-first into his palm. he's gonna do that shit again, make it all disappear the way he had in the alley, now you see it, now you don't. another butchering where danny isn't allowed to retain the evidence of his suffering, as if it never fucking happened. how is he supposed to tell what's real if he has nothing to show for it? how is he supposed to jack his dick to the memory of this later without a scar to covet and touch?
danny's eyes are wild and bloodshot, his face tacked in blood and tearstains, as he stares at john. what would happen if he drove this knife into his neck? would he really scream? he untangles his body from john's sprawled on the bed, stumbles sluggishly several steps away, and pins the knife-tip to his own throat.
faintly, around a swollen tongue: ) I need to know.
( is he still hers? will she still come for him? the blade skips over his pulse, then vertigo and blood loss rise to greet him, fashionably late. then the floor rises to greet his face. he blinks out, like a light, somewhere dreamless and warm. )
cw: (unsuccessful) suicide/self-harm attempt
he'll bleed out in short order, the natural order of things. he'll come back in short order, the unnatural order of things. unless — )
Don't, don't. ( he rolls john off his lap, dumping him wholesale onto the mattress as he gropes past him for the knife and flicks it grip-first into his palm. he's gonna do that shit again, make it all disappear the way he had in the alley, now you see it, now you don't. another butchering where danny isn't allowed to retain the evidence of his suffering, as if it never fucking happened. how is he supposed to tell what's real if he has nothing to show for it? how is he supposed to jack his dick to the memory of this later without a scar to covet and touch?
danny's eyes are wild and bloodshot, his face tacked in blood and tearstains, as he stares at john. what would happen if he drove this knife into his neck? would he really scream? he untangles his body from john's sprawled on the bed, stumbles sluggishly several steps away, and pins the knife-tip to his own throat.
faintly, around a swollen tongue: ) I need to know.
( is he still hers? will she still come for him? the blade skips over his pulse, then vertigo and blood loss rise to greet him, fashionably late. then the floor rises to greet his face. he blinks out, like a light, somewhere dreamless and warm. )