( like before, in the alley: danny mirrors his smile. sugar sweet, canine sharp. )

I didn't say I wasn't into it.

( his fingertips graze john's as he takes the knife and flips it from hilt to blade, the unfamiliar weight tested in a single roll through his palm. airy, lighter than stainless steel, but the edges honed to cutting, razor mean. bone? )

But I already know what'll happen if you stick that shit into me. ( glorious pain. glorious death, repeat ad infinitum. he taps the bevel flush to john's collar and flicks the tip beneath the fabric, shimmying over his throat to kiss his pulse. ) What happens if I stick it into you?