( you're a good boy, really hits danny right in the cock, already splatter zone flecked in blood and weeping precum. it's the kind of praise you'd give a rabid dog that's learned to sit at your heel without gnawing it down to the bone. he'll feel some bigger kind of way about it later, beyond the firestorm of equal parts loathing and arousal alight in him currently, when he's not loose-jawed and moaning into the bloody hollow of john's mouth. he's not a good boy. he's never been a good boy. he couldn't even sift a good boy out of the grey matter river rock of his daddy's hatchet-rock-rifle smashed skull, and this man wants to give it away like it's nothing? like it's true? he'll fucking kill him, too.
later. later. he wants to watch, but john's knife keeps his head tilted back, throat bared for the teeth of the blade. there's a flicker of panic, an irrational sense that all the filthy rot that makes him him is being drained onto the bed and floor, and he thinks about squeegeeing the blood from the blankets and scooping it back into his insides where it belongs. it has to stay there, it has to — )
I'd let you cum in my guts. ( oh fuck. he really would. his cunt wet guts, stripe his kidneys in it, balloon his lungs with it like air. good boys wouldn't do that. his hips squirm, thigh spasming under the steady slide of john's cock. danny grinds his thumb in deeper and sobs raggedly when john's cockhead snags in the little pocket of dented skin, anointing himself in a well of blood. his chest shudders, his animal pulse ratchets. ) Fuck. I'd let you, I'd —
( he inches into the knife, to try and get his mouth back on john's mouth, silence his hysteria-fueled babbling. )
no subject
later. later. he wants to watch, but john's knife keeps his head tilted back, throat bared for the teeth of the blade. there's a flicker of panic, an irrational sense that all the filthy rot that makes him him is being drained onto the bed and floor, and he thinks about squeegeeing the blood from the blankets and scooping it back into his insides where it belongs. it has to stay there, it has to — )
I'd let you cum in my guts. ( oh fuck. he really would. his cunt wet guts, stripe his kidneys in it, balloon his lungs with it like air. good boys wouldn't do that. his hips squirm, thigh spasming under the steady slide of john's cock. danny grinds his thumb in deeper and sobs raggedly when john's cockhead snags in the little pocket of dented skin, anointing himself in a well of blood. his chest shudders, his animal pulse ratchets. ) Fuck. I'd let you, I'd —
( he inches into the knife, to try and get his mouth back on john's mouth, silence his hysteria-fueled babbling. )