Blank-eyed and blank-minded, Enri is led. Steered, aware of his father's hand on him. Aware of very little else. He doesn't struggle. He doesn't rebel. (His mother is near. She must be. That's the worst of this.) (Although it's beginning to sink in, slow, slow, like water into concrete, that his father knows what he's been doing with Darius Scarlett, just like his mother knows.)
(He doesn't like this thought. Better to keep the concrete clear.)
The slam of the door startles him, jerks him back to coherence, and he stares at Morgan across a divide that has more to do with minds and storms and broken things than with physical distance.
The silence is reprehensible. The silence is quailing, and aggravating, and unnecessary. (Morgan is trying to scare him, he thinks.) (It's not not working.)
At the end of the silence, broken by words that don't immediately sink in, Lydia appears through the unslammed door; Enri watches her past Morgan's shoulder, how delicately she closes it. A soft and uncomfortable click. He tracks her as she moves away from it, this familiar pattern of hers. She roams new rooms. Circles, agitated by newness or seeking something deadly. Taking note. She is paying attention to him, and to Morgan, and to all the objects situated around them, and to the sounds outside, and to-
Wait.
Wait, what.
He jerks his head back to Morgan. You're going to - What.
Enri's frown settles firm, and his brows drawn together challengingly. They dragged him off before. But no one set down an order like this, no one told him point-blank, as though he has no choice in the end. Everyone who spoke before knew he couldn't be forced.
He won't be. He promised Darius. He promised a week, and all his heart and soul, and (Daddy claimed him on the pulpit in that chapel, oh, dizzying, to think about it, the grey fog in his head ebbing and flowing until he blushes red and closes his eyes to drive the image back.) He belongs to Darius.
He wants to belong to Darius.
Indulgence. Like Darius is a drink, or a jacket, and he can just as easily find a new one.
Morgan doesn't understand.
(He can’t take your Daddy away.
And he can’t keep you from me. Not now, and not ever.
Darius.)
No one understands.
(As if anything could keep my Puppy from me, hm?
What do they know of you, my Enri?
What do they know of your needs?
Nobody knows you like your god, my lovely boy.
Darius again.)
Staring without truly seeing, he makes a noise: a whine, short and soft. Enri, feeling excruciated, feeling something ripping inside him. Darius. He needs Darius. (Morgan can stop him from getting back to Darius.) He needs Darius.
(They know nothing.
Intermeddlers and fools. Presuming to know you; presuming to comprehend what my Puppy needs, or holds readiness for.
Darius again.)
He needs Darius.
(My adoration.
Oh, Darius.
Enri is his - everything. His world. And Darius is Enri's god, his devil, his Daddy, and his love.)
Another movement, slow and minor: his head shifting in silent refusal. His eyes slip past Morgan to the door. (Will Darius come for him.) (Can he play pliable again and slip out tonight.) (He wants to go back to his god.)
"No. I want him." His gaze flickers back to Morgan, and then (remembering, he remembers Lydia's here) he pales. But there's tension in his own form, and - they can't stop him. No matter how humiliating this is. "I don't want another 'indulgence'. He's mine."
Meaning like you weren't. Meaning like no one has ever been. Meaning unshared and unspoiled and utterly.
Meaning - something else, deeper and darker, speaking of bloodied bites and moonlit chapels. A pact. A vow. A forever, bound up in a week.
no subject
(He doesn't like this thought. Better to keep the concrete clear.)
The slam of the door startles him, jerks him back to coherence, and he stares at Morgan across a divide that has more to do with minds and storms and broken things than with physical distance.
The silence is reprehensible. The silence is quailing, and aggravating, and unnecessary. (Morgan is trying to scare him, he thinks.) (It's not not working.)
At the end of the silence, broken by words that don't immediately sink in, Lydia appears through the unslammed door; Enri watches her past Morgan's shoulder, how delicately she closes it. A soft and uncomfortable click. He tracks her as she moves away from it, this familiar pattern of hers. She roams new rooms. Circles, agitated by newness or seeking something deadly. Taking note. She is paying attention to him, and to Morgan, and to all the objects situated around them, and to the sounds outside, and to-
Wait.
Wait, what.
He jerks his head back to Morgan. You're going to - What.
Enri's frown settles firm, and his brows drawn together challengingly. They dragged him off before. But no one set down an order like this, no one told him point-blank, as though he has no choice in the end. Everyone who spoke before knew he couldn't be forced.
He won't be. He promised Darius. He promised a week, and all his heart and soul, and (Daddy claimed him on the pulpit in that chapel, oh, dizzying, to think about it, the grey fog in his head ebbing and flowing until he blushes red and closes his eyes to drive the image back.) He belongs to Darius.
He wants to belong to Darius.
Indulgence. Like Darius is a drink, or a jacket, and he can just as easily find a new one.
Morgan doesn't understand.
(He can’t take your Daddy away.
And he can’t keep you from me. Not now, and not ever.
Darius.)
No one understands.
(As if anything could keep my Puppy from me, hm?
What do they know of you, my Enri?
What do they know of your needs?
Nobody knows you like your god, my lovely boy.
Darius again.)
Staring without truly seeing, he makes a noise: a whine, short and soft. Enri, feeling excruciated, feeling something ripping inside him. Darius. He needs Darius. (Morgan can stop him from getting back to Darius.) He needs Darius.
(They know nothing.
Intermeddlers and fools. Presuming to know you; presuming to comprehend what my Puppy needs, or holds readiness for.
Darius again.)
He needs Darius.
(My adoration.
Oh, Darius.
Enri is his - everything. His world. And Darius is Enri's god, his devil, his Daddy, and his love.)
Another movement, slow and minor: his head shifting in silent refusal. His eyes slip past Morgan to the door. (Will Darius come for him.) (Can he play pliable again and slip out tonight.) (He wants to go back to his god.)
"No. I want him." His gaze flickers back to Morgan, and then (remembering, he remembers Lydia's here) he pales. But there's tension in his own form, and - they can't stop him. No matter how humiliating this is. "I don't want another 'indulgence'. He's mine."
Meaning like you weren't. Meaning like no one has ever been. Meaning unshared and unspoiled and utterly.
Meaning - something else, deeper and darker, speaking of bloodied bites and moonlit chapels. A pact. A vow. A forever, bound up in a week.