Not really very hard. It's more of an inhale marking the attempt at speech, because Darius says he's not going home without him, and Enri feels a conflict of disappointment (he has to stay, Daddy said he can't leave) and warm gratitude (he has to stay, Daddy said he can't leave) (Darius wants to stay with him.) It occurs to him to say he'll wait down in the bar, which might be a compromise Darius will make if he sees how badly Enri doesn't want to be in this room. He could also hurtle right past compromise and say he wants to go home; he feels a certainty that Darius will take him home if he asks.
But it's very hard to keep those thoughts in his head when Darius is trailing fingers down his throat.
In that moment, Enri has a vivid flashback to the night he met Darius. He'd been drunk and feeling unwanted, abandoned, stupid and classless, and then. And then there was Darius, with a silk shirt and a glass of wine and the end of the world.
He'd tried to leave, and Darius had ordered him to sit, and then invited him to sit. Enri had sat (like a good puppy-), staring in a daze at this man exactly the way he stares now.
He said he'd go home and Daddy said no, and now there are fingers down his throat, coaxing shuddering breaths from him.
(This. This is what he'd wanted that night without knowing what he wanted. Terror and fascination and desire, and Daddy's hands on him the way they'd been on that glass of wine.)
He moves without struggle. He lets himself be moved, lost in arctic blue, until Darius is straddling him. He's pinned and breathing shallowly, inescapably aware of the equal measures of horror and excitement. (Thrill. Pure thrill, that's what Daddy is. Like being on a roller coaster that never ends.)
Darius traces his lip and he isn't thinking about Rin or Sen or whose apartment this is or about how he shouldn't drink so much, talk so much, say stupid shit about coffee or busted noses. He's thinking, in exquisite simplicity and perfection, about the thumb at his lip and how the tip of his tongue catches the faint brush of skin.
(This is what he wanted that night. This is what he wished for: no one but him and Darius, so Darius could do whatever he wanted.) (The words wouldn't have been there. Darius wouldn't have whispered love to him. This is so much better.) (Daddy loves him.) (He loves Darius. He loves him so fucking much, his heart aches.)
Daddy invites him to bite and Enri thinks shit, yes and shifts quickly, grasping and drawing chest-to-chest -
Then stops just as abruptly, his lips inches from Darius's skin, teeth bared and then not bared. He turns his head a little to look askance and meet Darius's eyes, thinking.
Thinking.
And then he draws back, settling against the not-really-a-chair, head slightly cocked and lips pursed. (Challenging.) (Pouting. (A little.))
He sat that first night because it feels so good to obey. He didn't sit because he got an invitation.
His eyes flicker to Daddy's throat and linger; he'd like to savage it. (He'd like them to walk back in and see blood beading where his teeth sank in.) His eyes return to Daddy's and Enri smirks.
Make me.
(Somewhere below this cocky surface, he shivers, continues to shiver, can't seem to still the terrible, wonderful fear tracing his insides the way Daddy traces his name.) (He's going to get in so much trouble -)
(He's not going to get in trouble. Ever. Daddy loves him.)
His smirk grows into a grin full of the teeth he's not using. ]
no subject
Sort of.
Not really very hard. It's more of an inhale marking the attempt at speech, because Darius says he's not going home without him, and Enri feels a conflict of disappointment (he has to stay, Daddy said he can't leave) and warm gratitude (he has to stay, Daddy said he can't leave) (Darius wants to stay with him.) It occurs to him to say he'll wait down in the bar, which might be a compromise Darius will make if he sees how badly Enri doesn't want to be in this room. He could also hurtle right past compromise and say he wants to go home; he feels a certainty that Darius will take him home if he asks.
But it's very hard to keep those thoughts in his head when Darius is trailing fingers down his throat.
In that moment, Enri has a vivid flashback to the night he met Darius. He'd been drunk and feeling unwanted, abandoned, stupid and classless, and then. And then there was Darius, with a silk shirt and a glass of wine and the end of the world.
He'd tried to leave, and Darius had ordered him to sit, and then invited him to sit. Enri had sat (like a good puppy-), staring in a daze at this man exactly the way he stares now.
He said he'd go home and Daddy said no, and now there are fingers down his throat, coaxing shuddering breaths from him.
(This. This is what he'd wanted that night without knowing what he wanted. Terror and fascination and desire, and Daddy's hands on him the way they'd been on that glass of wine.)
He moves without struggle. He lets himself be moved, lost in arctic blue, until Darius is straddling him. He's pinned and breathing shallowly, inescapably aware of the equal measures of horror and excitement. (Thrill. Pure thrill, that's what Daddy is. Like being on a roller coaster that never ends.)
Darius traces his lip and he isn't thinking about Rin or Sen or whose apartment this is or about how he shouldn't drink so much, talk so much, say stupid shit about coffee or busted noses. He's thinking, in exquisite simplicity and perfection, about the thumb at his lip and how the tip of his tongue catches the faint brush of skin.
(This is what he wanted that night. This is what he wished for: no one but him and Darius, so Darius could do whatever he wanted.) (The words wouldn't have been there. Darius wouldn't have whispered love to him. This is so much better.) (Daddy loves him.) (He loves Darius. He loves him so fucking much, his heart aches.)
Daddy invites him to bite and Enri thinks shit, yes and shifts quickly, grasping and drawing chest-to-chest -
Then stops just as abruptly, his lips inches from Darius's skin, teeth bared and then not bared. He turns his head a little to look askance and meet Darius's eyes, thinking.
Thinking.
And then he draws back, settling against the not-really-a-chair, head slightly cocked and lips pursed. (Challenging.) (Pouting. (A little.))
He sat that first night because it feels so good to obey. He didn't sit because he got an invitation.
His eyes flicker to Daddy's throat and linger; he'd like to savage it. (He'd like them to walk back in and see blood beading where his teeth sank in.) His eyes return to Daddy's and Enri smirks.
Make me.
(Somewhere below this cocky surface, he shivers, continues to shiver, can't seem to still the terrible, wonderful fear tracing his insides the way Daddy traces his name.) (He's going to get in so much trouble -)
(He's not going to get in trouble. Ever. Daddy loves him.)
His smirk grows into a grin full of the teeth he's not using. ]