[ If he was drunk, he doesn't feel it now. Everything sharpens into focus, where 'everything' is 'Darius'.
His world.
He forgets where he is. He forgets Sen and Rin, the apartment, the club, the slights and perceived slights. All that matters is the hand at the back of his head and the fingertips at his collarbone.
The shudder of his breathing.
The pulse of terror and violence of arousal. (He could -) (He could- ) (Right here. Right here, thrust Daddy to the floor.) (He could -) His own rumbling growl, his knee shifted to force Daddy closer, hands fisting in fabric.
(He didn't lay a demand on his god.
He refused a polite invitation. He refused the normalcy of coaxing, of a balance of power. Oh, yes, and yes, he is Darius's boyfriend. But he's Puppy, too. It was how he was born into this world. It was the howl Darius dragged from him in a hotel bed with nothing more than words.
He loves to be kissed and petted and adored. He loves to be torn to shreds while he prays.)
(And.) (He loves driving Daddy wild.) (He could -)
(He should -)
One of his hands relinquishes and vanishes into his own pocket.
His head cants as far as the hand will allow, his eyes fixed golden and malicious on Daddy's, and he inhales at his god's throat. He sets his teeth against skin and grazes, gently, a scrape that resolves into a pinching bite that draws no blood at all.
With flick of his tongue at Daddy's artery, he tastes. And then he whispers against the flesh at his mouth, thumbing metal, shuddering core-deep with excitement. ]
So many places to pin you down and rip you open.
[ Another bite, painful in its deliberately small infliction.
A familiar click. The heft of a knife in his hand, its point dimpling fabric at Daddy's thigh. ]
I'll draw your blood. All over the walls.
It's too goddamned purple in here.
[ He does bite, hard and sharp now, tearing at the juncture of throat and shoulder. His voice dissolves into a low bass snarl, almost a moan, more than a moan.
The knife remains a threat, pressed flat between his palm and Daddy's hip. ]
no subject
His world.
He forgets where he is. He forgets Sen and Rin, the apartment, the club, the slights and perceived slights. All that matters is the hand at the back of his head and the fingertips at his collarbone.
The shudder of his breathing.
The pulse of terror and violence of arousal. (He could -) (He could- ) (Right here. Right here, thrust Daddy to the floor.) (He could -) His own rumbling growl, his knee shifted to force Daddy closer, hands fisting in fabric.
(He didn't lay a demand on his god.
He refused a polite invitation. He refused the normalcy of coaxing, of a balance of power. Oh, yes, and yes, he is Darius's boyfriend. But he's Puppy, too. It was how he was born into this world. It was the howl Darius dragged from him in a hotel bed with nothing more than words.
He loves to be kissed and petted and adored. He loves to be torn to shreds while he prays.)
(And.) (He loves driving Daddy wild.) (He could -)
(He should -)
One of his hands relinquishes and vanishes into his own pocket.
His head cants as far as the hand will allow, his eyes fixed golden and malicious on Daddy's, and he inhales at his god's throat. He sets his teeth against skin and grazes, gently, a scrape that resolves into a pinching bite that draws no blood at all.
With flick of his tongue at Daddy's artery, he tastes. And then he whispers against the flesh at his mouth, thumbing metal, shuddering core-deep with excitement. ]
So many places to pin you down and rip you open.
[ Another bite, painful in its deliberately small infliction.
A familiar click. The heft of a knife in his hand, its point dimpling fabric at Daddy's thigh. ]
I'll draw your blood. All over the walls.
It's too goddamned purple in here.
[ He does bite, hard and sharp now, tearing at the juncture of throat and shoulder. His voice dissolves into a low bass snarl, almost a moan, more than a moan.
The knife remains a threat, pressed flat between his palm and Daddy's hip. ]