[ He won't ruin anything. He told Daddy he wouldn't give him oblivion - but he'd walk him to the edge and give him a really good look at it. And he will - just as soon as his head stops swimming. Just as soon as he catches his breath, as soon as he can think again.
That first night (it will always in memory be 'that first night', as though it was the night his existence began) (it was, in a way, the first night he lived), when Enri lay sweating and cowering beneath his blankets, he imagined a hand at his head. He imagined a slow-moving invasion, a voice in his ear, a tongue running across his name. He imagined kneeling, pressing his cheek to Daddy's thigh.
He hadn't known. He couldn't know. There was so much they could do to one another - that they could revel in, that they could experience for the first time or again and again, together. He couldn't imagine any of this.
(He hadn't imagined then, or later, on the plane. Or even when it all seemed like it was ending, and he'd known he was in love. He hadn't imagined how much he could love this man.
He hadn't known it would hurt to breathe, and that the feeling would be a madness, something that would turn them both desperate and frenzied. He hadn't known it would infect his dreams, or leave him still and sanctified, perfectly peaceful.
He'd gone running across a beach to a chapel because Daddy was waiting.
He'd gone running across post to a motel because Darius was running, too.)
His hands grip - a knife, and Daddy's hair - and he growls into the bites, the spill of his blood mixing with Daddy's on his tongue, where there was already a lingering trace of honey. His thoughts flare black like a fuse blown, and he twists, pushes, Daddy wants to be pinned, he'll pin him and spend the rest of their lives running his knife along every vein.
(He loves his god. He loves his Daddy.)
Love you, love you - Is he thinking or speaking? (He can't be speaking because there's flesh between his teeth.)
There's a sound to his right, and then there's no sound to his right, there are voices distant and a window opening, outside sounds louder and then gone; Enri forgets he ever heard anything except the voice of god. With one hand, he pins Daddy's hands over his head, the knife's point pressing at the hollow of Daddy's throat. (Careful, he knows he has to be careful, Daddy likes to push himself into the blade and Enri needs to protect him from jumping into the abyss. Walk him to the edge and hold him there.) ]
I already took your heart.
[ He grins, and for the first time, there's a flawless mingling of predatory malice and tenderness. Perfect love.
Blood beads at the knife point and Enri exhales, shivering. ]
I cut out little pieces of it when you weren't looking.
[ As he speaks, he drags the knife down to cut buttons away, seemingly careless, the edge inflicting tiny cuts. (Precise. He knows what he's doing.) ]
Texting you.
On that plane. Kissing you.
With a rose. With this knife. With some honey.
There's nothing to shred out of you. It's gone already.
[ And, softly, with a delighted smile, he lilts -]
Daddy loves me.
[ He drags fabric aside to see his name and his smile gleams white with teeth. The first real cut drags along the fresh scar of the 'E'. He dips a finger in the blood and shows it to Daddy. ]
I said if I left a scar, you couldn't get rid of me. I took everything that was left and put my heart in there, instead.
Ruined your heart the first week I had you, while you were letting me play with your lungs.
[ He settles near now, toying with the knife at Daddy's throat, and graces him with a barely-there kiss. And then another. And smiles. ]
no subject
That first night (it will always in memory be 'that first night', as though it was the night his existence began) (it was, in a way, the first night he lived), when Enri lay sweating and cowering beneath his blankets, he imagined a hand at his head. He imagined a slow-moving invasion, a voice in his ear, a tongue running across his name. He imagined kneeling, pressing his cheek to Daddy's thigh.
He hadn't known. He couldn't know. There was so much they could do to one another - that they could revel in, that they could experience for the first time or again and again, together. He couldn't imagine any of this.
(He hadn't imagined then, or later, on the plane. Or even when it all seemed like it was ending, and he'd known he was in love. He hadn't imagined how much he could love this man.
He hadn't known it would hurt to breathe, and that the feeling would be a madness, something that would turn them both desperate and frenzied. He hadn't known it would infect his dreams, or leave him still and sanctified, perfectly peaceful.
He'd gone running across a beach to a chapel because Daddy was waiting.
He'd gone running across post to a motel because Darius was running, too.)
His hands grip - a knife, and Daddy's hair - and he growls into the bites, the spill of his blood mixing with Daddy's on his tongue, where there was already a lingering trace of honey. His thoughts flare black like a fuse blown, and he twists, pushes, Daddy wants to be pinned, he'll pin him and spend the rest of their lives running his knife along every vein.
(He loves his god. He loves his Daddy.)
Love you, love you - Is he thinking or speaking? (He can't be speaking because there's flesh between his teeth.)
There's a sound to his right, and then there's no sound to his right, there are voices distant and a window opening, outside sounds louder and then gone; Enri forgets he ever heard anything except the voice of god. With one hand, he pins Daddy's hands over his head, the knife's point pressing at the hollow of Daddy's throat. (Careful, he knows he has to be careful, Daddy likes to push himself into the blade and Enri needs to protect him from jumping into the abyss. Walk him to the edge and hold him there.) ]
I already took your heart.
[ He grins, and for the first time, there's a flawless mingling of predatory malice and tenderness. Perfect love.
Blood beads at the knife point and Enri exhales, shivering. ]
I cut out little pieces of it when you weren't looking.
[ As he speaks, he drags the knife down to cut buttons away, seemingly careless, the edge inflicting tiny cuts. (Precise. He knows what he's doing.) ]
Texting you.
On that plane. Kissing you.
With a rose. With this knife. With some honey.
There's nothing to shred out of you. It's gone already.
[ And, softly, with a delighted smile, he lilts -]
Daddy loves me.
[ He drags fabric aside to see his name and his smile gleams white with teeth. The first real cut drags along the fresh scar of the 'E'. He dips a finger in the blood and shows it to Daddy. ]
I said if I left a scar, you couldn't get rid of me. I took everything that was left and put my heart in there, instead.
Ruined your heart the first week I had you, while you were letting me play with your lungs.
[ He settles near now, toying with the knife at Daddy's throat, and graces him with a barely-there kiss. And then another. And smiles. ]
My love. My god.