[ Doesn’t he adore the danger in this man. The obedience and rebellion closely bound, artful in their execution.
(Perfect Puppy. Perfection of god.)
Doesn’t he love the menace and the clarity of Enri’s speaking, how readily and well he places violence into speaking, twines sanguinary words with fondness, with meticulous and razored care.
Doesn’t he love Enri’s hand in his hair, Enri’s hand yanking fire through his skull. Enri’s bite the aftermath of Enri’s teeth still beating at the juncture of neck and shoulder.
Doesn’t he love the blood on his tongue, how ecstatically it’s given, and how Puppy jars him, jerks him, pins him back, arms held.
And yes, oh, yes, the knife sharping at his throat, briefly, lightly into his throat, he’d like more of that, requires more of that, and he twists his wrists beneath Enri’s hands, flickers light-headed to find how well the boy holds him (how strong this man is) (what he can do with those hands) (one to throat, clamping; that’s all it takes), flickers with the recurrent knowledge that his Puppy is a rampant force (and gentle, and precise in his attentions), and that though Darius’s arms are held, still he can snarl, bite, speak, laugh—
And twist to draw his thigh along Enri’s thigh. And draw his leg around Enri’s, to bind, to twine Puppy right along with Daddy. To draw closer, hip to hip. To lift and brush his hip against Enri’s, the sound in his throat half a growl, half a purr. The world dizzying at every edge, spiraling with white, with red, into blurred and inconsequential edges. Until the world’s gone soft beyond Enri. Until Puppy alone remains cut clear, amber eyes and swift blade and look at him, he’s bleeding Darius, little bit by little bit, knife wielded with seeming-casual care, and each nick shudders Darius’s breath, jars a hitch through his lungs—
Lungs Enri’s played with. Curled between and clawed within. There is nothing in Darius that this man can’t touch. There is nothing Darius would care to withhold.
Puppy’s right; Puppy’s absolutely right. From that first night, that shower of messages that’d struck strange chords, that had left Darius pacing restless, nearly drew him out the door (reckless, that would have been reckless) (it could have been beautiful, as well) (what would it have been, to become a knock on the door that night, to track his Puppy down, to - yes - corner him?) (exhilarating, perhaps) (something they might play out, perhaps, if Enri proves amenable) (one way or another, he intends to corner this man) (and anyway, they’d had the airplane, six hours of exploration, of introducing Puppy to his duties and his pleasures, six hours of biting and speaking razors that turned at times to softer, subtler speech, and Darius had felt his heart constricting there, as well). Promising ’We’ll burn together.’ Prophetic, that; and this burn is everything Darius could think to ask, becomes more besides with every day.
Every day, where Enri (Enri with his impish little sing-song) (Enri who is right, of course: Daddy does love him, Daddy’s pulse leaps wild to hear Enri speak of love) holds each fragment of his heart, and keeps it whole. Every day, where Enri’s breath and Enri’s bite and Enri’s exquisite touch conjures renewal.
Every day, where Darius feels Enri’s heart running steady against his own lungs. Every day, where Darius touches his chest and traces Enri’s name (Enri’s name now running blood again; good boy, judicious boy to lay this cut) and feels Enri’s adoration in this new heart’s pulse.
Those kisses.
That knife.
Darius smiles, near-beatific, eyes closed to take in the fullness of this scene and every pain within his feeling. Then lets his eyes open, landing instantly on Enri’s eyes, and Darius’s lip ticks upward, smile turned to a promise of hazard. As he tilts his chin upward, shoulders and chest rising, neck arching to brush along the knife’s edge. To rub back and forth against the blade, eyes on Enri, rolling and biting his lower lip.
Taking a breath. Taking a breath. And— ]
My heart meant little until my Puppy ruined it. Until you read the resurrection in my blood.
You, Love, are all I need. My devastated heart’s keeper and requirement.
My adoration.
My obedient demon; my wayward god.
[ Then, squeezing the leg wrapped around Enri’s, again brushing thigh against thigh and twisting in the edge of a grind, shoving his throat sharper toward the knife— ]
Give me every scar you’ve ever dreamed.
Mark me a thousand times over, inward and external. I am your god, Daddy, your Darius. Your all. And I command your infliction.
no subject
(Perfect Puppy. Perfection of god.)
Doesn’t he love the menace and the clarity of Enri’s speaking, how readily and well he places violence into speaking, twines sanguinary words with fondness, with meticulous and razored care.
Doesn’t he love Enri’s hand in his hair, Enri’s hand yanking fire through his skull. Enri’s bite the aftermath of Enri’s teeth still beating at the juncture of neck and shoulder.
Doesn’t he love the blood on his tongue, how ecstatically it’s given, and how Puppy jars him, jerks him, pins him back, arms held.
And yes, oh, yes, the knife sharping at his throat, briefly, lightly into his throat, he’d like more of that, requires more of that, and he twists his wrists beneath Enri’s hands, flickers light-headed to find how well the boy holds him (how strong this man is) (what he can do with those hands) (one to throat, clamping; that’s all it takes), flickers with the recurrent knowledge that his Puppy is a rampant force (and gentle, and precise in his attentions), and that though Darius’s arms are held, still he can snarl, bite, speak, laugh—
And twist to draw his thigh along Enri’s thigh. And draw his leg around Enri’s, to bind, to twine Puppy right along with Daddy. To draw closer, hip to hip. To lift and brush his hip against Enri’s, the sound in his throat half a growl, half a purr. The world dizzying at every edge, spiraling with white, with red, into blurred and inconsequential edges. Until the world’s gone soft beyond Enri. Until Puppy alone remains cut clear, amber eyes and swift blade and look at him, he’s bleeding Darius, little bit by little bit, knife wielded with seeming-casual care, and each nick shudders Darius’s breath, jars a hitch through his lungs—
Lungs Enri’s played with. Curled between and clawed within. There is nothing in Darius that this man can’t touch. There is nothing Darius would care to withhold.
Puppy’s right; Puppy’s absolutely right. From that first night, that shower of messages that’d struck strange chords, that had left Darius pacing restless, nearly drew him out the door (reckless, that would have been reckless) (it could have been beautiful, as well) (what would it have been, to become a knock on the door that night, to track his Puppy down, to - yes - corner him?) (exhilarating, perhaps) (something they might play out, perhaps, if Enri proves amenable) (one way or another, he intends to corner this man) (and anyway, they’d had the airplane, six hours of exploration, of introducing Puppy to his duties and his pleasures, six hours of biting and speaking razors that turned at times to softer, subtler speech, and Darius had felt his heart constricting there, as well). Promising ’We’ll burn together.’ Prophetic, that; and this burn is everything Darius could think to ask, becomes more besides with every day.
Every day, where Enri (Enri with his impish little sing-song) (Enri who is right, of course: Daddy does love him, Daddy’s pulse leaps wild to hear Enri speak of love) holds each fragment of his heart, and keeps it whole. Every day, where Enri’s breath and Enri’s bite and Enri’s exquisite touch conjures renewal.
Every day, where Darius feels Enri’s heart running steady against his own lungs. Every day, where Darius touches his chest and traces Enri’s name (Enri’s name now running blood again; good boy, judicious boy to lay this cut) and feels Enri’s adoration in this new heart’s pulse.
Those kisses.
That knife.
Darius smiles, near-beatific, eyes closed to take in the fullness of this scene and every pain within his feeling. Then lets his eyes open, landing instantly on Enri’s eyes, and Darius’s lip ticks upward, smile turned to a promise of hazard. As he tilts his chin upward, shoulders and chest rising, neck arching to brush along the knife’s edge. To rub back and forth against the blade, eyes on Enri, rolling and biting his lower lip.
Taking a breath. Taking a breath. And— ]
My heart meant little until my Puppy ruined it. Until you read the resurrection in my blood.
You, Love, are all I need. My devastated heart’s keeper and requirement.
My adoration.
My obedient demon; my wayward god.
[ Then, squeezing the leg wrapped around Enri’s, again brushing thigh against thigh and twisting in the edge of a grind, shoving his throat sharper toward the knife— ]
Give me every scar you’ve ever dreamed.
Mark me a thousand times over, inward and external. I am your god, Daddy, your Darius. Your all. And I command your infliction.
My beautiful, lethal Love.