[ Darius has wondered; of course he’s wondered. What it might take to break Enri from his precision-hold on control. From his careful (and admirable) (and perhaps necessary, given Darius’s reckless proclivities) restraints. There’s always a cliff-edge, somewhere all grounds for restraint drop off abyssal. And Darius has prowled the edge of where that drop might fall, and what abyss might it bring. (Has been prowling that edge often, attempting to trace its form, to find some vulnerable point of constraint; has been prowling that edge tonight.) Has speculated with what fire is it filled, flaring, built of blood and scenting havoc, scenting adumbrate notes of honey. Has wondered what monster might rear upward from its depths, clawing, reaching, ready to strangle and wrap relentless hold on Darius.
He has welcome this monster; waited and wound toward this monster.
And when the monster appears - a wild god snarling, rising with the force of uncaught storms - Darius gazes in euphoric wonder.
He’s beautiful.
Enri is beautiful, an onslaught of motion and force, tearing toward his goal, his want, and if Darius has little time to watch this god in transformation, still he feels the refulgent gleam in all the air around, still he hears the vicious growl the could-be-feral yes-that’s-feral ragged hush of breath, still he feels the world tilt as the wild god jerks him, jars him breathless in exquisite motions that bring Darius to his knees, he’s on his knees and laughing, shocked into a gasp that climbs to raucous, violent merriment, Darius tearing his head to the side to find the thrilling jolt of Enri’s hold, to jerk his head again and feel himself held tangled, interlaced and joined as he should be with Puppy, as he must always - brilliant, oh beautiful fate of the gods - be with Enri, and when Enri brings them to joining and the wild god thrusts, when the wild god growls and reverberates in a profundity of bass exclamation, exaltation, claim and worship, Darius hazes brilliant, feels nothing of the floor at his knees the fabric in his hands, this, this is a careen into resplendent and crawling abyss, the wild god drawing reaching one clawed hand to draw him in, ecstatic welcome, and oh, he loves this man.
This man whose shout convulses though his bones. This man who could pry him open, vein by vein. The man whose havoc (and whose obedience) (and whose insubordination) (and whose tenderness) spikes the world more brilliant than Darius has known. And what the wild god shouts is ‘Daddy,’ drawing from Darius another bright laugh that turns into a strangled moan as his body tenses, bucks, as his breath hitches and he moves one hand to grasp for Enri for the wild god, fingers clamping sharp and holding tight where he finds flesh.
Who else would ruin the world for him. Who else would bring to him and bring him to such sheer devastation?
There is nothing that this man doesn’t give him. How often has Enri driven past the bounds of everything that was, there are no rules beyond their own, there are no laws beyond what their divinities create, and mold, remold, the world turned vibrant, red and Darius’s vision is an eruption of colors in carnage, of fire that creates no ash, fire burning infinite, and can’t they be two flames entwined, eternal, and aren’t they, and aren’t they, and the air Darius breathes sings with honey, and the world at his eyes coils red and silvered, sharp and endless.
He smells his own blood. He feels the air cut sharp with intention. He feels the blood still dropping from his wound, feels Enri near and in and all around him, a threatening and fond and devastating force, another perfect form of worship.
(‘Daddy’ was the word Enri shouted, and within the abyss Daius recognizes, dimly, the newness of that shout and comprehends its meaning, that Enri’s playing to their setting, to their hosts, that this god is Darius’s perfect brat, and again Darius grins sharp in adoration, in appreciation. Enri, yes Enri, Enri, Enri is so perfectly his own.)
One hand has Enri and on hand clutches into Rin’s very nice not-quite-a-chair, fingers marking plush fabric red, Darius lowering his head shoulders quaking quaking through to skull to throat to spine. The wild god the monstrous Puppy the Puppy-eyed wolf growls, or was growling, or that’s Darius now, a rumble in his chest as he shudders, as he’s stricken with the voice and brilliant force of Enri, and his throat finds words, finds ’Yes, Puppy,’ and ’Good, my good Puppy,’ and 'Yes, Love,' in growled and gasping cries. And Darius’s hand at Enri clutches a sharp press of pleasure, of pride, of communion.
You can love a monster like this. Darius loves a monster like this, loves this monster (this man) (this boy) (the Puppy) (his one and his only) past the furthest vibrations of himself. Enri, Enri, oh Enri brings him pleasure and to pleasure and torn out from every atom of himself in countless, vicious ways. In worship toned soft and worship toned fierce, worship tuned chaotic. God to god; monster to monster; Puppy to Daddy; Enri to Darius. ]
no subject
He has welcome this monster; waited and wound toward this monster.
And when the monster appears - a wild god snarling, rising with the force of uncaught storms - Darius gazes in euphoric wonder.
He’s beautiful.
Enri is beautiful, an onslaught of motion and force, tearing toward his goal, his want, and if Darius has little time to watch this god in transformation, still he feels the refulgent gleam in all the air around, still he hears the vicious growl the could-be-feral yes-that’s-feral ragged hush of breath, still he feels the world tilt as the wild god jerks him, jars him breathless in exquisite motions that bring Darius to his knees, he’s on his knees and laughing, shocked into a gasp that climbs to raucous, violent merriment, Darius tearing his head to the side to find the thrilling jolt of Enri’s hold, to jerk his head again and feel himself held tangled, interlaced and joined as he should be with Puppy, as he must always - brilliant, oh beautiful fate of the gods - be with Enri, and when Enri brings them to joining and the wild god thrusts, when the wild god growls and reverberates in a profundity of bass exclamation, exaltation, claim and worship, Darius hazes brilliant, feels nothing of the floor at his knees the fabric in his hands, this, this is a careen into resplendent and crawling abyss, the wild god drawing reaching one clawed hand to draw him in, ecstatic welcome, and oh, he loves this man.
This man whose shout convulses though his bones. This man who could pry him open, vein by vein. The man whose havoc (and whose obedience) (and whose insubordination) (and whose tenderness) spikes the world more brilliant than Darius has known. And what the wild god shouts is ‘Daddy,’ drawing from Darius another bright laugh that turns into a strangled moan as his body tenses, bucks, as his breath hitches and he moves one hand to grasp for Enri for the wild god, fingers clamping sharp and holding tight where he finds flesh.
Who else would ruin the world for him. Who else would bring to him and bring him to such sheer devastation?
There is nothing that this man doesn’t give him. How often has Enri driven past the bounds of everything that was, there are no rules beyond their own, there are no laws beyond what their divinities create, and mold, remold, the world turned vibrant, red and Darius’s vision is an eruption of colors in carnage, of fire that creates no ash, fire burning infinite, and can’t they be two flames entwined, eternal, and aren’t they, and aren’t they, and the air Darius breathes sings with honey, and the world at his eyes coils red and silvered, sharp and endless.
He smells his own blood. He feels the air cut sharp with intention. He feels the blood still dropping from his wound, feels Enri near and in and all around him, a threatening and fond and devastating force, another perfect form of worship.
(‘Daddy’ was the word Enri shouted, and within the abyss Daius recognizes, dimly, the newness of that shout and comprehends its meaning, that Enri’s playing to their setting, to their hosts, that this god is Darius’s perfect brat, and again Darius grins sharp in adoration, in appreciation. Enri, yes Enri, Enri, Enri is so perfectly his own.)
One hand has Enri and on hand clutches into Rin’s very nice not-quite-a-chair, fingers marking plush fabric red, Darius lowering his head shoulders quaking quaking through to skull to throat to spine. The wild god the monstrous Puppy the Puppy-eyed wolf growls, or was growling, or that’s Darius now, a rumble in his chest as he shudders, as he’s stricken with the voice and brilliant force of Enri, and his throat finds words, finds ’Yes, Puppy,’ and ’Good, my good Puppy,’ and 'Yes, Love,' in growled and gasping cries. And Darius’s hand at Enri clutches a sharp press of pleasure, of pride, of communion.
You can love a monster like this. Darius loves a monster like this, loves this monster (this man) (this boy) (the Puppy) (his one and his only) past the furthest vibrations of himself. Enri, Enri, oh Enri brings him pleasure and to pleasure and torn out from every atom of himself in countless, vicious ways. In worship toned soft and worship toned fierce, worship tuned chaotic. God to god; monster to monster; Puppy to Daddy; Enri to Darius. ]