[ Whatever he was before, and whatever he was a moment ago, are subtly different from what he is right now, half-slumped with his hand beside Daddy's on the not-a-chair, tacky with blood and things that aren't blood. His breath comes in sharp snatches as though the air is something he relishes, is something to take when he wants.
Everything is his to take when he wants. The world around him feels blood-soaked and shaken and sprawling for him. Where he can put a hand and leave a mark, teeth leave trenches, he shouts rapture and another god rears, laughs, blesses his name.
(This is.) (This is how Darius feels.) (When he calls himself a god (he is a god), he means the crush of his own power, he means the world answers, he means everything is simple, or he sees the complex workings of the universe and knows one touch of his bloody hand is simple, is destruction-)
(He is.
Kind of drunk.)
(He feels so fucking good. Coming down off that high feels just as good as the high. He feels like he -)
(Just got the fuck of his life.)
(Hm. In...Mx. Renault's apartment.)
(Oops.)
He tilts his head back with a throaty laugh, eyes closed, his hand massaging Daddy's hip. And then he's easing back to sit on his heels, tugging Daddy with him -]
Got you. Got- I got you.
[ He does. (He always. Always has Darius after.) (Weird. He rarely feels like he needs comfort, care - even after something like this. Even after the most violent games. Any more than usual, anyhow. Darius always makes sure he has water, food, shit like that - but every time, Enri needs to make sure Darius is okay. He can't settle himself until he knows Darius is okay.) ]
I got- Fuh- Fuck -
[ His sit becomes ungainly, half-toppled because he is slightly drunk and hungry and Jesus that felt so good, it felt so good, right down to his fucking soul, and he didn't count on Darius weighing anything at all when pulling him into his lap. There's laughter and it's issuing helplessly from Enri, there's warmth and it's in his arms, under his lips, someone living and always and all his own. There's wet and it's coming from a wound he cut, so he reaches for the nearest thing that seems like it'd be good to staunch the flow and holds it there at Daddy's chest, putting pressure until he can gather himself enough to think any kind of straight.
Maybe get their clothes on straight, too.
Whatever. Later.
In between each thrilled little laugh, he nuzzles, prays his love. ]
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Everything is his to take when he wants. The world around him feels blood-soaked and shaken and sprawling for him. Where he can put a hand and leave a mark, teeth leave trenches, he shouts rapture and another god rears, laughs, blesses his name.
(This is.) (This is how Darius feels.) (When he calls himself a god (he is a god), he means the crush of his own power, he means the world answers, he means everything is simple, or he sees the complex workings of the universe and knows one touch of his bloody hand is simple, is destruction-)
(He is.
Kind of drunk.)
(He feels so fucking good. Coming down off that high feels just as good as the high. He feels like he -)
(Just got the fuck of his life.)
(Hm. In...Mx. Renault's apartment.)
(Oops.)
He tilts his head back with a throaty laugh, eyes closed, his hand massaging Daddy's hip. And then he's easing back to sit on his heels, tugging Daddy with him -]
Got you. Got- I got you.
[ He does. (He always. Always has Darius after.) (Weird. He rarely feels like he needs comfort, care - even after something like this. Even after the most violent games. Any more than usual, anyhow. Darius always makes sure he has water, food, shit like that - but every time, Enri needs to make sure Darius is okay. He can't settle himself until he knows Darius is okay.) ]
I got- Fuh- Fuck -
[ His sit becomes ungainly, half-toppled because he is slightly drunk and hungry and Jesus that felt so good, it felt so good, right down to his fucking soul, and he didn't count on Darius weighing anything at all when pulling him into his lap. There's laughter and it's issuing helplessly from Enri, there's warmth and it's in his arms, under his lips, someone living and always and all his own. There's wet and it's coming from a wound he cut, so he reaches for the nearest thing that seems like it'd be good to staunch the flow and holds it there at Daddy's chest, putting pressure until he can gather himself enough to think any kind of straight.
Maybe get their clothes on straight, too.
Whatever. Later.
In between each thrilled little laugh, he nuzzles, prays his love. ]