lord treavor pendleton (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
loyalless) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
kingdomsofrain2019-05-24 05:05 pm
loyalless) wrote in kingdomsofrain2019-05-24 05:05 pmOPEN RP POST
send a prompt, a starter, images, words, music, whatever you like.
loyalless) wrote in kingdomsofrain2019-05-24 05:05 pm
no subject
Oh, Puppy.
Oh, Love.
He thought the words or he spoke them or they simply sang ecstatic through his head.
There’s a laugh in his throat, low and shivered. He feels shivered through, struck with sharp sparking between his shoulders, through his ribs, running down to thighs, to groin.
It isn’t only the bite in its intensity; it’s Enri’s eyes, as well - glinting vicious, fervent - and the tease of Enri’s teeth, the bite that doesn’t draw blood, that tests against the will of god and shows that Puppy, Puppy will obey, but not without first cutting his own mark, his mischief, his own will executed as (beautiful) (perfectly played) disobedience. It’s the growl - prelude to a storm - that preceded the bite, that lingers still in Darius’s knowing. And it’s the knife pressed - barely, barely, ah, not near enough (Puppy’s taking his time; Puppy’s being a rotten little tease) - to Darius’s thigh. A pressure he wants closer; a bite he wishes, and yes, he nudges his thigh up against the blade once, twice, an invitation and demand.
Hissing an exhale, breathing a wishful sigh that becomes a moan, imperative. ]
Wretched tease.
Beautiful boy.
[ Wouldn’t he love - fuck’s shit, he would love - to feel Enri’s hand against his wound (to feel Enri all over, yes, yes, he wants Enri’s touch at every inch of skin), to feel Enri rend him a dozen and more times and coat the world with Darius’s blood. So that all the world might know god, and there is no one, there is no one better suited to this work than Enri; there is no one beside Enri who deserves to touch his blood, let alone to set it running.
He would bleed rivers, oceans for this man.
He draws his knee along Enri’s thigh, deliberate, breath turning to a groan.
He butts a snarling nuzzle against Enri’s head. Scrapes his teeth along Puppy’s jaw. And grins. And, snarl turning to a hummed sound, withdraws, head high, speaking command— ]
Rend me, my Enri.
Pin me.
[ And, leaning closer, voice tending lower, prowled with a lethal purr— ]
Will you take my heart, Love? Shred it out and takes its blood all for your own?
Show me, Puppy.
Show Daddy what ruin you can make.
[ Darius draws Enri for a kiss, sudden and sharp and pressured, needful, staggered briefly by a sharp bite of Enri’s lip, blood to accompany this sharing, blood to take the kiss deeper, Darius rising upward, hand at the back of Enri’s head twining tight through close-cut hair, to hold, as if to offer no escape, as if the boy were caught, while the other hand grabs Enri’s collar, yanking himself close yanking Enri closer, Darius arching his back into the kiss, Darius feeling the flare of the bite and wanting, yes needing more. Needing ruin, blood.
Needing Puppy. ]
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.
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.
no subject
He's not going to make Daddy stop.
So his thoughts had turned to ways to extract pain and pleasure equally from the man below him, and he hadn't been thinking about fucking at all.
Then Daddy wrapped a leg around him and rode him through a familiar motion, and Enri had gasped, jerked a harsh movement of hips and dug his knees against the floor, and had almost lost his focus. Had almost lost control of his hand - and the knife in his hand. His snarl resolves into a laugh edged with warning, breathless and growling. Careful, Daddy.
(He's gotten the idea that Darius might like it if he lost control and took what he wanted.
He's not going to do that with a knife in his hand. Precision needs control.
Keeping Darius safe in the violence needs control.)
As Daddy speaks, he does give in to the need move hips against hips in a slow, steady rhythm, manageable even with the knife at Daddy's throat. (And ooh, that feels good.) (Everything feels so good with this man.)
He draws to an uncertain halt, though, when the words register.
Every scar he's ever dreamed.
His eyes move over the bare chest displayed before him, the blood welling and smeared from that first cut, settling into ridges of old scars that occurred long before he ever knew Daddy. Long before Enri was ever born.
He doesn't dream about leaving scars.
He dreams about the scars that exist. He dreams about Darius, already perfect, who loves him in that perfection. (Whose love is a drug, a fortress, safe and addictive.) He dreams about the afflicted flesh beneath his fingers, healed and unhealed, and Darius arcing his throat in pleasure.
He -
Kind of wishes he'd been the one to leave those scars. Feels a curl of hatred for whoever did leave them.
He thinks of the ritual with mirrors - how he and Darius together can incinerate wounds left by words.
His knife trails downward thoughtfully until the point finds a two-inch scar at Daddy's sternum. Enri's eyes flicker back to his face. The flat of the blade taps, and his voice comes soft, inviting in the way his arms always are. ]
How'd you get this one, Daddy? Where were you, and who was it, and what'd they use?
no subject
He doesn’t know what to make of Enri’s seeming-hesitation. Of the space of thought between his vice and Enri, where Enri watches contemplative (he thinking of something, turn it over in his head) (what is it you see, Puppy?) (come back to Daddy, love), and then—
They seem strange question to ask right now. Still. Darius doesn’t doubt that Puppy has a plan here; Darius can see it, hear it. Can’t trace its form, but he trusts Enri, and haven’t Enri’s schemes always landed well before? And isn’t Enri’s voice inviting; assuring? Whatever the boy has in mind, Darius intends to follow it through. Eyes on Enri; eyes glancing to Enri’s knife; eyes on Enri again, again.
Smiling and canting his head— ]
Paris; Montmartre. A brick wall at my back.
A fucking trench knife in the hands of a colleague.
Kieran Hawk.
[ He lets the syllables fall with staccato sharpness, watching Enri’s reaction, inviting Enri to despise the bastard.
The wound had happened early in Darius’s first stay in Paris; he’d been there a week and a half, maybe two. And a handful of colleagues from the embassy announced that they’d be going out for post-work drinks.
It turned out to be a dull fucking affair; a dull lot of assholes. All of them older than Darius; most of them pissed about his presence, the position he’d worked and talked (and more-than-talked) his way into. Darius had gone for those drinks in an attempt at playing cordial and building relations, knowing most people have some kind of use, knowing it’d do no good to make enemies of everyone around the embassy.
So Darius had taken it slow on the drinking. (So Darius had slipped off to do a line, keep sharp.) So Darius had asked questions, played to colleagues’ interest. And a few of the shitheads had started to ease off of the antagonism.
Hawk, though. Kieran fucking Hawk only stewed and muttered to what must’ve passed for his allies. And stared. And kept staring. ]
Bastard didn’t like the way I looked at him. He caught me against a wall—
[ Darius cocks his head, recalling the sudden hand at his collar, a jarring wrench at his shoulder. Hawk and a couple of his allies watching. Tip of a knife just below Darius’s throat. Hawk droning about breaking Darius, about drop the mask, are you fucking human, I’ll teach you a fucking lesson.
And Darius had smiled, a half-cocked smirk. And his expression had offered exasperated amusement only. ]
I told him to do it. Watched as he cut me.
The supercilious fuck.
[ The little shit hadn’t deserved to cut Darius or draw his blood, and Darius’s tone - derisive, rung with irritation - suggests as much. Still, it’d been worthwhile to watch Hawk’s resolve falter, then drain. Watched the knife start to fall, then shift into a battering ram as Hawk moved to swing the knuckle guard into Darius’s skull. Darius had torn away, kneeing the fucker in the stomach. Wrenched the knife from Hawk’s hand and delivered a sharp blow to the fucker’s head, pushed past Hawk’s cronies - had they ever been in a fucking fight before? they’d looked lost, like it wasn’t meant to get this far - and headed for more promising climes, blood seething from his wound.
The knife’d gone into an ally. Let someone else find it and do what they will; Darius hadn’t cared in the least, and kept his own knives more discrete. ]
In the end, I cracked him on the head with his knife. And spent the night trailing blood through Paris.
no subject
He loves hearing about Daddy's past. He loves holding it up side by side with Daddy's present and knowing with certainty which one is better.
(Darius was in Paris, alone and unliked, doing a job Enri thinks he might not have enjoyed very much.) (We'll go to Paris, he thinks idly. Maybe next summer, he thinks, and a tingling pleasure rolls through him, because they'll have next summer, and they'll have places they visit together, and because they'll be together, it'll be a first for both of them. (He'll use Darius's name in hotels. He'll speak to clerks in the right language, and wear decent clothes, and he'll use Darius's name. Instead of Enri Anderson from Iowa, he'll pretend to be Enri Scarlett from New York.) (This thought, deep, barely in awareness, threatens to jar his hand with a shiver.) (Enri Scarlett-))
(Darius was alone in Paris and someone cut him.
Fast forward to now. He's not alone. He'll never be alone again.
And Enri is going to cut him.)
His eyes linger a moment past the end of the tale, and then he shifts, stretching his arm to continue pinning Daddy at the wrists even as he extracts himself from the leg wrapped around him, brings himself even with the scar. His thumb strokes the old wound, slowly charting its course. ]
No.
[ He raises his chin a little to catch Daddy's eye again. With a fond, assured voice, he continues - ]
You're not remembering right.
[ And then he grins, wicked, and nips at the flesh beside his hand before he explains himself. ]
It was twenty-twenty-one, and you were in an apartment above a bar. Your Puppy - who loves how you look at him - pinned you to the floor and split you open with his Leatherman. You told him to do it, and you watched as he cut you.
[ The point of his knife presses the end of the scar, right where it began the first time. Huskily, cocking his head, Enri breathes - ]
Don't move. It's gotta be just right, so it's mine. So there's no Paris, no Kieran Hawk, no alley. So it never happened.
But this did. Null Set, and me, and my knife.
[ A beat, and - ]
I dream of the scars you've already got. You're perfect the way you are, Daddy. Just got the wrong memories to go with the scars. So - we'll make all of them mine. When this one heals, we'll find another one. And another, and another.
Don't move.
[ And, whispering with a laugh: ]
Be as loud as you want, though.
[ And the knife eases, following the scar like a seam ripped open; Enri draws his hand slowly, eyes full of malicious fascination.
(It's like there was nothing in the world was meant to be cut with knives but this, this, Daddy's flesh, parting like the Red Sea. Flooding with something other than water.) (He cut a god. He cut open a god. He cut open his god-)
He cut open his god. (His head swims. His arousal is a throbbing counterpoint, a desperate pounding of need, his voice is hoarse and he doesn't register his own speech any longer but it must be prayer. It's always prayer.) His god bleeds like everyone else, which is why he can't have been cut by anyone but Enri. This isn't mundane. This is sacred. If the blood comes and the scars remain, then history needs rewriting.
Someone's whispering my god, someone's hand is lifting from the wound, and if the only one who could cut Daddy is another god, then it must be Enri. If the only one who could love him the way he needs is another god, then Enri is whispering, and Enri's hand is bloodstained, and Enri summons life from under Daddy's skin.
Impulsively, he licks the fresh-made wound. ]
no subject
’No’; a word that only Puppy, Enri, this god is allowed to speak to Darius.
’No’; a word that holds no power in any other voice.
In Enri, it becomes reconstructive. In Enri, it’s a prelude to some clever stratagem or pleasurable divergence. (Enri understands Darius, perceives Darius. They inhabit a world of shared terms, parameters, ideals. So of course Enri may speak revision. So of course Enri may redirect existence.) Here, accompanied by the shift of Enri’s thumb along the scar, accompanied by the knife held near, accompanied by attentive, hungry eyes (eyes Darius could fall into forever) (eyes Darius could trust, does trust with his wholeness), ’No’ promises delight, mercy, a gift.
The shape of that promise comes clear with (a bite, loving, tantalizing, and) a little more speech, Puppy’s voice reworking phrases that held no fondness, held no place in Darius’s (torn, gifted, resurrected) heart. Puppy placing himself in the story of this wound; Puppy reaching back through history to turn a hollow into something exultant, something loving.
Enri is going to give him the knife, draw blood. Write himself into Darius’s skin again (and again, and again for every scar, oh, when Puppy’s finished, there won’t be a piece of Darius unmarked, unblessed by his love, his god) (as if any part of Darius were sealed from Enri now; as if the boy hasn’t curled wholly through Darius’s being, through whatever passes for Darius’s soul), a promise of ecstatic blood to follow. A promise of Enri rewriting every wound, turning every scar into his own (with that Leatherman; with the knife that wrote Enri’s name), a thought that tilts the world precipitately on its axis, dizzies Darius’s thinking and draws a laugh from him like wonder.
It’s a better story. Yes, it’s a better story by far.
It’s briefly surprising, when Enri mentions Null Set. Because they are there, aren’t they? In Sen and Rin’s apartment, though before Darius can wonder where those two’ve gone, he’s trilled to fond distraction by Enri’s dreams of Daddy’s scars, by Enri who calls Darius perfect. God to god, like to like; of course he’s perfect, and of course Enri’s perfect, but the words still warm him.
And Darius thinks, absently, of all the places he and Enri might rewrite his scars. Of all the locales where Enri might draw blood; of all the places they might turn into their own, laden with meaning.
There’s no time to consider specifics, however (and no need now; he and Enri have plenty of time, all the years in existence), because Enri advises stillness, Enri invites sound, and as Darius watches, Enri draws the knife into his skin.
He doesn’t howl.
For several heartbeats he doesn’t make a sound at all, rapt in watching Enri’s eyes, the fascination the focus the reverent care. (Worlds different from the first time, in that Paris alley.) (That first time no longer exists. That first time needn’t hold a thought in the world. Banish it; it has no place on his body.) For several heartbeats, he feels the cut almost at a distance, building louder and sharper in awareness until he lets himself step into it, flicks his eyes upward and feels the bright of pain come crashing in.
As his breath catches; as his lungs stagger. As he exhales a harsh and shuddered huff, half-laugh. As a sound builds in the back of his throat, a sigh that becomes a moan, a moan that turns itself into a word - ’Enri’ - clamored rough within his voice, that yelps upward nearly to a howl. Another laugh, louder, and an exaltation— ]
My Enri.
[ And, tensing his shoulders against an impulse to jerk against the pain, tensing his chest against an impulse to jerk against the knife and invite a deeper cut— ]
Good.
Boy.
[ Again his breath catches, and though the knife has gone, still the wound burns beautifully. Still Enri’s work drives agony against him. And Darius hears worship, hears his name or hears the name of god, which is his own, which is Enri’s also, and Darius is speaking, ’Yes,’ ‘Yes,’ and ’Enri, my Enri, such beautiful work.’
And Enri’s tongue is at Darius’s chest.
And Enri has done so well; Puppy has been so good.
So Darius’s eyes find Enri. So Darius straightens, wrists twisting in Enri’s hold.
So Darius leans forward to set a kiss to Enri’s hair, to Enri’s cheek, to Enri’s bloody lip. ]
Well done, my love. My future and my all.
[ There's a hum, and Darius nudges Enri's temple. Nips at Enri's ear. Aware of the burn in the chest, the wet of blood welling. Aware of an ache in his arms. Aware, above all, of this perfect man before him. ]
You, your knife, and Null Set.
Daddy is— Oh. Unspeakably pleased.
no subject
This man. This shared space after slow-moving violence, this breathless aching. His own worshipful stare. His knife. And then no knife, his knife set aside on the floor, leaving his hand open to caress. To cup a bloody palm behind Daddy's head as he strains for a kiss.
He lets go of Daddy's wrists. He needs his arms, he needs (petting) (praise) (his own worship) (oh, he needs Daddy, it's a single-minded madness, it's slow-moving violence in its own way, a poison or an addiction.)
The last time he cut, he suffered alone. He let Daddy sleep it off. It had been - miserable. Fucking miserable. Sweating out his need and thinking of what could have been, their bodies crushed together, slick with sweat and blood, and his name raw and red (but Darius needed to recover, it wouldn't have been right to ask after playing with his lungs.)
Enri settles between Daddy's thighs, giving a little of his weight to the body below him, feeling the blood welling against his shirt and grinning into a fresh kiss.
And he bites, vicious and quick, his heart hammering. (He sees a precipice. He sees how close he is to falling over the edge and into uncontrolled carnage.) (Maybe it won't come down to that, maybe Daddy will let him have a little length of leash. At least get him off, at least touch him -)
(Knowing Daddy, he'll keep teasing until Enri loses his footing, or goddamn Rin and Sen will come back in here and he'll have to wait and wait and wait until he snaps.)
He shifts, lowering himself a little to rest his chin on one hand on Daddy's collarbone, the other hand slipping between their bodies, slicking across a fresh wound and dipping fingertips under Daddy's belt. Stopping there, waiting. Insistent in its stillness. ]
I get a reward.
[ It's a statement of fact. It's a question. It's a plea. It's a demand.
It's a warning. ]
no subject
Beautiful amber-eyed Puppy.
And.
Bold, rash boy.
(Darius thrills to this man’s brazenness. Would like to sink teeth into skin, punish and requite his Puppy.)
Puppy sets his fingers at Darius’s belt, and Darius watches with distant amusement, with a guise of calculation. Stops just short of smirking and raises his eyebrows, a certain gravity of expression suggesting that he’s considering Puppy’s ultimatum (petition) (plea) (portent) (as if Enri read the future in the spill of Darius’s blood; as if Enri were reporting an omen).
There’s stillness; Darius’s chest barely rising with breath (though the blood runs; though he feels it fall in rivulets and gather along fabric), Enri’s hand unmoving at his belt. (The boy’s going to get what he wants. And. After all, Puppy wants what Daddy wants; an accord of needing to claw into one another, to turn one another wild, to carry agitation into a collision and a confluence of bodies.
And Puppy has been so well-behaved.
And Enri has driven Darius with an ecstasy of pain.
And Darius wants to wrap himself around this man. Wants to smear Puppy with blood, with love. Wants to draw him with Daddy into ecstasy.)
(Still.
Still, it wouldn’t hurt to toy a little. Prod at Puppy and his leveled not-quite-a-(absolutely-a-)demand. Daddy’s still in charge, after all. And unruly Puppies can’t be given everything they want.
Not immediately, anyway. (Almost immediately.) (He doesn’t expect to keep Enri dangling, waiting for long.))
When Darius speaks, his voice is even, precise, drips indulgent venom. There’s the hint of a good-be grin, could-be-malevolence at the corner of his lip. ]
Do you?
[ As the words ring through the world around them, as the word resonate through every corner of their world,
Darius feels through and through the weight of the body now between his thighs; inviting and grown needful. Feels those fingers poised, feels the lingered burn of sharpness at his chest. Feels (more exquisite than anything) the fact of Enri beneath his hands. And drift one hand crawling, caressing two fingers down Enri’s chest, down his abdomen. Caught on Enri’s eyes all the while, and Darius drifts his free hand to brush Enri’s jaw, to slip under Enri’s jaw and reach the slickness of his own blood. Returns the hand to brush his thumb at Enri’s cheek, a streak of blood like wine reflected, and to draw blood-brushed fingers back though Enri’s hair.
His smile’s turned more present now, gazing down at Enri in admiration. Hand at Puppy’s hair caressing fondness; hand at Enri’s stomach, then toward Enri’s thigh seeking excitation.
And Darius arches his lower back, hips shifting, brushing at Enri’s thigh.
And Darius blinks at Enri, expression agreeable indulgence flickered barely, barely with mischief. Indulgence accompanied by the clear mischief of blood shared in caressing and another shift of his hips. Indulgence written clearly with intention to satisfy, to take and grant, to worship.
Still, Darius tsks a click of sound with his tongue. ]
Is that any way to speak to god, Love?
[ The hand at Enri’s thigh brushes. Fingers curling with a brush of nails. And Darius hums a thoughtful sound that turns toward a sigh, tossing his hair and drawing the hand to trace Enri’s lip, licking his own lip light, purposeful.
Meaning: 'Daddy likes what he sees.' ]
Be warned, Puppy: your god is fickle, and holds the instrument of your fate.
no subject
He does. He gets a reward. He cut Daddy, he rewrote the world for Daddy, and now there's blood seeping into his clothes and streaked across his cheek. It's on his tongue, mingling with whiskey and honey and love. He gets a reward because he was a good Puppy, and has been all night. (Mostly.)
He earned it. (He's going to suffer otherwise. He'll be aching and Daddy will drag out this visit for every moment he can until Enri loses his mind, because Enri isn't allowed to touch himself -) (Visit.) (They're visiting people.)
His breathing quickens with the thought that Sen and Rin are nearby, and can probably hear. Probably heard Daddy shouting in pain/pleasure. Heard Daddy shout Enri and not Puppy.
(They'll hear how Enri can make him come.)
His eyes fix on Daddy again, intently focused, his hand a fist around the belt, the waistband of the pants, a promise of rending.
And then Daddy clicks his tongue and the hand is gone, it's fucking gone, at his lips instead while Daddy warns him about his tone.
He stares, a faint tremor passing through him. (He stares at Daddy's tongue. He thinks about the first night, about that lip caught between Daddy's teeth, and how he left Enri burning.
For a night. For a week. For hours on a plane. For hours after.
He can't.
He can't -
There's a sound like snarling, an animal clawing itself out of a trap; a jarring motion and he isn't careful anymore. (Frantic.) His hands tear, jerk a smaller (fickle) (bloodied) god from the floor, Enri kneeling, Enri teaching a god to kneel. His fingers dug into hips until his nails leave crescent wounds where clothes have been shoved away. His hand a fist in Daddy's hair.
He forgets everything but what's needed, readies only enough for an unhindered thrust, growling yes (yes it is a way to speak to god, yes he gets a reward, yes this and yes now and yes they can fucking hear him, the whole bar can probably hear him and yes, good puppy -)
They can hear him.
They could hear Daddy shouting his name.
He's a good Puppy, he's Daddy's perfect monster, he's shouting and he hopes they're listening because his god is a good Daddy, his god is bleeding across their nice floor and Puppy gets a reward for all that blood.
(He's never shouted 'Daddy' while fucking before.)
(He shouts it now and hopes they hear.) ]
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. ]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
There’s a jarring that startles him, briefly, but resolves to find his head where he desired it, Enri’s heart beating just against Darius’s hearing, and Enri’s arms still holding him, and Darius drawing his own arms closer still. Enri’s laughter trilling resplendence through his thought, Darius smiling and nuzzling, nuzzling against Enri’s warm-glowing skin.
There’s a pressure at his chest; Enri tending to Darius’s blood. Enri looking after, taking care of Darius, and yes Enri had said ’I’ve go you’ and yes Darius knows, a certitude that runs within his marrow. Yes, Enri’s there (Enri’s here, always here) through and at the end of every ecstasy. Enri, the source of every joy and raucous ascension. Puppy, the boy kneeling before him and the god who hand-in-hand climbed up above the world.
Enri takes such good care of him. In ruin and in mending.
Darius’s body hums. His breath shivers hitched, slowing gradually, and he reaches for Enri’s cheek, exhaling a pleased sound when he finds contact, the form of this beautiful god. His thumb begins a slow, a shuddered caress, and his eyes speak wonder, his eyes speak thrall and adoration.
He could stay here forever.
He will stay here, with Enri, forever. After all, the world is what and where they make it. The world blooms where Darius and Enri are, together.
Smiling softly, voice hushed, dazzled, unwavered, Darius speaks— ]
How is it that the world can hold you?
My Love, my god.
[ He leans upward, feeling heaviness in his limbs, feeling a pleasant burn at his chest, at his hips, his lip, everywhere his Puppy in worship bit or caught. And there’s a kiss for Enri’s other cheek before Darius rests his head again, looking up, eyes caught with Enri’s (what else, oh what else could he wish to hold in gazing?). ]
You are incomparably brilliant.
And that—
[ His smile sharpens to a smirk, and he nudges Enri with just a little force, sets a kiss to his chest with a momentary graze of teeth. ]
Ah, Love. That was beautifully done.
no subject
His heart's thundering slows, takes a sharp spike in rhythm at the sensation of teeth and slows again. There's a hummed noise of chiding when Daddy moves against the cloth at his chest - stubborn fuck, squirrely fuck, trying to get more pain out of it or trying to kiss his Puppy.
It's not too deep, he thinks. It won't need stitches. (It would benefit from stitches.) (He knows how to stitch up a wound, but the original didn't have the marks from stitches, so. So. Let it knit.) (He'll keep an eye on it, though. Patch it up properly at home.) (Ah, fuck, home. He glows warmer with the thought.)
His arm tightens around Daddy and his mercilessly vicious smile softens to tenderness. (Happiness.)
He is, though. He's happy.
This is the happiest he's been. Does Daddy -
Does Darius know that, he wonders? Does Darius have any idea how, before he came along, everything seemed so fucking pointless, everything was a mess of complications and loss, and now it's not complicated. Now there's no loss, there's one honest, concrete fact of his existence, and it is that he found home.
In a low, intimate drawl, he answers. ]
The world doesn't hold me. You do - and every day you hold me is the happiest of my life.
You're my home.
[ Sure. He just fucked home within an inch of home's life (after running a knife along Daddy's skin and splitting him like a seam) (Enri's vision swims and he exhales a sound of pleasure) (Daddy's blood welled up and he can still taste it, fuck, he can still taste the honey, too, and all he needs -)
(He could just dip a finger -)
(Not here.) (It's for their bedroom, or Daddy's altar, or.)
(Fuck, definitely not here.) (But.)
But. He's putting that idea in Daddy's head; they both have to live with it. Suffering. So he lowers his voice and whispers with an edge of laughter - and an edge of regret: ]
Got the honey and blood. A little bit of Daddy and it'd be holy.
Next time.
[ Turning his attention to the not-chair beside him, he presses the cloth carefully to Daddy's wound and then reaches up, brushing a thumb along the red prints left by their hands - and pulls a theatric grimace. His voice turns almost-lilting now, as though they're both going to be in trouble, but at least they're sharing their fate. ]
Mx. Renault's gonna be piiiiissed
no subject
(If Darius were given to questioning himself, he might ask how it’s possible that he could be a force of happiness for anyone, let alone this brilliant man, young and bright and dazzling. Might wonder how it’s possible that he’s found anyone who can exist in consonance with him so perfectly, who draws from him such fascination and such adoration. Might wonder how it’s possible that he, who has never found fondness with anyone, let alone love (oh, love, he does love this man, a thought that warms Darius all over again), could at last come into this ecstasy of adoration.
But he’s a god, and Enri is a god, so of course they found one another; so of course they exist in perfect consonance, and Darius doesn’t wonder.)
(Still, it thrills him. Still, it flutters beyond explanation, beyond probability, beyond the containment of any earthly reason.)
(Still, he knows a humming gratitude in every moment; knows his fortune in the depths and in the lingering of amber eyes, the trace of Enri’s touch along his skin.)
The warmth is tripped into electric sparking and a catching in his lungs when Enri speaks of next time, Darius biting his lip without intention, Darius aching his next against the thought, one hand flying to cover Enri’s at his chest, at his blood.
And when Enri grimaces, when Enri gives the not-chair a theatric assessment, Darius huffs a laugh and cuddles closer against Enri, reaching up to run a hand along his jaw. As if coaxing his attention back toward Darius. As if to say - his half-smile bright, toned with mischief and with adoration - ’There’s more important business here, Love, my love, the source of every fondness.’ ]
Insatiable tease.
How fortunate we have a weekend ahead of us, hm? I promised you salvation; I’m certain we can find holiness along the way, as well.
Holiness and further holding.
[ He shifts to better wrap his own arm around Enri’s back, pressing Enri’s back and nuzzling against Enri’s chest to draw himself nearer, nearer, as close against Enri’s warmth as he can. ]
Love. There is nothing better than seeing to your happiness. Than sharing in our home.
And I do love to hold you. I’m afraid I won’t ever let you go; you’ll simply have to resign yourself to being happy forever.
As will I, Love.
[ There’s a kiss for Enri’s cheek, for Enri’s jaw, then for Enri’s lips, gentle and persistent, a set of lingering brushing presses that ends in a gentle tug of the man’s lower lip.
Glancing at the not-chair and back at Enri, raising an eyebrow— ]
Renault’s typically pissed about something. I expect they’ll survive.
[ Again he sets a hand to Enri’s cheek. Bracing, as if to guard the world away. ]
Daddy will take care of it, Puppy; don’t you trouble yourself.
Only know that Daddy love you. That you are all my adoration.
[ Then, voice softening, smile turning conspiratorial, smile promising tender, devotional catastrophe— ]
And I have fresh honey waiting for us at home.
no subject
He's not worried about Rin. He's not worried about anything. He's warm and disheveled and covered in blood, and so is Daddy, and there's nothing to worry about at all.
(...Is that true?) (A niggling thought, a very distant alarm.)
There's honey at home. (Fresh?) (He can just imagine Darius going to that farmer's market three blocks down and fucking with the middle-aged couple that sells it.) His smile turns dreamy, and he leans his forehead against Daddy's with a little nudge.
They have so much weekend ahead of them. Daddy's probably got plans - a thought that thrills him through, sends a shiver of excitement along his spine. ]
I love you so much, Daddy. I'm so lucky. You take such good care of me.
[ His voice is an easy, happy drawl, slow and intimately warm like the honey waiting for him.
He thinks he ought to get them cleaned up, and this thought leads to a contented, if resigned sigh. And then to the step-by-steps - which aren't in order. They never are.
Gotta clean the blood off the chair. Gotta find a first aid kit. Gotta see about some clothes. Gotta get these clothes back on, first. Should go clean up before that, though. Wash off the blood, get the condom off -
He freezes.
He looks at Darius, feeling panic rise fleetingly, sitting in his throat alongside guilt. He forgot. He fucking - forgot. (Darius trusted him. Darius trusted him and he forgot.) He fucking forgot, how the fuck could he forget?! ]
Fuck.
[ This, followed by a thousand worries about catching something, giving something, ruining everything for both of them. He was going to wait and talk about this with Darius, he was going to do everything right and safely.
And then another, calmer thought: it doesn't matter.
It - actually doesn't.
If there's anything to catch from Darius, he got it weeks ago. Vice versa. They've been licking and sucking and everything short of drinking each other's blood. What the fuck was a condom going to protect them from? Pregnancy?
Still.
Still. Darius trusted him to do it. He slumps a little, his head falling to Darius's shoulder, and he whines another soft 'fuck' before raising his head again, drawing his hand to his mouth in frustration with himself. His fingers curl into a loose fist, and two rest at his lips; around these, he confesses miserably - ]
I forgot.
I forgot the condom.
[ Of all the fucking things for his screwy brainy to forget. Of all the things to be irresponsible about.
He breathes out a helpless, lost sound and unfurls his hand, rests his forehead in his palm. ]
Sorry. Shit, I'm so sorry.
no subject
Oh, Puppy.
[ Gently, fingers curling, he takes hold of Enri’s hand, draws it from Enri’s forehead. Catches the boy’s eyes before nudging him forehead-to-forehead, speaking in a near-whisper— ]
You don’t have to worry about any of that.
[ A moment, another nudge, and Darius draws back to find Enri’s eyes, to brush his hand through Enri’s hair, then set the back of his fingers at Enri’s cheek in subtle pressure. ]
Puppy.
Love, you’ve done nothing wrong.
[ His arm winds close around Enri’s back, drawing Darius nearer still, and he squeezes, holds the pressure. ]
Look at me Puppy, hm? Daddy’s got you.
[ It isn’t Enri’s responsibility to worry over these things. The boy’s endured enough doubt and upsets tonight without believing he’s— What, let Darius down? Failed Darius.
Nothing of the kind. Enri’s done nothing of the kind, and Darius tilts Puppy’s hand to kiss his palm. Keeps hold of Enri’s wrist and strokes his thumb evenly, steadily along a staggered pulse.
If there’s fault here - there is fault here - it lies with Darius. Darius, who has years of experience, who ought to be capable of keeping a clear head and looking better after his Puppy. (Who ought to have saved Enri this turmoil.) (Who ought to have called for a pause, however brief, however much he’d wanted only to bring Enri to euphoric wildness, and to share in that wildness, himself.) (Who ought to have noted the way they sped past the chance for a condom, and ought to have seen the potential trouble to follow. He was a fool, wrapped up in pursuit and in a care that bore within it thoughtlessness toward practicalities.)
Darius should have brought up the matter of transmission weeks ago. Should have mentioned it as soon as he knew that blood would be commonplace between them, that they both hold near-chaotic capacities toward impulse, toward falling into one another’s arms and roiling attentions. And he should have let the boy know there was no cause for alarm. That Darius was careful with the would-be-Puppies he’d chosen before meeting Enri. That he’d checked in on their records beforehand, and had himself tested after.
Really, they might have abandoned the condom shortly after Enri’s return. (As far as he knows, Enri’s clean. Hadn’t Darius sought through the boy’s records early on, and found nothing astray?) (And even if he isn’t— Well. He hadn’t precisely considered it with Enri, but what’s done is done.) (He ought to be tested again. They both ought to. Darius will take care of it.) They ought to have had this talk, then counted themselves free of the necessity of a few extra steps, extra care. It’s something Darius has considered, something he’d intended to bring up several times, but always there had always been other topics more appealing, games to play, and a dearth of hours in which to enjoy themselves, and Darius had let the matter slip away.
A mistake. A series of mistakes. And the result of his neglect is Enri’s worry, Enri’s frustration. Enri’s self-punishing thoughts, when the boy ought to be shining brilliant, lolling without care in afterglow. Darius left Enri in a lurch once again, and there’s a sour feeling in his stomach, and an urge to grit his teeth that he just manages to restrain.
There’s no need to let his irritation with himself bleed outward and infect Enri. Enri has indeed done nothing in error. Enri has already taken on too much blame. (Any blame would be too much. Poor Puppy; he cares so well, and takes perceived mistakes so far to heart.) The least Darius can do is speak with ease, give the boy grounds less fractured to stand on. So when Darius brushes back at Enri’s hair, his smile is smile soft, assuring. ]
Who was the instigator here, hm?
You’re not alone here, Love. I neglected caution. And I ought to have broached the subject weeks ago.
[ He thinks, forgive me, Puppy.
He thinks, I’ve left you to falter again.
These words remain unspoken; the point here isn’t a matter of spreading blame. The point here is to show that there’s no cause to think of blame, certainly not regarding Enri. The point is to draw his Enri from helplessness, from believing he’s erred, or— ]
You’ve brought me ecstasy, and you’ve brought me care. I’m not upset or disappointed in the least, my love. Please; you’ve given Daddy a perfectly divine evening.
[ Here he darts inward, upward. Brushes a kiss to Enri’s forehead, then cups his boyfriend’s cheek. ]
You don’t have anything to worry about, Enri.
Much as I don’t care for doctors, I make a habit of attending to particular necessities. There’s nothing to fear from me; I’m perfectly clean.
And I fear nothing from you.
[ His fingers stroke light along Enri’s cheek, and he holds the sight of pained amber, willing, willing the boy to be well, to be easy. ]
You, my Puppy, my Only One. You who alone will have me. You who are the only man I want, and the only man I’ll have.
I’ll get us tested, hm? For caution's sake.
But you've nothing to apologize for.
You've done no harm.
[ Another kiss for Enri's palm, while Darius's eyes hold fixed on Enri's. ]
And you were very, very good.
no subject
But that's not true. Daddy makes all the decisions, and he could have stopped everything. One word from Darius and Enri would have fallen back obediently, would have followed any command given to him no matter how drunk or aroused he'd been. Darius hadn't made that call.
Which means it wasn't needed.
(Of course it wasn't needed. He knows Darius has been careful. He knows Darius keeps track of all of that with his partners. Keeps careful with them. With himself.) (With Enri.)
He's smiling by the time the final kiss falls against his palm; getting tested is another step towards forever, isn't it? Even if it's just a formality, even if it's just to show willingness to get tested together, so that they can stop with the condoms and just have fun. (It's commitment. That's the word floating dimly to the surface of his thoughts. It's a commitment to be -
Monogamous.
Darius's one and only and always.)
(How many times can he think I'm so goddamned lucky in a night? A week? A lifetime?)
He thinks about telling Darius he's been tested. He gets tested annually for HIV - the only blood test the military runs on all its soldiers. He could give Darius the medical records from right after his return from the Bahamas, the ones that show he's free of STDs and dutifully took PEP even if it made him sick as a goddamn dog now and then while he was overseas.
But that's not the point. The point is the gesture. The point is they're going to be together, stay together, and this is what people do. (Before.) (It doesn't matter 'before what'.) (But deep in the recesses of his brain, a hopeful, if formless, light has begun to spark.)
Nevermind that they're sitting here in a mess of body fluids and disheveled clothes. Nevermind it's not even their apartment. He feels as though this moment in this place is another subtle change in his own world. He feels wonderful. He draws Darius into another kiss, breaking off to murmur love before diving breathlessly in again - careful not to shift his hand from the pressure of the blanket against the knife wound.
When he does ease back, his smile lingers still. ]
It's probably not even for caution's sake by now.
But I like what it means.
[ Something real. Something tangible, to show he and Darius are together for good.
He huffs a little laugh and ducks his head so he can cock an eye at his boyfriend, his love, adding softly - ]
I like what it shows.
[ That Darius is his Only One. That he's wanted. That Enri sees something lasting in the 'us' that began with only a promise of an ending. ]
no subject
How his eyes never stray from Darius’s, and how in them Darius bears witness to a swift-returning hope, to relief, to comfort and assurance.
Darius is accustomed to influencing the minds and moods of others. To marking the precise word and tonal shift required to grip talons at the root of resistance. To urging others toward his aim with subtle-threading charisma or with sharper, blazing assertion. Rhetoric has always been for him a deftly wielded tool, driven with signs of attachment and emotion he never felt to heart, mingling truth and fiction with equal ease, seducing his targets to the precise crossroad at which he would attain his ends: a point won, a negotiation secured, a bit of business sealed, a warning lodged like persistent fire in the target’s soul. It has always been seduction of a sort, in the wake of which he could stroll away and leave the spell to linger, leave the target wondering at how far they’d forgotten their own goals and means, leave the target raw and wounded, bleeding pride or resentment or terror for days.
This isn’t that.
Nothing with Enri is ever like that.
From their first week together, from that first night, it’d been a two-way street with Enri: the boy picking up on Darius’s direction and enhancing it with his own images (’like praying,’ he’d said; red light at Darius’s cheek like blood), imparting thrusts and motifs of his own, turning singularity of pursuit into something shared, something built upon. Something Darius found himself disinclined to shatter or yank wholly from the new-known young man’s grasp.
From that first night, Darius had felt a humming thread wound through himself, attached to Enri. (Hadn’t credited it then with its full power. Hadn’t known how to comprehend or to accept its meaning and the future that it called for.) From that first night - though he hadn’t known it - there had been no question of drifting away unscathed, or of tugging the thread without being pulled in kind.
It’s nothing that he’s ever known before. It’s a force and an aegis he wonders at still, thinks he might glimpse with awe forever: how heartening it is to feel himself drawn with and attached to this man. How much more brilliant the world became when the thread between them struck alight.
When Darius speaks with Enri, it’s in praise, it’s in approval, it’s in shared composition and as a hand caressing invitation. He wants his love to join him; he wants to be joined with this man. And there is place for Enri always in his speaking. And Darius finds heart-rending joy when his words lend Enri buoyancy, when he speaks and finds his Enri revived.
It’s this elation that he feels now, when Enri nods, when Enri smiles, when Enri looks so far from loss and brings Darius into a kiss. (And Darius thinks, it’s all right now. It’s all right; the storm has passed.) (There never should have been a storm, Darius ought to have precluded it’s existence, but if he failed in that regard, he can at least bring Enri back to peace and sureness, and learn better from his own oversight.) It’s this elation that melts him into the kiss and against Enri’s body as he thrills with each inviting touch.
Enri understood him. Enri understands his meaning. (Of course Enri does. Perceptive boy, so capable of knowing his own truths, and of reading every resonance in Darius.)
Enri believes him. Trusts him.
And Darius nuzzles Enri, cheek to cheek. Meets the cocked eye and flickers, grinning, at that little laugh. Traces his fingers slow, down along Enri’s chest, then back up again. A fond and a familiar caress. (He’s going to caress Enri just this way - and in so many others - all the rest of his existence. And that, oh, that too evokes elation.) ]
Clever boy.
Next week; I’ll pick you up and we’ll go over. Take dinner somewhere after.
[ There’s a smirk, an eyebrow raised, and he leans up and in to draw a light lick at Enri’s lip. ]
See how much of an upset we can create, hm?
[ This time, he gives a gentle tug to Enri’s lip, elides into a kiss without bite, without teeth. Soft and brushing light before he moves to seek Enri’s eyes hungry for the sight of beloved amber. Smirking still, though there’s a note of the same awed infatuation that runs dizzy through his veins. ]
We’ll let everyone see how well I love you. How I can keep neither hands nor eyes from my Enri. My Puppy. My adoration.
How you take such care with Daddy. With me.
How I mean to keep you always.