Nothing to Armand. Because Armand is just watching, even though—
He's so fucking hungry. It's worse than fitting, fiending, the shakes, withdrawals. It feels as though his body is devouring itself in desperation, crunching inward like some sci-fi movie and he's being sucked out a tiny hole in a spacecraft.
Pounding of a heartbeat. Rushing of blood. There behind the bathroom door. Daniel lurches but just falls to the floor, hands and knees, clumsy like a calf taking its first steps in a stable.
"Is this really the only way you could think to get me to shut up?" His voice is wretched with rasping desperation. Armand can't read his mind anymore. But, but, oh fuck, oh god,
"I can feel you."
Stranger than the hunger that is splitting him open and restitching him in some other alien image. A sense he's never had before, a phantom limb that's all over, and awareness and at the center of it, another person. It's not the person in the goddamn bathroom, it's Armand, like he can see him inside his head but it's not imaginary, it's there, he feels him like fingerprints lingering on his skin. If the door opens. If the door opens.
no subject
Nothing to Armand. Because Armand is just watching, even though—
He's so fucking hungry. It's worse than fitting, fiending, the shakes, withdrawals. It feels as though his body is devouring itself in desperation, crunching inward like some sci-fi movie and he's being sucked out a tiny hole in a spacecraft.
Pounding of a heartbeat. Rushing of blood. There behind the bathroom door. Daniel lurches but just falls to the floor, hands and knees, clumsy like a calf taking its first steps in a stable.
"Is this really the only way you could think to get me to shut up?" His voice is wretched with rasping desperation. Armand can't read his mind anymore. But, but, oh fuck, oh god,
"I can feel you."
Stranger than the hunger that is splitting him open and restitching him in some other alien image. A sense he's never had before, a phantom limb that's all over, and awareness and at the center of it, another person. It's not the person in the goddamn bathroom, it's Armand, like he can see him inside his head but it's not imaginary, it's there, he feels him like fingerprints lingering on his skin. If the door opens. If the door opens.