Haha. Well. Given everything, Armand should be fucking obligated to clean up. It's his fault. So it's not that generous.
In a world where this is not happening, Daniel critiques the offer on those grounds. Instead, there is a phantom sensation of his hand laying over Armand's trembling one. Not comforting because Daniel isn't in a state of mind where he can reach such nuance (and wouldn't be doling out comfort to Armand on purpose anyway), but a raw, ragged cousin of it. Lost in a storm, he grabs at the only familiar thing he can reach. His only company in this hurricane. At least they won't drown alone.
Daniel doesn't hear him. He hears only a heart, and lungs, and something else. Liquid sunlight moving over satin. Life, life that he needs, more than water, more than cocaine, more than quaaludes that aren't decades past their expiration dates. More than fucking oxygen.
Moving into the bathroom is either too fast or too unnecessary for him to process, but he completes the action. Moving from where he is to being where he should be is much the same. One hand grabbing the stranger's hair to jerk his head back, the other clawing at his clothed chest. Daniel stares. It's a split-second but it goes on for an eternity.
Am I doing this?
Before he even completes the thought, fangs are embedded into the sacrifice's throat. Skin like the paper wrapper of the sweetest candy, a frustrating entanglement— then suddenly it's not, the bite has gone deep enough to shred both jugular and carotid, and blood flows grotesque and abundant. Daniel drinks, and drinks, and drinks.
no subject
In a world where this is not happening, Daniel critiques the offer on those grounds. Instead, there is a phantom sensation of his hand laying over Armand's trembling one. Not comforting because Daniel isn't in a state of mind where he can reach such nuance (and wouldn't be doling out comfort to Armand on purpose anyway), but a raw, ragged cousin of it. Lost in a storm, he grabs at the only familiar thing he can reach. His only company in this hurricane. At least they won't drown alone.
Daniel doesn't hear him. He hears only a heart, and lungs, and something else. Liquid sunlight moving over satin. Life, life that he needs, more than water, more than cocaine, more than quaaludes that aren't decades past their expiration dates. More than fucking oxygen.
Moving into the bathroom is either too fast or too unnecessary for him to process, but he completes the action. Moving from where he is to being where he should be is much the same. One hand grabbing the stranger's hair to jerk his head back, the other clawing at his clothed chest. Daniel stares. It's a split-second but it goes on for an eternity.
Am I doing this?
Before he even completes the thought, fangs are embedded into the sacrifice's throat. Skin like the paper wrapper of the sweetest candy, a frustrating entanglement— then suddenly it's not, the bite has gone deep enough to shred both jugular and carotid, and blood flows grotesque and abundant. Daniel drinks, and drinks, and drinks.