( pretty privilege and male privilege are the only real privileges danny is privileged to have so rejection is an infrequently met stranger, and this specific rejection is daddy-coded, equal parts erotic and painfully nostalgic. danny would have pouted about it, or at least started the process of wax-papering this memory away for later because even a no goes straight to his spank bank savings account, had luci given him the time. as it is, luci leaves, then in the span of a single finger-snap he heel-turns and swings back around again, the physical embodiment of paternal whiplash and not unlike every daddy danny has ever had, so at least he's playing to part. )
Yes, ( about his father, about the appeal, unflinchingly blunt. there's a childlike brutality to danny's honesty, as if he never grew into the bit of his frontal lobe that knows how to feel shame or, like, other human emotions besides want, i want, danny wants. maybe he had his head knocked around too many times, also daddy-coded. that's probably it.
danny's finger trickles down luci's throat and collar and front, riding the folds of his t-shirt to his hip and hitching it by a fistful up to his midriff. ) You could be twins. ( a thoughtful pause, as he scruffs luci's peekaboo cockhead in his palm and spits between them, drooling saliva making a bullseye out of his weepy tip. danny decides luci has pretty eyes, all three of the ones he's seen so far. ) Well, almost.
( he doesn't say, i would like to be broken, please. that seems desperate. he doesn't say, one time my daddy killed me for infinity and then cut off my legs once he got tired of my bullshit and i used the marrow as lube for my dick and i begged for it and i came for it and i died for it, praise be to god. that seems depraved, possibly cultish. he doesn't say, guess why i want the knife. that's a spoiler.
instead, ) You know what an Etch A Sketch is?
( that's danny: not a painting, but a reusable canvas. shake him up, use him again, again, again. )
cw: past guro ref
Yes, ( about his father, about the appeal, unflinchingly blunt. there's a childlike brutality to danny's honesty, as if he never grew into the bit of his frontal lobe that knows how to feel shame or, like, other human emotions besides want, i want, danny wants. maybe he had his head knocked around too many times, also daddy-coded. that's probably it.
danny's finger trickles down luci's throat and collar and front, riding the folds of his t-shirt to his hip and hitching it by a fistful up to his midriff. ) You could be twins. ( a thoughtful pause, as he scruffs luci's peekaboo cockhead in his palm and spits between them, drooling saliva making a bullseye out of his weepy tip. danny decides luci has pretty eyes, all three of the ones he's seen so far. ) Well, almost.
( he doesn't say, i would like to be broken, please. that seems desperate. he doesn't say, one time my daddy killed me for infinity and then cut off my legs once he got tired of my bullshit and i used the marrow as lube for my dick and i begged for it and i came for it and i died for it, praise be to god. that seems depraved, possibly cultish. he doesn't say, guess why i want the knife. that's a spoiler.
instead, ) You know what an Etch A Sketch is?
( that's danny: not a painting, but a reusable canvas. shake him up, use him again, again, again. )