( rib would've been the last word tacked onto that sentence, question mark, all bleary-eyed confusion, but john molds his soft playdoh wrist back together without a single touch or warning and danny vomits again. fuck. fuck. more blood he can't afford to lose, sloshing out black and thick onto the feet of the servants who scuffle back, a muddy rainbow oil slick punctuated with fat lotus petals that sit like lily-pads, pink and perfect and untouched, at the top of the slop. fuck. for real? still? danny groans, knees skidding wide, and bends to touch his forehead to the floor.
he stares at his hands crisscrossed at the wrists, the shiv clenched in one fist, and then lifts a lotus petal from the filthy puddle onto one shaky pinky-tip, depositing it to the toe of john's shoe and ironing it flat with the blunt edge of his nail. could be an offering or another apology, but really danny just thinks it looks cute, like a little hat.
he sniffles. )
They're your bones, John, ( back up again like any good boy taught to look his father in the eyes, blood-soaked wobbling doll on his knees, mouth wiped raw on his sleeve for at least the third time in ten minutes. your bones, your body, your dick, your little murder machine, sex kitten, disgraceful worshiper, amateur cav. it's his vision, his word. john's word is the only word. )
cw: vomit again sorry
( rib would've been the last word tacked onto that sentence, question mark, all bleary-eyed confusion, but john molds his soft playdoh wrist back together without a single touch or warning and danny vomits again. fuck. fuck. more blood he can't afford to lose, sloshing out black and thick onto the feet of the servants who scuffle back, a muddy rainbow oil slick punctuated with fat lotus petals that sit like lily-pads, pink and perfect and untouched, at the top of the slop. fuck. for real? still? danny groans, knees skidding wide, and bends to touch his forehead to the floor.
he stares at his hands crisscrossed at the wrists, the shiv clenched in one fist, and then lifts a lotus petal from the filthy puddle onto one shaky pinky-tip, depositing it to the toe of john's shoe and ironing it flat with the blunt edge of his nail. could be an offering or another apology, but really danny just thinks it looks cute, like a little hat.
he sniffles. )
They're your bones, John, ( back up again like any good boy taught to look his father in the eyes, blood-soaked wobbling doll on his knees, mouth wiped raw on his sleeve for at least the third time in ten minutes. your bones, your body, your dick, your little murder machine, sex kitten, disgraceful worshiper, amateur cav. it's his vision, his word. john's word is the only word. )
Tell me where.
( he'll cut it out. )