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It's not uncommon for him to come home covered in blood. But this is a lot of blood.
It's not as bad as it might have been. He's cleaned off what he can, washed his hands, and the rain has taken care of some of the rest. He could have gone to the asylum, where he keeps a change of clothing for exactly this reason, but now that the adrenaline has left him completely he's tired and a little drained.
In ways that have nothing to do with the wound on his throat.
Now that sanity has reasserted itself, he's sort of wondering how that's going to be taken.
But there's nothing to do about it. He pulls the bike into the garage and heads in through the kitchen, shrugging off his jacket. The wet clothes are something else he wants to shed.
He's still not sure what tonight even means. He supposes he'll figure it out eventually.
It's not as bad as it might have been. He's cleaned off what he can, washed his hands, and the rain has taken care of some of the rest. He could have gone to the asylum, where he keeps a change of clothing for exactly this reason, but now that the adrenaline has left him completely he's tired and a little drained.
In ways that have nothing to do with the wound on his throat.
Now that sanity has reasserted itself, he's sort of wondering how that's going to be taken.
But there's nothing to do about it. He pulls the bike into the garage and heads in through the kitchen, shrugging off his jacket. The wet clothes are something else he wants to shed.
He's still not sure what tonight even means. He supposes he'll figure it out eventually.
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Sometimes it amazes him, how Neil can coax him into this state without doing much at all. But it shouldn't. It's a logical progression of conditioning, and he was already primed for it anyway. So he has no room for amazement now. Just the rise and fall of Neil's breathing against his back.
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"Maybe I should pull out the collar more," I murmur, turning to press a kiss to the knob at the top of his spine.
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It all combines into a delightful sensory cocktail, and he makes a quiet noise of agreement, affirmation. Words seem like too much effort.
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Tilting his head to the side, I close my mouth over the bite, again, this time pressing blunt teeth into the shape of it, like I can make it my own.
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There was never a question of resistance. Neil is going to have everything.
Please, he thinks in a flash of coherence, as the sound escaping him twists up into something a little like a sob. Please, God, please. Please.
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"Okay, okay," I murmur soothingly, my free hand moving over his skin, almost mindlessly petting whatever part of him I can reach, while the other keeps its tight hold on his throat. I bite down harder, opening the wound that someone else put there-- someone who didn't fucking deserve privilege.
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He knows he has to be quiet. He can't wake the girls, can't frighten them. But it's almost impossible to hold back. He shouldn't even be able to. He wants to cry out, to let it all go, but it's still just that helpless, broken sound. But it's enough.
He can't believe he's actually still getting to have this. Except he can.