#|||||:

Take me . . . Please, take me . . . It's the only way . . .

You came after me I'm not worth anything if I'm not inside you Only you can truly see All the hell you put me through and the vicious feeding. . .

Can't really be free 'cause every time I run away, you hunt me down I can't ever blame me 'cause every time I turn around, It's you, you, you, it's YOU

Is it wrong? Is it right? You and I? Day and night. Falling in hate, nothing to say, don't want to hear you.

The other survivors probably regarded Dwight as extremely brazen as he remained on the sputtering generator. What harm could come from that? A bit of extra admiration for his bold dedication to getting the job done? A bead of sweat ran down the flustered Leader's forehead, breath unsteady in his lungs as the looming presence became palpable behind him. His fingers would work to twist the exposed wires together before adjusting various levers in the wake of their connections.

Not once, but twice had the generator blew up in his face and pushed his heart into his throat, the anxiety mixing tantalizingly with an unmistakable desire he couldn't even explain to himself festering at his core. Finally, underneath all of the pressure of his own inexplicable, twisted wants, the generator roared to life, illuminating the walls with light as the steady hum chugged along.

He doesn't turn around, instead the wary Leader feels a tremble manifest down his spine as a snout brushes the back of his head. Even through the fabric of his hoodie, he swears he can feel the warmth of the beast's breath with each suggestive word. The implication of such a forbidden, taboo act makes Dwight flush a bright scarlet hue, imagery flooding his mind of being caught in such an act with the very monster that sent every other survivor scrambling for refuge.

"I -- I d-don't . . ." he swallows thickly, speaking to his side against the fabric of his hood so that the other might hear him more clearly. "I don't want them . . . to see . . ."

*does so*