#darrowrising

               Her lips twitch with the slightest hint of a smile at his name.                It is very nearly her own surname, although she could never                explain her entertainment to him.

                                       “I apologize, I ought to know your first name. It’s--?”

“Because despite yourself, you have so much to lose. No seeing mommy and daddy yet, Darrow. You’re stuck here with the gory rest of us pricks.” He grabs him by the shoulder and hoists him up.

“Oh, Darrow. There is no my kind. I am just far more honest than those around me, even when I am being a liar. I have no doubt, if there is a Hell, I would be first to go ... oh, no... but I won’t be the last. I’ll see each and every one of you there, I’m sure of it.”

It is quick and not all that gentle. Both of these things should please him, but they do not. What comes next, however, does. Darrow’s mouth crashes against his, and like a pandora opened, Tactus groans spreads his jaw. His teeth painfully knack against the other boy’s, his knees weaken and he stoops, only stopped by Darrow’s grip on his collar. It awakens Tactus, and he retaliates in action.He does not become quiet, he does not obey, he does not kneel before him. Tactus grabs Darrow’s collar as well, tight until his knuckles whiten, and he shakes him, pushing him back to throw him against the opposite corridor wall. “No,” he hisses before shoving his tongue into the hero’s mouth, tasting glory and iron (did his teeth cut him a moment before?). His hand moves down his chest, over his waist, down his thigh and then sharply UP to grip between Darrow’s legs.

His face feels hot, and his skin too busy, like there’s too much happening beneath him, too much to hold in his bones, behind his ribcage. His arms wrap around Darrow’s lap, his cheek pressed to the boy’s leg. In a way, he’s… reminded of his mother, but the two sharing the same thought makes him feel gutted before he begins. Darrow protests, gently and playfully, in an attempt to pry himself free, but Tactus clutches him further. He has tears in his eyes, and he doesn’t understand why.“I’m not — your shadow,” Tactus drunkenly slurs, smashing his pointed nose into the side of Darrow’s hip. “But you are s o bright. I’llneverbebrightenough,” he mumbles into fabric and heat. “I’ll never be —” He frowns, knowing what comes next.&& he pulls away just fast enough to vomit onto Darrow’s gravBoots.

          “There is nothing to forgive, Reaper.” Her voice is hoarse, throat bruised, and despite the discomfort of the cut in her lip pulling-- she cracks a smile.