#exhellion

INBOX PROMPTS ╱ 𝑎𝑙𝑤𝑎𝑦𝑠 𝑎𝑐𝑐𝑒𝑝𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔.

There was something about being a former cop that instilled a certain unease around certain things, which never really faded in his retirement. The truth was that working homicide and then worse had dulled him to the other things. If a person was being destructive solely to himself, it bothered him considerably less than if that was projected outward. So, he didn’t really give a shit about what Donnie did or didn’t do.

“You couldn’t take it somewhere more private for that?” His eyes aren’t particularly sharp as he turns his attention back to his drink, the condensation clinging to the dinged glass half-forgotten, half-downed. The intimacy of vice already had Will in his own stranglehold, for him to be righteous as their varying differences in what they choose to overindulge in mattered.

jyn lowers the still-smoking weapon, making a face at donnie's incredulous exclamation. " almost, " she emphasizes slowly, " being the key word here. " this is the thanks she gets for saving his life ? had she waited for him to move out of the way, the man sneaking up behind him would have grabbed him, making her window for the shot even narrower. she lowers the gun, holstering at her side with a clean efficiency ; there's no room for anything less, especially now that donnie is here with her. any small mistake and there's a chance he gets hurt, made all the worst considering he wasn't supposed to be here.

❝ my apologies if the air in here is a little chilly, i like it to be kept at a constant ten degrees celcius . . . ❞ lestat prattles on as they pour their guest, donnie, a chalice of red wine -- a mix from provence, italy, kept at room temperature & no cooler -- offers it to him coolly. then, they pour a second for themselves, set the bottle at their feet before leaning back into velvet cushions. ❝ i'm meant for nothing less than perfection. ❞ an easy chuckle as wine is lifted to their lips, glancing to donnie over the lip of their cup. ❝ so, tell me, what did you think of the show tonight ? ❞

@exhellion sent a prompt. » "Let me see how bad it is, please."

it was a muggy night just before the first autumn strolled into eden, thick with the smell of wet cypress & distant thunder. emerson had gone out alone; he left no note or indication of when he would return – if he would return at all. but eden was a small town, & he could easily be tracked down. he had patterns & habits of his behaviour, which made him easier to locate; perhaps it made him predictable.

more often than not, he usually wandered near the abandoned fishing camp, but kept a distance away, only allowing himself to be close to the edge of the bayou. the air was quieter there, & despite being so close to the compound, he didn’t feel as if the world required so much from him in that place, but something had gone wrong. it was after midnight by the time he returned to donnie’s place. he stood outside the door for a long while, clutched at his side, his shirt damp with a mixture of blood & sweat as a shaking hand reached for the doorknob & his weight pressed against the door, bringing a twisting to his stomach as he walked inside.

try as he might, he couldn’t be quiet as the wooden floorboards creaked under his weight. he staggered, but caught himself on a nearby chair. he didn’t hear donnie approach, not until his words buzzed in emerson’s ears.

he froze. there it was, that familiar warmth in his tone, laced with a gentleness that cut through his armour & reminded him that someone cared. his body was trembling, faintly, as the adrenaline faded & shock gradually took over. there was a gash at his ribs which had gone deep, brought about by a branch or something similar. he didn’t speak at first; he slowly lifted his shirt to show the wound before concealing it again.

“ it ain’t as bad as it looks. ” he whispered. “ probably just needs a good cleanin’, i reckon. ”

𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕰𝖓𝖔𝖗𝖒𝖎𝖙𝐲 𝖔𝖋 𝕸𝐲 𝕯𝖊𝖘𝖎𝖗𝖊.

adrenaline from the night's performance still courses through their veins, porcelain skin shiny with glitter & sweat, curls untamed from humid heat sticking to their forehead. they're a hot mess, & the evening is far from over. static electricity travels through fingertips at their waist & sets limbs alight like live wires, shining through in a grin that says : i'm on top of the fucking world.

nimble fingers will follow the slope of donnie's left shoulder down to the swell of his bicep & back up, dips into the grooves left by collarbones. ❝ comme tu es mignon. ❞ chuckles the other blonde, flicking their chin to toss damp curls over their shoulder.

in doing so, they catch the eye of a nosy stage hand now frozen in place just outside the cracked dressing room door. icy glare remains unblinking, & he wills the poor employee's throat to close up -- sends the door shut with a whoosh before returning their attention to more pressing matters . . .

@exhellion sent a prompt. » a kiss to convince them not to leave bed in the morning.

it was one of those rare mornings when everything in donnie’s flat was quiet – no low music humming in the other room, no birds outside the window, no rain on the rooftop, & no murmurs of voices. there was only silence as pale orange light filtered into the room through the curtains while it slowly danced across the floorboards & the thin blanket draped across the bed.

emerson lay near the window, his eyes open & focused on donnie while he slept. it was unusual for the younger man to be awake first; even more unusual was the fact that donnie was still in bed with him. from where he was positioned on the bed, emerson felt one arm draped across his bare chest while the sheets, which had managed to become a tangled mess at their waists, still remained mostly on the bed. the silence was swiftly broken by the soft sounds of birds as they chirped cautiously outside the window.

blinking, emeron felt his eyes adjust as more light came in through the window. his body ached, but despite the pain, he felt a strange sense of safety & exposure while lying next to donnie. no matter how many nights they spent with each other, or how long they had been together, the feeling never went away, & it always made him feel like a man standing in a doorway with nowhere left to go. but some butterflies came with it, a steady fluttering of them in his stomach & chest, almost enough to make him feel sick.

he shifted on the bed, reaching for the arm across his chest & ready to move it onto the mattress, but then, without hesitation, emerson felt donnie lean in as he pressed a gentle kiss to the corner of emerson’s mouth. unlike others they had shared, this one wasn’t hungry or urgent. it was real. it was normal, which was the most dangerous & scary part of all for someone like emerson.

for a few seconds, he let it happen. he closed his eyes as he gave himself permission to feel something warm, something undeserved. he gave in with a kiss in return, while a hand curled into a fist beneath the sheet as he opened his eyes again.

“ 𝙸'𝙼 𝙽𝙾𝚃 𝙶𝙸𝚅𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝚂𝙷𝙸𝚃 '𝚃𝙸𝙻 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙶𝙸𝚅𝙴 𝙼𝙴 𝚂𝙾𝙼𝙴 𝙰𝙽𝚂𝚆𝙴𝚁𝚂. ” from donnie watts, @exhellion

𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐏𝐀𝐍 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 𝐈𝐓 𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐒 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐅-𝐁𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐊, 𝐌𝐔𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐋𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐒 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐃 and snatches watts by the collar of his shirt; dragging him half way across the table, giving him a rough shake to startle some sense back into his brain. either the guards posted outside hadn't noticed, or ( 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎𝚕𝚢 ) they simply didn't care enough to intervene. if he had to bet money on it, he'd say it was a conscious choice to ignore what the little camera in the far corner of the room reflected back onto the low-resolution security screen.

he doesn't glance at the two-way mirror to confirm, either. doesn't have to.

the conversation carries on uninterrupted for the time being [ ... ] even as mulder flashes his teeth, ❛   ────you know something, donnie? even high off your ass, i refuse to believe you're this god damn stupid. you really think that's how any of this works? a quick round of quid pro quo, clarice? really? let me enlighten you really quick on your situation: you were arrested for suspected murder. i'd remind you just how many years in prison you'd get from a judge minimum if i thought it had even the most minuscule chance in hell to get through that ridiculous glassy haze over your eyes.  ❜