#tormentavi

What sᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇ relief the young man found in the unlikely company of the older man and his ᴄᴏᴍᴘᴀɴɪᴏɴ. For near decade the bespectacled stranger’s visage was nothing more than a distant memory, features blurry and distant, a study worn on burned film stock. But somewhere in the back of his mind, the memory still stained, no matter how hard the child had tried to ғᴏʀɢᴇᴛ.

Legs were parcelled, bundled beneath each-other as the kindly offered beverage went unnoticed. Just the smell was enough to make an already desperate mind nauseous. It was the very early hours of the morning, the sun yet still to rouse from its dutiful slumber.

Dalton would have felt ɢᴜɪʟᴛʏ for keeping the other up, but Specs had already been rummaging around these early hours. The same couldn’t be said for his ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛᴇʀ-ᴘᴀʀᴛ, who’s beast-like snoring rattled from the other room, filing any silence between them.

“Mnnnh.” He comments in absent affirmation, digits gnawed gentle without thinking before his own gaze meets that of the writer, moving the hand instead to push through his mane of tawny hair.

“It’s....not as bad in the day?” Dalton attempts to explain, unable to hold Specs’ gaze for too long of a time, instead affixing themselves to the slowly sinking marshmallow being devoured by the cocoa’s soft heat. “But---” Hesitation exudes, catching his words before they tumble out. 

“The door. There’s this door. I kind of just tried to ignore it at first, but the more I did the more I started seeing it. Every time I try to get there, it just gets further away from me. It’s...not like one I’ve seen before. And I’d--- I’d ignore it. I would. But it’s everywhere. Not just when I’m asleep---there’s someone behind it. A kid? I think? They sound scared but---I don’t----” words begin to slow, drifting off as the ever-growing habit of spirit daring to wander clings to his chest. He bites down gently on his finger; an astronaut’s tether.

ᴛʜᴇ ᴋɪᴅ ʜᴀᴅ ʙᴇᴇɴ ɢʟᴏᴡᴇʀɪɴɢ ᴏᴠᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛᴀʙʟᴇ ғᴏʀ ᴀ ɢᴏᴏᴅ ғᴇᴡ ᴍɪɴᴜᴛᴇs ɴᴏᴡ. It didn't seem at all that he had been listening to a word of Scott's ranting. Hands gesticulated wildly as the musician droned on, yet the other's attention seemed very much on what was before Scott, not what was coming out of his mouth.

On cue of interruption, the mousy haired man paused mid-monologue, squinting in annoyance at him before he lounged back in his seat, letting his hand push through his messy mane. "Go for it."

It wasn't like Scott was hungry anyway; that's not why he had brought Daniel here. But the kid looked as starving as ever. What was it with kids these days? Annoyed frown though soon softened to a found tug at the corner of his lips, pushing the half-eaten burrito over to the other.

"You doin' alright?"

He doesn't know exactly how they had gotten here, but Scott's not going to make a fuss about it. The unexpected contact sparks electric through his skin; current rushing up through his spine and hurtling towards his brain. It's enough for the man to usually push the offender away, the exile them from this bubble he's built through unpleasantness.                                                 But this was Daniel. The kid.

Mouth opens to say something, but for once he decides it's best to keep the trap shut, for now. Instead, hand finds it's way to the scruff of mane atop the younger man's head, combing his fingers through carefully as the other arm pulls him closer. A gentle sigh escapes, not one of annoyance or frustration --- but a realisation that maybe he needed this too.

"Don't worry. I gotcha."

@tormentavi​

you don’t know what that means. you don’t know what will come of that. do you know what will happen? people will die. do you know what i’ll do? what i can do? do you want to see? can i show you? will it feel good? will you like it-

daniel clasped his hands over his ears, a childlike gesture, squinting eyes and all. voices spun in every direction. she smelled like blood and wildflowers. she offered up religion (and her body, but there was no difference), black and blood-swollen as a bruise. sweat dripped from his forehead. it was so hot. but how could it be hot, the sun had gone hours ago, no, it was freezing in the desert now, and it felt like a crawling up his chest and neck, like the legs of bugs. he swatted blindly at a swarm that wasn’t there, tore open the upper half of his shirt. the soil she graced smelled of death and dust, dry to the tongue. opened his mouth to gulp air, and the smell of her made his stomach churn, not because he was repulsed, but it was empty, and she was so alive-

“i have to!” it came out more of a squealing whine than words. a shriek enough, he weakly hoped, to convince her. it wouldn’t be. “i can’t give in.” quieter then, and quicker, shaking at his core. “i don’t know what’ll happen if i do.”

She watches closely, too closely, as he squirms, her gaze following his fingers as he tears open his shirt. She understands. She recognizes the heat, the impulse clawing for escape. Something about the sight of a man at his breaking point sends a fire through her body. He's so very close to losing control. All he needs is a little encouragement. It's something she's more than willing to give. After all, she isn't afraid; so why should he be?

Violence and pleasure melt together here, one unable to exist without the other. She's able to appreciate their communion, uniquely qualified to bask in whatever suffering he's itching to dish out. Her mind already races with the possibilities, with thoughts of sharp teeth and blinding agony. She finds herself unintentionally leaning closer, finds herself aroused from the knowledge of what he's capable of. She wants more than anything for him to tear her to shreds right there. 

But… she focuses. She takes a deep breath. He can have his release without her immediate death. She can guide him, she can show restraint; though only as much as absolutely necessary. 

Her hands go to his shoulders, rubbing her way down his upper arms. It could be comforting. But, in all likelihood, it's not; Not with the tension so heavy between them, not when she's so desperate for touch. Not when both their cravings hang like static in the air. 

The ₭łĐ had been to a couple of shows now. Scott didn’t really ever take the time to notice who bothered to show up to their trashy  basement gigs, but the frail looking teen had attended enough times now that the frontman had begun to recognise his face. It wasn’t like a shit-tonne of people showed up to these things anyway. Their stuff was just too Ⱨ₳ⱤĐ₵ØⱤɆ for these fucking pricks to appreciate. But after their set, everyone else seemed sᴜᴅᴅᴇɴʟʏ preoccupied with shit to do. ₴Ⱨł₮ ₮Ø ĐØ? What the fuck did these cats ever do but lay around on their fat asses? Though he was the biggest bundle of  energy in the room, people were avoiding Tibbs like the plague. Fuck them anyway. 

So, grabbing an extra beer, he decided to swagger over to the kid huddled against the back wall alone. Was he even old enough to be out this late? Did that fucking matter?

The mousy hair man smirked as he sauntered, offering the teen a bottle as he took a long swig from his own.