[ brittle bone, soft flesh. contrary to the accusations felix leveled at him before, with his dick in his hand and his pleasure curled on his tongue, sam's had decades to become anesthetized to the intimacy of close-ranged death; its novelty wore off in youth. pain is inevitable, like high and low tides, pushing and pulling against the shoreline of this mortal coil. sam learned that, too, before his voice broke, before he grew into his restless joints.
the curl of his lips settle. for a breath of a millisecond, sam is devastatingly still as he towers over felix in the warzone of this apartment bedroom, dark eyes like the bottom of a still lake, his scrutiny leveled with alarming clarity. he receives the kicks and the hissing with morbid patience, an implosion to felix's constant explosion.
no please-s. no don't kill me-s. just furious defiance and misplaced conviction in his own ability to maintain control, even in the absence of it. asserting dominance by refusing to let sam say it, first, that he's fucked.
sam twists his wrist. the blade in felix's shoulder rips from vertical to horizontal, and the tremors that come with a body writhing in shock travels up from sam's metal-covered arm to his nape. rising up to full height, a foot rests on felix's heaving chest before it travels, lightning-quick, to kick whatever weapon felix tries to draw from his hand.
again, sam is struck by the improbable desire to run his tongue over those trembling lashes, to lick the salt from the corner of those eyes. what does it taste like, someone's unbridled rage? what could it be like to feel so much, and so violently? is it nihilism? self-preservation?
interest fractures sam's calm. even when he steps on felix's hand, almost hard enough to break the delicate map of his fingers, he doesn't take his eyes off of the other man's face. ]
Oh?
I'd like that. [ someone to kill him with the brunt of their obstinacy and foolish ideals; that's a turn-on. he knows he's probably pretty fucked in the head. when he grins this time, it's with all of his teeth and too much enthusiasm. ] Do it with your teeth, when you do.
[ maybe not tonight, though. sam still has checks to cash. his focus flits up to the broken ceiling, back towards his mark. ]
no subject
the curl of his lips settle. for a breath of a millisecond, sam is devastatingly still as he towers over felix in the warzone of this apartment bedroom, dark eyes like the bottom of a still lake, his scrutiny leveled with alarming clarity. he receives the kicks and the hissing with morbid patience, an implosion to felix's constant explosion.
no please-s. no don't kill me-s. just furious defiance and misplaced conviction in his own ability to maintain control, even in the absence of it. asserting dominance by refusing to let sam say it, first, that he's fucked.
sam twists his wrist. the blade in felix's shoulder rips from vertical to horizontal, and the tremors that come with a body writhing in shock travels up from sam's metal-covered arm to his nape. rising up to full height, a foot rests on felix's heaving chest before it travels, lightning-quick, to kick whatever weapon felix tries to draw from his hand.
again, sam is struck by the improbable desire to run his tongue over those trembling lashes, to lick the salt from the corner of those eyes. what does it taste like, someone's unbridled rage? what could it be like to feel so much, and so violently? is it nihilism? self-preservation?
interest fractures sam's calm. even when he steps on felix's hand, almost hard enough to break the delicate map of his fingers, he doesn't take his eyes off of the other man's face. ]
Oh?
I'd like that. [ someone to kill him with the brunt of their obstinacy and foolish ideals; that's a turn-on. he knows he's probably pretty fucked in the head. when he grins this time, it's with all of his teeth and too much enthusiasm. ] Do it with your teeth, when you do.
[ maybe not tonight, though. sam still has checks to cash. his focus flits up to the broken ceiling, back towards his mark. ]