He's right, of course - as soon as Dave manages to struggle to his feet, he's bleeding indigo everywhere, streams of it running down his pale legs to soak into the fabric of his pants. Fuck, all this shit needs to get washed or something. And what's worse is that Dave likes it - likes that sensation of being filled, of being fucked, being used as a troll's personal goddamn pail.
There's something so fucked up about all of this. And yet - he answers, and as he does, he knows that he'll be back for more.
"Well, to tell you the truth," he says, and that drawl's mostly back under control again, though some of his vowels still want to drag themselves out, "it's pretty all right."
Pants are tugged back over bony hips, shades are readjusted. "But it was also over pretty damn fast, don't you think? Lose control of yourself a little bit? I mean, fuck - I had you screaming on the floor last time, I thought you'd give at least as good as you got."
He's lying through his teeth, but fuck if he's going to admit that he'd never even considered that anything could feel as good as what they just did.
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branchandroot
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Date: 2012-01-23 02:52 am (UTC)There's something so fucked up about all of this. And yet - he answers, and as he does, he knows that he'll be back for more.
"Well, to tell you the truth," he says, and that drawl's mostly back under control again, though some of his vowels still want to drag themselves out, "it's pretty all right."
Pants are tugged back over bony hips, shades are readjusted. "But it was also over pretty damn fast, don't you think? Lose control of yourself a little bit? I mean, fuck - I had you screaming on the floor last time, I thought you'd give at least as good as you got."
He's lying through his teeth, but fuck if he's going to admit that he'd never even considered that anything could feel as good as what they just did.