(no subject)
It was a good dream. No, really, any dream with Dale in it was a good one. Especially one that involved making out like this, deep and long and, mmm. Or kissing down the warm neck, the familiar chest and muscled stomach and going down on him. He was making those little sounds happen, making the strong fingers tighten and tangle helpless in his curls and that face as he was pushing him closer to the edge, god, this was good, so--
That face is a smirk. Of course he's smirking, you're his bitch.
His grandfather's voice wrapped around him, and then there was nothing of where he had been. Darkness, and that voice.
And you're happy to be that. To please him as he'll have you. To bend over for him until you're begging him to fondle you for your release, then holding you like you belong. And you swing your tail for him like the little bitch you are. And that's all you are.
The words came down to him as though through the surface of a lake, and the images that came with them, too. Almost close, but wet and distorted, and he couldn't reach out to what was happening, couldn't fix all of that (because it wasn't so)
oh, it is, just so
couldn't scream at this to SHUT THE HELL UP
because it's true, it's all true, he's got you to step over, to do with as he wants, and you just pant for him to take it, and you were almost doing well. Not perfectly, but well. And now that you've become this, all the world will walk over you, because you're no better than that. Little skirt, oh, look at you, aren't you just adorable and inconsequential. You'll just become the next nobody, son. Because you're not good enough. You can't do better. You've found your place.
couldn't, because it was a part of him, couldn't wake up, couldn't stop it, couldn't, couldn't, couldn't
Of course you can't. All you can do is fail. Sink. See?
couldn't make the words stop flaying through him, couldn't make a difference...
Aaron's eyes snapped open in the darkness, and he sucked a breath in as though he really had been under the water and unable to breath, then another. The words and images were stuck inside him like cutting shards of glass under his skin, digging deeper and slicing worse, invisible and impossible to remove, with every heartbeat.
He curled up in his too-empty bed and yanked the pillow over his head to stifle the sobs, the walls here were way too thin and the room way too small.
His shoulders shook way too long.
He couldn't even make it stop, make the voice stop. There was nobody to chase away, nobody to argue with.
Just him.
That face is a smirk. Of course he's smirking, you're his bitch.
His grandfather's voice wrapped around him, and then there was nothing of where he had been. Darkness, and that voice.
And you're happy to be that. To please him as he'll have you. To bend over for him until you're begging him to fondle you for your release, then holding you like you belong. And you swing your tail for him like the little bitch you are. And that's all you are.
The words came down to him as though through the surface of a lake, and the images that came with them, too. Almost close, but wet and distorted, and he couldn't reach out to what was happening, couldn't fix all of that (because it wasn't so)
oh, it is, just so
couldn't scream at this to SHUT THE HELL UP
because it's true, it's all true, he's got you to step over, to do with as he wants, and you just pant for him to take it, and you were almost doing well. Not perfectly, but well. And now that you've become this, all the world will walk over you, because you're no better than that. Little skirt, oh, look at you, aren't you just adorable and inconsequential. You'll just become the next nobody, son. Because you're not good enough. You can't do better. You've found your place.
couldn't, because it was a part of him, couldn't wake up, couldn't stop it, couldn't, couldn't, couldn't
Of course you can't. All you can do is fail. Sink. See?
couldn't make the words stop flaying through him, couldn't make a difference...
Aaron's eyes snapped open in the darkness, and he sucked a breath in as though he really had been under the water and unable to breath, then another. The words and images were stuck inside him like cutting shards of glass under his skin, digging deeper and slicing worse, invisible and impossible to remove, with every heartbeat.
He curled up in his too-empty bed and yanked the pillow over his head to stifle the sobs, the walls here were way too thin and the room way too small.
His shoulders shook way too long.
He couldn't even make it stop, make the voice stop. There was nobody to chase away, nobody to argue with.
Just him.