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and you're a disgusting mess. a disgusting fucking mess.

it slithers under his skin, ⠀ makes poison of vein and language alike. ⠀ "this wha' they give me to work with now?⠀ fly 'cause you can't fight down in the grit with the rest of us? ⠀ hit like a girl.⠀ taste like one too."

"look at you. ⠀ 's like you were gagging for it."⠀ a snake coils around the softer bits of what might be human organs; ⠀ a heart, ⠀ a liver, ⠀ lungs.⠀ soft tissue.⠀ but his snake bears iron scales,⠀ metal fangs.⠀ never cracks, ⠀ never leaves those weaker parts to air.

already a kick comes into knee. ⠀ up, ⠀ down. ⠀ his indecision irks hisself. ⠀ (the flush that colors pilot's neck and cheek, ⠀ the shape of his canines,⠀ the broad of his shoulders. ⠀ would be pretty as a picture, ⠀ clawing at his sheets and——)

all at once pressure and weight eases off louvette, ⠀ spitting venom with, ⠀ "get the fuck up.⠀ we're not done here." ⠀ pulls him off the mat by a fist in his collar, ⠀ dragging him onto his heels. ⠀ "– up." ⠀ one shouldn't be so naïve to mistake this for kindness, ⠀ ——

tight,⠀ nestled still in the hollow between soft underbelly and cage.⠀ "fairies have boyfriends. ⠀ 𝘺𝘰𝘶 got boyfriends." ⠀ it's all spoiled now; ⠀ everything in him itches for violence, ⠀ (to flee,⠀ lap at large,⠀ gaping wound ⠀ / ⠀ oozing for eternity.)

no smack, ⠀ no sting. ⠀ knuckles strike flat under ribs and the timber in his tone shifts to something colder. ⠀ there's a hiss in every syllable, ⠀ burning over raw skin: ⠀ "'m not like you."⠀ they'd grind to dust,⠀ the joints of fist, ⠀ the force with which he balls it

coffee. ⠀ the faintest lingering of roach's cigarettes. ⠀ it's pavlovian, ⠀ the slow roll of his hip. ⠀ "taste sweet, ⠀ don't you? ⠀ roll over easy." ⠀ grin'd shark–like, ⠀ too sharp, ⠀ "yeah? ⠀ tha' it? ⠀ you come when you're called?"

his hand rests just above before he can blink,⠀ hips flush nico's. ⠀ "nah. ⠀ need more going for you than jus' 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘺." ⠀ more to himself, ⠀ breath away again. ⠀ tongue meets lip to taste iron in full, ⠀ teeth snag lips to push tongue through: ⠀ his mouthwash,

to ask with a gun to his throat." ⠀ been there, ⠀ done that. ⠀ earlier days. ⠀ arm lifts to wipe at spit-slick cheek, ⠀ run lips among mess of union. ⠀ a taste of copper, ⠀ diluted. ⠀ nico sprawls flushed and winded. ⠀ a pulse races through his throat, ⠀ ghost knows.

re͟a͟l annoyance in his bass, ⠀ without defense, injury to sergeant's reputation–—or own. ⠀ "no——he doesn't." ⠀ statement, ⠀ because some things are as certain as the heat death of the universe. ⠀ "likes keeping his mouth busy, ⠀ yeah. ⠀ but he wouldn't shag anyone

* ⠀ CLAP. ⠀ backhand–to–cheek sings; ⠀ cusp of sting thumbed at with the same, ⠀ simple glee of a wolf gnawing at his kill. ⠀ nail digs into flesh, ⠀ dragged down reddened meat to coax whimper, ⠀ smearing blood across dimple and stubble. ⠀ it's the first hint of

I’m the blackest hand beating ; I’m the biggest man bleeding.

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neither his own work. ⠀ "wouldn't have thought twice, ⠀ you were his girl. ⠀ i'd understand. ⠀ men got needs. ⠀ tha's not quite right though, ⠀ is it? ⠀ he your girl, ⠀ louvette?"

"this wha' impressed him?"⠀ hand lifts; ⠀ dragging the weight of nico's crown by the trench of his teeth.⠀ down, ⠀ comes the slam again,⠀ controlled–force, ⠀ dizzying. ⠀ behind his eyes——sergeant's throat ringed by teeth's bruises, ⠀ a shadow of nails dug into hips.

trapping pup's skull under an unflinching fist. ⠀ ( ⠀ not enough.) ⠀

grip reflexively tightening around the hinge of his jaw, ⠀ grinding into the joints, ⠀ "there you go. ⠀ some fight in you."⠀ blood slips deep between lip, ⠀ and ghost wants to ask: ⠀ how does it taste?⠀ but curiosity lays squashed and he bears down, ⠀ an endless weight

laugh curls along ribs; ⠀ into throat. ⠀ mean, ⠀ indulgent. ⠀ stark is the slip of red over milk–pale skin, ⠀ teeth finding their purchase in his hand. ⠀ an under–handed, ⠀ manic delight webs into his fit. ⠀ "tha's it," ⠀ lips peel back, ⠀ a flash of bone,