[HEY THERE FENRIS, it's been a minute! Your pal has been locked up in solitary confinement for three whole days, and he finally managed to talk a guard into giving him his phone back. "Good behavior", they called it.
But he's still got another 12 hours on his sentence, so.]
they don't even let you pick your food. they keep giving me pears. pears are bullshit. and onion rings? why are those a staple of solitary confinement lunches?
bullshit.
and they keep the temp at like slightly too warm. and they won't let me have more than one pillow.
[He has a long list of complaints that Fenris will hear all about, as if it's new information and he hasn't been stuck in here himself before.
It's all a distraction, though. The dose of pheromones they pump into the air in these cells is low enough that the past few days have been irritating, but bearable. Fenris did mention that part, but Harlan didn't anticipate much issue with it. Sex is so rarely at the forefront of his mind that three days in the hole would be cake. Not so, as it turns out! Despite the shit here not being nearly as potent as the shit in Penance, the constant exposure has worn him down.
He knows they've got cameras in here, is the thing. He'd just jerk off and call it a day if it weren't for that. But the ever-present ache between his legs is starting to outweigh his sense of shame.]
you watered the plants right? they get watered on tuesdays. its on the whiteboard in the kitchen.
you sit in prison and complain you get fresh fruit. Your standards need to lower.
[It's a mild comment, although not unmeant. And yet he knows Harlan well enough to know that in return it's mild bitching, not truly aggrieved so much as aggravated. And honestly, Fenris cannot blame him. Being isolated is bad enough, but Maker, it's hard to think with all the pheromones that flood the air in solitary. Hard to think, hard to breathe, hard to do anything save dream of how much you want to rut and grind and beg for more . . .]
but yes, the plants have been watered.
[Or, well, they will be today. They're fine. It's fine. But far more relevant:]
the joys of horticulture are a known lust-supressor, yes.
[No, no, he'll stop. He does have sympathy for Harlan's plight, albeit on a somewhat limited basis. There are worse things to endure than lust, after all. And this is, like, the exact opposite of what Harlan is asking for, but he's curious:]
have you never deal with an unexpected surge of lust? it cannot be the first time, i know you recall being a teenager.
Edited (plant caretaking is horticulture, harlan is not growin his own pears) 2023-11-27 01:47 (UTC)
[But it takes him a few minutes to figure out how to explain why. This isn't something he often feels the need to put into words—or to loosely define even just for himself.]
this is fucking stupid but theres 2 types of horny. for me anyway. sounds like most people only have 1.
type 1 is my normal. thats like idk the being a teenager shit. but most of the time its not top of mind. its not strong enough for me to care about acting on it and if it is then i'll go beat off or something.
type 2 is this hormonal drug bullshit that these places keep inflicting on us. i dont ever feel like this if i'm left to my own devices.
it's impossible to ignore and it makes me feel weird. jerking off isn't even that satisfying. normal horny never involves other people but with this manufactured shit its all i can think about. and it becomes a physical thing too.
they will not let up, you're correct. and jerking off will not do you any favors, not for long. i am aware it's meant as punishment, but if it's impossible to ignore, perhaps leaning in will help. besides: sharing it will at least get it off your mind.
tell me where your mind strays. to me, i suspect.
[Arrogant, but then again, not really, not after all they've gone through.]
[He's two sentences into a point about how naming three past partners is an ill-defined metric when he's forced to scrap the argument altogether. His attention won't stop shifting back to the memory Fenris has conjured up. Truthfully, that one hasn't been in the rotation of fantasies, if only because the last thing he wants to do right now is lie there and take it.
But, mm, it is a good memory, and the relative novelty of it only makes it more difficult to set aside.]
yes that was awesome but don't brag about the begging thing. i'm impatient as hell with edging.
granted that was one of the few times i've been able to turn my brain off while i wasn't the one doing the fucking. there you go. that's a better point of pride.
[The next message is rewritten half a dozen times before impatience strikes again and he just sends the damn thing.]
actually i'm mostly thinking about what i want to do to you once i'm out of here.
(11am tmrw clear your schedule)
if i'm thinking about memories then i'm thinking about when i killed tim and found you afterward.
[That was the best sex Harlan ever had. That memory comes in flashes, little details bursting through the haze of bloodlust and adrenaline. Skin slick with blood and sweat. His fingers twisted through Fenris' hair. Their bodies covered in rug burns, bruises, and bite marks afterward. By virtue of convenience, they ended up on the couch in their apartment—not exactly pushing the boundaries, but for Harlan, it felt dangerous. They had barely even bothered to undress. Harlan's bloodsoaked shirt left red splotches all over them until Fenris finally peeled it off. Then he pinned Fenris' wrists above his head and fucked deep into him, his free hand working Fenris' cock in tight, deliberate strokes.
They left one hell of a mess, but Harlan didn't bother cleaning up until the morning. Until then, he'd never had anyone to come home to after a kill. The mess felt like proof that he's capable of having such a thing.]
name 3 people that can get those noises out of you.
[Harlan sighs heavily through his nose. His hand drops and he squeezes himself, only once, and then goes to the sink. He runs cold water over his hands just for the sensation.]
[God, and despite himself, something in the pit of his stomach twists pleasantly. There's something hot about the very direct way he talks dirty, something Fenris is learning to enjoy.]
you, to start with.
but i'd rather name two more things we'll indulge in when you come out.
[And not just because he knows damn well Harlan will get jealous if he actually does list out three people. He might have anyway just to annoy him, for their relationship is an endless push-pull of rivalry and camaraderie, but ah, there's better things to focus on.
Like that memory. That glorious night when they'd scrabbled and fought and Fenris had lost— Maker, and in his bed, he bites his lip, one hand reaching down to palm at himself as he does. Blood had smeared over both of them, and there was a darkness in Harlan's eyes that Fenris had been thrilled to see . . . he isn't usually one to submit, but Maker, it'd been worth it that night. He can still feel the rough grip Harlan had on his wrists.]
a pity they confiscated your knife. I would not have minded adding that to our list.
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prison au time!!!!!!!
[HEY THERE FENRIS, it's been a minute! Your pal has been locked up in solitary confinement for three whole days, and he finally managed to talk a guard into giving him his phone back. "Good behavior", they called it.
But he's still got another 12 hours on his sentence, so.]
they don't even let you pick your food. they keep giving me pears. pears are bullshit. and onion rings? why are those a staple of solitary confinement lunches?
bullshit.
and they keep the temp at like slightly too warm. and they won't let me have more than one pillow.
[He has a long list of complaints that Fenris will hear all about, as if it's new information and he hasn't been stuck in here himself before.
It's all a distraction, though. The dose of pheromones they pump into the air in these cells is low enough that the past few days have been irritating, but bearable. Fenris did mention that part, but Harlan didn't anticipate much issue with it. Sex is so rarely at the forefront of his mind that three days in the hole would be cake. Not so, as it turns out! Despite the shit here not being nearly as potent as the shit in Penance, the constant exposure has worn him down.
He knows they've got cameras in here, is the thing. He'd just jerk off and call it a day if it weren't for that. But the ever-present ache between his legs is starting to outweigh his sense of shame.]
you watered the plants right? they get watered on tuesdays. its on the whiteboard in the kitchen.
no subject
[It's a mild comment, although not unmeant. And yet he knows Harlan well enough to know that in return it's mild bitching, not truly aggrieved so much as aggravated. And honestly, Fenris cannot blame him. Being isolated is bad enough, but Maker, it's hard to think with all the pheromones that flood the air in solitary. Hard to think, hard to breathe, hard to do anything save dream of how much you want to rut and grind and beg for more . . .]
but yes, the plants have been watered.
[Or, well, they will be today. They're fine. It's fine. But far more relevant:]
is that really chief on your mind? the plants?
no subject
[Fenris is right, though. Truly he does not give a shit about fruit or plants or even the insulting pillow situation he's been so bravely facing.]
the whole point of me going through the trouble of getting my phone back and texting your ass is so you can distract me from whats chief on my mind.
you know what its like in here. fucking sucks.
i'm going a little bit crazy. that's weird for me.
no subject
[No, no, he'll stop. He does have sympathy for Harlan's plight, albeit on a somewhat limited basis. There are worse things to endure than lust, after all. And this is, like, the exact opposite of what Harlan is asking for, but he's curious:]
have you never deal with an unexpected surge of lust? it cannot be the first time, i know you recall being a teenager.
no subject
thats different.
[But it takes him a few minutes to figure out how to explain why. This isn't something he often feels the need to put into words—or to loosely define even just for himself.]
this is fucking stupid but theres 2 types of horny. for me anyway. sounds like most people only have 1.
type 1 is my normal. thats like idk the being a teenager shit. but most of the time its not top of mind. its not strong enough for me to care about acting on it and if it is then i'll go beat off or something.
type 2 is this hormonal drug bullshit that these places keep inflicting on us. i dont ever feel like this if i'm left to my own devices.
it's impossible to ignore and it makes me feel weird. jerking off isn't even that satisfying. normal horny never involves other people but with this manufactured shit its all i can think about. and it becomes a physical thing too.
i dont like it.
ASFDLJ FUCK, THAT IMAGE
they will not let up, you're correct. and jerking off will not do you any favors, not for long. i am aware it's meant as punishment, but if it's impossible to ignore, perhaps leaning in will help. besides: sharing it will at least get it off your mind.
tell me where your mind strays. to me, i suspect.
[Arrogant, but then again, not really, not after all they've gone through.]
1/2
1st of all fanning the flames is a garbage idea. it'll get worse and no fucking way im whipping my dick out in here. someones gotta be watching.
2ndly that is a bold assumption you filth.
no subject
no subject
no subject
i made out with klaus once.
there was that whole thing with tim. that probably doesnt count.
and there's like four other ppl who definitely wanted in my pants so it's not like i didn't have the opportunity.
not everyone is a GIANT SLUT.
but i got a lot of half points so that adds up to at least 3 for sure.
no subject
how many times have you thought about that time in your room? when i put my mouth on your prick and edged you until you begged me for your finish?
no subject
But, mm, it is a good memory, and the relative novelty of it only makes it more difficult to set aside.]
yes that was awesome but don't brag about the begging thing. i'm impatient as hell with edging.
granted that was one of the few times i've been able to turn my brain off while i wasn't the one doing the fucking. there you go. that's a better point of pride.
[The next message is rewritten half a dozen times before impatience strikes again and he just sends the damn thing.]
actually i'm mostly thinking about what i want to do to you once i'm out of here.
(11am tmrw clear your schedule)
if i'm thinking about memories then i'm thinking about when i killed tim and found you afterward.
[That was the best sex Harlan ever had. That memory comes in flashes, little details bursting through the haze of bloodlust and adrenaline. Skin slick with blood and sweat. His fingers twisted through Fenris' hair. Their bodies covered in rug burns, bruises, and bite marks afterward. By virtue of convenience, they ended up on the couch in their apartment—not exactly pushing the boundaries, but for Harlan, it felt dangerous. They had barely even bothered to undress. Harlan's bloodsoaked shirt left red splotches all over them until Fenris finally peeled it off. Then he pinned Fenris' wrists above his head and fucked deep into him, his free hand working Fenris' cock in tight, deliberate strokes.
They left one hell of a mess, but Harlan didn't bother cleaning up until the morning. Until then, he'd never had anyone to come home to after a kill. The mess felt like proof that he's capable of having such a thing.]
name 3 people that can get those noises out of you.
[Harlan sighs heavily through his nose. His hand drops and he squeezes himself, only once, and then goes to the sink. He runs cold water over his hands just for the sensation.]
no subject
you, to start with.
but i'd rather name two more things we'll indulge in when you come out.
[And not just because he knows damn well Harlan will get jealous if he actually does list out three people. He might have anyway just to annoy him, for their relationship is an endless push-pull of rivalry and camaraderie, but ah, there's better things to focus on.
Like that memory. That glorious night when they'd scrabbled and fought and Fenris had lost— Maker, and in his bed, he bites his lip, one hand reaching down to palm at himself as he does. Blood had smeared over both of them, and there was a darkness in Harlan's eyes that Fenris had been thrilled to see . . . he isn't usually one to submit, but Maker, it'd been worth it that night. He can still feel the rough grip Harlan had on his wrists.]
a pity they confiscated your knife. I would not have minded adding that to our list.