[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.]
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.]