"Sure, I don't care," said Sam. It was not true. Whatever helps you sleep at night, he thought. He cared profoundly about what Don Juan felt—that did not mean that he desired him to feel comforted and good all the time. That did not mean there were no circumstances and states of feeling he would protect him from. That was a distinction Don Juan probably did not want to understand. He thought that Don Juan had a notion of himself as preferring people who bedded him very softly; people with adoring and ever-forgiving eyes that overlooked his flaws or twisted them to be endearing. Someone to be anchored to, who would renew him selflessly.
That was not the entire truth though, was it? A part of him was exhilarated by the potential of violence and debasement that "Griffith" represented. A part of Don Juan was aware of that and deeply ashamed. Yes, Samuel thought that Don Juan felt way more shame when he was sober.
He took his watch out of his pocket and looked at it. It was time to find out what could be accomplished in the ten minutes they had left until the substance pulled Don Juan under and blunted the edges.
He reached for Don Juan's face and pushed his thumb into his mouth and hooked it over the bottom row of his teeth, pressing under his chin from the other side. He pulled him forward with a decisive motion. Playing the callous villain of Don Juan's story would come easily to him. It was a performance he was made for. "The next time I ask you a question, you'll give me a straight answer," he told him. "You don't need to talk now. I know." His left hand unbuttoned his trousers. The first shiver climbed up his vertebrae. Good timing, on this one. He pressed down on Don Juan's lower jaw and grabbed the back of his head by his curls with his other hand, and he forced himself in and he kept up the pressure and kept pushing deeper, in one continuous movement. It was not the rough kind of up and down designed to maximize his own pleasure; that was entirely beside the point. This was about the impact it would have on Don Juan. His hand in the other man's hair and the muscles of his thighs and back tensed; he suppressed the sound of his breath catching. The different sensations that flooded his body compressed and expanded under his skin. I hope you choke, he thought grimly.
That was not the entire truth though, was it? A part of him was exhilarated by the potential of violence and debasement that "Griffith" represented. A part of Don Juan was aware of that and deeply ashamed. Yes, Samuel thought that Don Juan felt way more shame when he was sober.
He took his watch out of his pocket and looked at it. It was time to find out what could be accomplished in the ten minutes they had left until the substance pulled Don Juan under and blunted the edges.
He reached for Don Juan's face and pushed his thumb into his mouth and hooked it over the bottom row of his teeth, pressing under his chin from the other side. He pulled him forward with a decisive motion. Playing the callous villain of Don Juan's story would come easily to him. It was a performance he was made for. "The next time I ask you a question, you'll give me a straight answer," he told him. "You don't need to talk now. I know." His left hand unbuttoned his trousers. The first shiver climbed up his vertebrae. Good timing, on this one. He pressed down on Don Juan's lower jaw and grabbed the back of his head by his curls with his other hand, and he forced himself in and he kept up the pressure and kept pushing deeper, in one continuous movement. It was not the rough kind of up and down designed to maximize his own pleasure; that was entirely beside the point. This was about the impact it would have on Don Juan. His hand in the other man's hair and the muscles of his thighs and back tensed; he suppressed the sound of his breath catching. The different sensations that flooded his body compressed and expanded under his skin. I hope you choke, he thought grimly.
