Samuel put his head in his hands, elbows propped up on the table. The cigarette hung from his lips. It drew a faint and glowing dot in the dark. He felt every cell of his body flood with exhilarating, sickening poison. He drew in a shaky breath. There was a faint ringing in his ears and a white fluttering in the space behind his eyes. It was strong. Maybe stronger than advisable. He barely felt what Don Juan was doing between his legs in the dark; he more felt his blood rush, rush alongside him to ascent until he was hard in a way that hurt, that was really almost unpleasant. He shifted uncomfortably on the threadbare bench and looked to Don Juan. The man looked frightened. His dark eyes were drawn tight around the edges, his mouth a thin line. Samuel put his hand lightly on his neck, under his jaw, and felt his heart race. "You needn't be quite as afraid," he said, and to him his voice sounded slightly smudged at the edges of his words. "You've been in way more danger with me," he added, and noticed it was unclear if his phrasing referred to the fact that Don Juan had survived death alongside Samuel, or that he was not so low in his graces that he was scheming how to really hurt him now, or that while the Orchid was no good place to stay in this state, it was also not the worst.
Samuel seemed to have lost a snippet of a moment, it was just gone. The next thing he knew was the feeling of Don Juan's mouth. He felt that. He leaned back and let his head fall back and looked at the tattered drapes under the ceiling through half-closed eyes. Don Juan knew what he was doing. He was also holding back. Afraid that this would be over too quickly and he out of use before he got high? He did not need to worry so much. Despite the way sensations mutated and multiplied under the influence of this substance, it took, at least for Samuel, a lot of work to actually get somewhere. He did not tend to get off with ease, in any case, and also sober, unless under certain circumstances.
He put a hand back in Don Juan's hair while he let the sensation he gave him roll over him and mix with the tizzy of signals in his body. He did like the feel of these curls. He took out his watch. Approximately five minutes left. With gentle pressure against his forehead, he stopped Don Juan. "Come up to me," he said.
Samuel seemed to have lost a snippet of a moment, it was just gone. The next thing he knew was the feeling of Don Juan's mouth. He felt that. He leaned back and let his head fall back and looked at the tattered drapes under the ceiling through half-closed eyes. Don Juan knew what he was doing. He was also holding back. Afraid that this would be over too quickly and he out of use before he got high? He did not need to worry so much. Despite the way sensations mutated and multiplied under the influence of this substance, it took, at least for Samuel, a lot of work to actually get somewhere. He did not tend to get off with ease, in any case, and also sober, unless under certain circumstances.
He put a hand back in Don Juan's hair while he let the sensation he gave him roll over him and mix with the tizzy of signals in his body. He did like the feel of these curls. He took out his watch. Approximately five minutes left. With gentle pressure against his forehead, he stopped Don Juan. "Come up to me," he said.
